#Irish flies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

Text

Apple to EU: “Go fuck yourself”

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/06/spoil-the-bunch/#dma

There's a strain of anti-anti-monopolist that insists that they're not pro-monopoly – they're just realists who understand that global gigacorporations are too big to fail, too big to jail, and that governments can't hope to rein them in. Trying to regulate a tech giant, they say, is like trying to regulate the weather.

This ploy is cousins with Jay Rosen's idea of "savvying," defined as: "dismissing valid questions with the insider's, 'and this surprises you?'"

https://twitter.com/jayrosen_nyu/status/344825874362810369?lang=en

In both cases, an apologist for corruption masquerades as a pragmatist who understands the ways of the world, unlike you, a pathetic dreamer who foolishly hopes for a better world. In both cases, the apologist provides cover for corruption, painting it as an inevitability, not a choice. "Don't hate the player. Hate the game."

The reason this foolish nonsense flies is that we are living in an age of rampant corruption and utter impunity. Companies really do get away with both literal and figurative murder. Governments really do ignore horrible crimes by the rich and powerful, and fumble what rare, few enforcement efforts they assay.

Take the GDPR, Europe's landmark privacy law. The GDPR establishes strict limitations of data-collection and processing, and provides for brutal penalties for companies that violate its rules. The immediate impact of the GDPR was a mass-extinction event for Europe's data-brokerages and surveillance advertising companies, all of which were in obvious violation of the GDPR's rules.

But there was a curious pattern to GDPR enforcement: while smaller, EU-based companies were swiftly shuttered by its provisions, the US-based giants that conduct the most brazen, wide-ranging, illegal surveillance escaped unscathed for years and years, continuing to spy on Europeans.

One (erroneous) way to look at this is as a "compliance moat" story. In that story, GDPR requires a bunch of expensive systems that only gigantic companies like Facebook and Google can afford. These compliance costs are a "capital moat" – a way to exclude smaller companies from functioning in the market. Thus, the GDPR acted as an anticompetitive wrecking ball, clearing the field for the largest companies, who get to operate without having to contend with smaller companies nipping at their heels:

https://www.techdirt.com/2019/06/27/another-report-shows-gdpr-benefited-google-facebook-hurt-everyone-else/

This is wrong.

Oh, compliance moats are definitely real – think of the calls for AI companies to license their training data. AI companies can easily do this – they'll just buy training data from giant media companies – the very same companies that hope to use models to replace creative workers with algorithms. Create a new copyright over training data won't eliminate AI – it'll just confine AI to the largest, best capitalized companies, who will gladly provide tools to corporations hoping to fire their workforces:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

But just because some regulations can be compliance moats, that doesn't mean that all regulations are compliance moats. And just because some regulations are vigorously applied to small companies while leaving larger firms unscathed, it doesn't follow that the regulation in question is a compliance moat.

A harder look at what happened with the GDPR reveals a completely different dynamic at work. The reason the GDPR vaporized small surveillance companies and left the big companies untouched had nothing to do with compliance costs. The Big Tech companies don't comply with the GDPR – they just get away with violating the GDPR.

How do they get away with it? They fly Irish flags of convenience. Decades ago, Ireland started dabbling with offering tax-havens to the wealthy and mobile – they invented the duty-free store:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duty-free_shop#1947%E2%80%931990:_duty_free_establishment

Capturing pennies from the wealthy by helping them avoid fortunes they owed in taxes elsewhere was terribly seductive. In the years that followed, Ireland began aggressively courting the wealthy on an industrial scale, offering corporations the chance to duck their obligations to their host countries by flying an Irish flag of convenience.

There are other countries who've tried this gambit – the "treasure islands" of the Caribbean, the English channel, and elsewhere – but Ireland is part of the EU. In the global competition to help the rich to get richer, Ireland had a killer advantage: access to the EU, the common market, and 500m affluent potential customers. The Caymans can hide your money for you, and there's a few super-luxe stores and art-galleries in George Town where you can spend it, but it's no Champs Elysees or Ku-Damm.

But when you're competing with other countries for the pennies of trillion-dollar tax-dodgers, any wins can be turned into a loss in an instant. After all, any corporation that is footloose enough to establish a Potemkin Headquarters in Dublin and fly the trídhathach can easily up sticks and open another Big Store HQ in some other haven that offers it a sweeter deal.

This has created a global race to the bottom among tax-havens to also serve as regulatory havens – and there's a made-in-the-EU version that sees Ireland, Malta, Cyprus and sometimes the Netherlands competing to see who can offer the most impunity for the worst crimes to the most awful corporations in the world.

And that's why Google and Facebook haven't been extinguished by the GDPR while their rivals were. It's not compliance moats – it's impunity. Once a corporation attains a certain scale, it has the excess capital to spend on phony relocations that let it hop from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, chasing the loosest slots on the strip. Ireland is a made town, where the cops are all on the take, and two thirds of the data commissioner's rulings are eventually overturned by the federal court:

https://www.iccl.ie/digital-data/iccl-2023-gdpr-report/

This is a problem among many federations, not just the EU. The US has its onshore-offshore tax- and regulation-havens (Delaware, South Dakota, Texas, etc), and so does Canada (Alberta), and some Swiss cantons are, frankly, batshit:

https://lenews.ch/2017/11/25/swiss-fact-some-swiss-women-had-to-wait-until-1991-to-vote/

None of this is to condemn federations outright. Federations are (potentially) good! But federalism has a vulnerability: the autonomy of the federated states means that they can be played against each other by national or transnational entities, like corporations. This doesn't mean that it's impossible to regulate powerful entities within a federation – but it means that federal regulation needs to account for the risk of jurisdiction-shopping.

Enter the Digital Markets Act, a new Big Tech specific law that, among other things, bans monopoly app stores and payment processing, through which companies like Apple and Google have levied a 30% tax on the entire app market, while arrogating to themselves the right to decide which software their customers may run on their own devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/07/curatorial-vig/#app-tax

Apple has responded to this regulation with a gesture of contempt so naked and broad that it beggars belief. As Proton describes, Apple's DMA plan is the very definition of malicious compliance:

https://proton.me/blog/apple-dma-compliance-plan-trap

Recall that the DMA is intended to curtail monopoly software distribution through app stores and mobile platforms' insistence on using their payment processors, whose fees are sky-high. The law is intended to extinguish developer agreements that ban software creators from informing customers that they can get a better deal by initiating payments elsewhere, or by getting a service through the web instead of via an app.

In response, Apple, has instituted a junk fee it calls the "Core Technology Fee": EUR0.50/install for every installation over 1m. As Proton writes, as apps grow more popular, using third-party payment systems will grow less attractive. Apple has offered discounts on its eye-watering payment processing fees to a mere 20% for the first payment and 13% for renewals. Compare this with the normal – and far, far too high – payment processing fees the rest of the industry charges, which run 2-5%. On top of all this, Apple has lied about these new discounted rates, hiding a 3% "processing" fee in its headline figures.

As Proton explains, paying 17% fees and EUR0.50 for each subscriber's renewal makes most software businesses into money-losers. The only way to keep them afloat is to use Apple's old, default payment system. That choice is made more attractive by Apple's inclusion of a "scare screen" that warns you that demons will rend your soul for all eternity if you try to use an alternative payment scheme.

Apple defends this scare screen by saying that it will protect users from the intrinsic unreliability of third-party processors, but as Proton points out, there are plenty of giant corporations who get to use their own payment processors with their iOS apps, because Apple decided they were too big to fuck with. Somehow, Apple can let its customers spend money Uber, McDonald's, Airbnb, Doordash and Amazon without terrorizing them about existential security risks – but not mom-and-pop software vendors or publishers who don't want to hand 30% of their income over to a three-trillion-dollar company.

Apple has also reserved the right to cancel any alternative app store and nuke it from Apple customers' devices without warning, reason or liability. Those app stores also have to post a one-million euro line of credit in order to be considered for iOS. Given these terms, it's obvious that no one is going to offer a third-party app store for iOS and if they did, no one would list their apps in it.

The fuckery goes on and on. If an app developer opts into third-party payments, they can't use Apple's payment processing too – so any users who are scared off by the scare screen have no way to pay the app's creators. And once an app creator opts into third party payments, they can never go back – the decision is permanent.

Apple also reserves the right to change all of these policies later, for the worse ("I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it further" -D. Vader). They have warned developers that they might change the API for reporting external sales and revoke developers' right to use alternative app stores at its discretion, with no penalties if that screws the developer.

Apple's contempt extends beyond app marketplaces. The DMA also obliges Apple to open its platform to third party browsers and browser engines. Every browser on iOS is actually just Safari wrapped in a cosmetic skin, because Apple bans third-party browser-engines:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/13/kitbashed/#app-store-tax

But, as Mozilla puts it, Apple's plan for this is "as painful as possible":

https://www.theverge.com/2024/1/26/24052067/mozilla-apple-ios-browser-rules-firefox

For one thing, Apple will only allow European customers to run alternative browser engines. That means that Firefox will have to "build and maintain two separate browser implementations — a burden Apple themselves will not have to bear."

(One wonders how Apple will treat Americans living in the EU, whose Apple accounts still have US billing addresses – these people will still be entitled to the browser choice that Apple is grudgingly extending to Europeans.)

All of this sends a strong signal that Apple is planning to run the same playbook with the DMA that Google and Facebook used on the GDPR: ignore the law, use lawyerly bullshit to chaff regulators, and hope that European federalism has sufficiently deep cracks that it can hide in them when the enforcers come to call.

But Apple is about to get a nasty shock. For one thing, the DMA allows wronged parties to start their search for justice in the European federal court system – bypassing the Irish regulators and courts. For another, there is a global movement to check corporate power, and because the tech companies do the same kinds of fuckery in every territory, regulators are able to collaborate across borders to take them down.

Take Apple's app store monopoly. The best reference on this is the report published by the UK Competition and Markets Authority's Digital Markets Unit:

https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/media/63f61bc0d3bf7f62e8c34a02/Mobile_Ecosystems_Final_Report_amended_2.pdf

The devastating case that the DMU report was key to crafting the DMA – but it also inspired a US law aimed at forcing app markets open:

https://www.congress.gov/bill/117th-congress/senate-bill/2710

And a Japanese enforcement action:

https://asia.nikkei.com/Business/Technology/Japan-to-crack-down-on-Apple-and-Google-app-store-monopolies

And action in South Korea:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/skorea-considers-505-mln-fine-against-google-apple-over-app-market-practices-2023-10-06/

These enforcers gather for annual meetings – I spoke at one in London, convened by the Competition and Markets Authority – where they compare notes, form coalitions, and plan strategy:

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/cma-data-technology-and-analytics-conference-2022-registration-308678625077

This is where the savvying breaks down. Yes, Apple is big enough to run circles around Japan, or South Korea, or the UK. But when those countries join forces with the EU, the USA and other countries that are fed up to the eyeballs with Apple's bullshit, the company is in serious danger.

It's true that Apple has convinced a bunch of its customers that buying a phone from a multi-trillion-dollar corporation makes you a member of an oppressed religious minority:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

Some of those self-avowed members of the "Cult of Mac" are willing to take the company's pronouncements at face value and will dutifully repeat Apple's claims to be "protecting" its customers. But even that credulity has its breaking point – Apple can only poison the well so many times before people stop drinking from it. Remember when the company announced a miraculous reversal to its war on right to repair, later revealed to be a bald-faced lie?

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

Or when Apple claimed to be protecting phone users' privacy, which was also a lie?

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

The savvy will see Apple lying (again) and say, "this surprises you?" No, it doesn't surprise me, but it pisses me off – and I'm not the only one, and Apple's insulting lies are getting less effective by the day.

Image: Alex Popovkin, Bahia, Brazil from Brazil (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Annelid_worm,_Atlantic_forest,_northern_littoral_of_Bahia,_Brazil_%2816107326533%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

Hubertl (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2015-03-04_Elstar_%28apple%29_starting_putrefying_IMG_9761_bis_9772.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

596 notes · View notes

spdrvyn · 8 months

Text

worship — MIGUEL O'HARA DRABBLE

fluff. suggestive-ish. sorry i'm in a mood right now and i need a big, strong, tall, half irish half mexican fucked up spider-man to kiss my problems away

everyday is a hard day at work for miguel, however the universe really enjoyed testing him today. it was mission after mission, when he got home, he was on you instantly.

you were relaxing on the sofa, book in hand with your feet propped up on the coffee table when he came in through the window. you were ready to greet him with a warm smile and about to stand up to get whatever was leftover from dinner to give to him but he's faster, desperate as he pushes you back onto the cushions.

the book you've been reading has long been discarded, your legs tightly wrapped around his hips as he sucks the breath out of you with a burning kiss.

he started murmuring things to you, actually you didn't even know if he was talking to you. talking about how much he loved you, how he missed you, how he hungered all day for you like you weren't even there. under him with fresh marks blooming on your neck.

"so pretty, corazón." miguel mutters, his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips like you're going to slip from his grasp at any given moment. he hadn't bothered to even disengage his suit, take a shower first like he always does. no, he needs you now.

"miguel, wait—" you gasp into his mouth to take even the slightest break but he's shushing you before you could continue.

"i've waited long enough, don't you think?" he asks, but doesn't give you any room for answer before his lips move further down, past your neck and dangerously close to your chest.

"you have no idea how long," miguel's hands slip under your shirt pulling it up bit by bit as he continues to whisper sweet nothings against your body. "i've waited for this, for you."

the back of your hand flies to your mouth, biting on it to suppress a moan and miguel was not having any of it. "no hiding."

you gasp as he forces your wrist away, talons threatening to break out from the pads of his fingers.

"i want to hear how much you've needed me too."

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #x reader #miguel o'hara fluff #fluff #suggestive #i wrote this in a tgi fridays

552 notes · View notes

thespineoftherighteous · 2 years

Text

aftg show bloopers like

the scene where Neil throws the glass at Aaron (it's not glass glass, it's that softish, breakable material used in filmmaking that looks like glass) and Aaron's actor ducks too late so it hits him straight in the face. nobody moves for a second (they're still rolling) until Neil's actor moves toward him going "oh my god I'm so sorry" and everyone starts laughing and Aaron's actor is like I'm fine dw

Allison's actress tripping in her heels during what's supposed to be a badass entrance and she drags herself out to redo the take, cursing the shoes

so many bits of the cast just pretending to club each other over the head with their racquets

Coach's actor accidentally switches up a whole bunch of words while shooting one of his inspirational speeches. but he just keeps talking as though he didn't just passionately tell the kids to "get out on that floor and- court- show them how real a Fox floors- plays...after tonight they will- they will not ever discriminate- underestimate you again" and you can hear the Foxes' actors quietly break character one by one in the background

Andrew's actor pulling out a knife to threaten someone but then dropping it and jumping back from it

just. the monsters all piled in the car for a scene and they're all in the zone, waiting for "Action" to be called when something happens and they all crack up in sync

Andrew and Neil's actors on an actual roof, trying to shoot an Andreil Moment but an airplane flies over and they have to wait for it to pass because audio. so in the blooper these two guys are just standing very close to each other, Andrew's hand fisted in Neil's hoodie, staring up at the airplane urging it to get out of the way

in one scene Dan's actress kisses Matt on the cheek as a goodbye before she leaves the room, and right after she does Neil's actor jumps up to kiss his cheek too

they're shooting a night practice scene and Kevin's actor keeps missing the mark and it's just a bunch of two second clips of him on set of the court, groaning and swearing and oof-ing. after he misses the action for like the tenth time he just turns to make direct eye contact with the camera, his face comically blank

(in the background you can hear Neil's actor go "thank goodness for editing and all that magic, eh?")

Andrew's actor forgets his line during the scene where the Foxes meet the Ravens at the banquet. he gets to the "Jean. Jean Valjean" line and then completely blanks, going "Jean Valjean. hello Jean Valjean. I'm supposed to say something to you now Jean Valjean. i do not remember what"

the actors for Aaron, Kevin, Andrew and Nicky all being crammed onto that couch in the lounge the way the monsters actually do and falling asleep on each other in between takes

Neil's actor is British who speaks in an American accent but one time accidentally lets the accent slip during a scene where he uses the phrase "strongest goalkeeper". he cuts himself off and it's silent for a beat and then he softly repeats "goalkeeper" to himself in an exaggeratedly British accent and cracks everyone up. Kevin's actor, who himself naturally has an Irish accent, goes "this is South Carolina, love"

it's a night shoot and it's cold and Aaron's actor steals Andrew's actor's (his brother) scarf going "how come you get a scarf and i don't. Aaron is getting the scarf for this scene"

Kevin and Neil's actors doing a scene where they get all up in each other's faces. and then start leaning in too much and make as though they're going to start kissing

just a solid two minutes of Neil and Andrew's actors fighting bugs away from their faces throughout various rooftop scenes

Nicky's actor being the mf king of improvised one-liners (in true Nicky fashion) and just constantly causing EVERYONE to break cause his quips are so random

not really a blooper but they're behind the camera, waiting for something to be set up, and Renee's actress has an acoustic guitar and she and some of the others make up really bad jingles for all the characters

Dan's actress is most likely to fumble her lines or trip over her tongue and she always does like a weird dance to shake herself out

Aaron's actor looking straight into the camera with a shiner blooming over half his face due to a badly executed "fight" scene: let it be known. here on the set of All for the Game, i do my own stunts

(his brother in the background: you DORK. Aaron's actor: shut up or I'm telling Mom you punched me in the face)

Kevin's actor doing a scene (perhaps that one on the bus in tfc) where he's downing alcohol and he's expecting the director to call cut at a certain point or tell him when he can stop drinking but that doesn't happen so he just kind of confusedly chugs the whole bottle and then the director goes "you didn't need to do all that but we got it thanks" and Kevin's like ?? but Neil's actor, who's in the scene, is stood there with his eyebrows raised, very impressed, going "oh my god that was amazing"

Dan's actress slipping on a line and then banging her head against the chest of Matt's actor in frustration and he just rubs her back, grinning

not a blooper but Neil's actor recites the Riko roast flawlessly and as soon as they call "Cut" on it he gets a little sitting ovation from everyone. even Riko's actor is like yeah okay shutting the fuck up and leaving you alone now

Neil's actor actually struggling to get the seal off the ice cream container in that one scene. he fake-struggles with it for a few moments and then starts actually struggling and looks over to the production people and goes "the bloody thing is actually not coming off"

so many bloopers of various cast members having too much fun hitting others upside the head like they do in the books

Andrew's actor accidentally spilling the tray of drinks at Eden's

Allison's actress being the one who can make others break character without getting caught herself

Matt's actor being the one who makes everyone, including himself, break character but doesn't get in trouble because literally everyone is cracking up

however. when they get into Moods, especially during night shoots, and they have scenes together, Matt and Neil's actors are IMPOSSIBLE. to work together. they just cannot control themselves. everyone hates them

see also: Kevin and Matt's actors. Nicky and Allison's. terrible pairings for long days.

there's a scene with coach and the monsters and after like the fifth time they restart coach turns to look at the camera and pours himself a drink using the prop alcohol while going "parenting....is tough"

anyway. call this an au of an au

3K notes · View notes

slutforsilverfoxes · 1 year

Text

He's a God, He's a Man

[A/N: This… is filth. Absolutely shameless PWP (there’s a hint of plot for context of their relationship if you squint). Thomas Shelby could literally step on me and I would apologize for being in the path of his foot tbh.]

—————

Thomas Shelby is many things- ever intelligent, inexplicably cunning, unfathomably brave, sinfully wicked, and the luckiest son of a bitch in the Peaky Blinders to walk around with a spitfire of a woman on his arm every day and take her to bed every night.

“That’s enough outta you now!” Your sharp reprimand carries over the din of the tavern, piquing Tommy’s interest. Casually enjoying his first love, aged Irish whiskey, as the hopeful business associate before him prattles on about his prize-winning horse, Tommy subtly knocks twice on the wooden doors to the window hiding the private room from the remainder of the Garrison.

One of the barmaids eases the doors open so Tommy can get a view of what’s going on, ducking her head in deference when he waves her away, his use for her satisfied. A sleazy looking man with an even sleazier-looking shock of hair above his upper lip trails his fingers along your arm as you place a pint in front of him, and your raven-haired lover’s mouth sets into a hard line as he watches the scene unfold. You deflect yet another advance with a swipe of your hand and exaggerated eye roll, and Tommy returns his attention to the man before him, secure in the knowledge that you can handle yourself against the likes of that scum.

Until he hears lousy fuck and useless whore.

Excusing himself from his meeting, Tommy drains the remainder of his tumbler with an eerie calm and rises from the table, opening the door to the main room of the Garrison with the full intention of sending this man to meet his maker.

Your lover watches with rapt fascination as you emit a playful, two-toned whistle before a glint of metal flies from your hand, landing between two of the man’s splayed fingers on the bar top, a trickle of red oozing down the side of his middle finger where the knife Tommy gifted you for your anniversary has just grazed skin. “There’s only one man in this world who talks to me like that and you sure ain’t him, eh?”

He lewdly sucks on the bleeding finger before firing back, “Oh yeah? And who’s that, lovey?”

Leaning against the doorframe, Tommy loudly clears his throat to announce his presence as he lazily strikes a match, lighting the cigarette dangling between his lips and cocking his head in a silent challenge. His icy eyes are trained on the nuisance who won’t take no for an answer and you smirk to yourself, relishing in the power that radiates off of his lithe body. “Why, that would be one Mister Shelby,” you simper, “and he once killed a man for looking at his horse the wrong way. Imagine what he’d do to the likes of you.”

“Shelby? As in Thomas?”

“Ay, lovey,” you spit the term back in his face. “Don’t tell me you don’t know whose pub you’re in.” He swallows audibly and you carry on with a wicked grin. “If you want to walk out of here on your own two legs, I’d suggest leaving right about now.” As the alcohol-induced rose of his cheeks fades into a pallor of fear, you lean in and drop your voice. Tommy can’t hear your final comment, but his lips quirk into a smile at the sound of your warm laugh ringing out across the Garrison as the man topples off his stool in his haste to escape from your presence.

Flicking the match he was playing with to the floor, Tommy makes his way over to right the fallen seat before taking up the vacated spot, easing the knife out of the wood and tucking it back into your skirt pocket. “You enjoyed that a bit too much.”

“It would seem I’ve got a little Shelby in me now, eh?” You place two fingers of amber liquor before him, leaning against the bar top on your elbows and coyly glancing down at his lap. “I suppose little isn’t quite the right word, though.”

Tommy swipes a thumb over your bottom lip turned up in a wolfish smile, icy blue eyes crackling to life. “Careful, pet, or you’ll bring Arthur’s temper out.”

Leaning closer and letting your eyes drift closed as the heady scent of Tommy mixed with his signature smoke and whiskey envelops you, you ask, “How so?”

“Because,” your eyes snap open when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips against your skin, the pressure of his grip on your chin gentle yet possessive, “he’ll lose money if I kick everyone out of the pub to fuck you on this bar.”

Snagging the cigarette from between his lips, you take a long drag before sighing contentedly and replacing it in his mouth, his sharp gaze tracking your every move. “I’ll meet you in your office, Mister Shelby.”

______

You hear the telltale sounds of the office door creaking open then closing, followed by the familiar padding of Tommy’s footsteps leading him to his desk, fourteen unhurried paces. You don’t dare raise your head or disturb your position, on your knees, palms resting on your thighs, eyes cast downward. Tommy lets out a quiet hum as he cards his fingers through your hair when he walks by- a simple motion, but one that has your blood singing in your veins nonetheless. He shuffles some files around on the desk before settling into the leather chair with a soft groan, casually flipping through the morning paper as he lights another cigarette and the smell of smoke permeates the room.

You try to calm your breathing, to quell the excitement growing in your body at the thought of what’s to come. Out there in the real world, you’re all sharp edges and fiery comments; in here, in the sanctity of Tommy’s presence and his presence alone, you love to give yourself up completely. To let him think for you, to command you, to own your very mind, body, and soul. You live and love to serve him- he’s not just your man, he’s your god, and oh do you love to worship at his feet, to prostrate yourself before him, to pray to his visage.

He merely pats his thigh twice and your body comes alive, fueled by a primal urge to bask in the aura that is Thomas Shelby. You’re by his side in an instant, cheek pressed against the deliciously rigid muscle of his thigh as his fingers knead your scalp.

“Such a good little pet,” he murmurs softly, and your eyes close in contentment as you let out a happy sigh. His fingers suddenly tighten in your hair, yanking on the dark strands until you’re forced to meet his eyes, a hungry wolf gazing down upon his lamb, a reverent parishioner looking up to her deity. “Mine. And only mine.”

“Yes, sir,” you gasp out, but not from fear. You could never be afraid of him. “I belong to you, Tommy.”

He’s caressing your face now, the rough pads of his fingertips causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin that’s already humming from his touch. “Mm. And yet other men have the fucking audacity to touch what’s mine.”

“Maybe they don’t know I’m yours.”

His eyes flash with rage moments before you register his hand around the column of your throat, pulling you up to stand before him. “And just what the fuck does that mean, pet?”

“I only- mean-” You feel your legs growing weak from the lack of oxygen, and Tommy shifts his grip higher, thumb pressing into your cheek to pull you even closer. His breath fans across your face as he growls, “Spit it out, love.”

“I mean that you should mark me,” you whimper pathetically, what was once a dull ache between your thighs now an insistent throbbing. “Leave your fingerprints on my neck. Bite me hard enough to draw blood. Brand your fucking initials into my skin, Tommy.” You hurriedly unbutton your blouse and bare your unadulterated skin to him in offering. “I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” he smirks with a slight shake of his head, in awe of your complete and utter devotion to him.

And then he’s on you, pouncing like a hungry predator upon his prey, forcing his tongue past your lips as he undoes the fastenings on your skirt. You help him shimmy the fabric down your legs and rid yourself of your undergarments as well, desperate to feel his masterful hands roving your naked body. His fingers dance along your throat creating a roadmap that his lips follow. You let your head fall back with a whine, granting him access to nip at the soft flesh as you fumble with the buttons of his vest and then his shirt. Tommy pulls away from you to shrug his upper layers off, and you take advantage of the momentary reprieve from his sensual assault to trace the sun rays on his pectoral muscle with your tongue as the ink is revealed to you.

He releases a breathless chuckle when you moan at the taste of his skin and asks, “Ready to put that quick-witted mouth of yours to good use, my girl?”

Pressing a final kiss to his chest, you pull back and nod with a smile, legs parting instinctively when he eases you backwards to sit in his worn leather chair. You let your hand fall between your thighs to spread the wetness growing there with every passing moment in Tommy’s dominating presence, coupling a pout with an indignant whine when he takes his cock out and strokes it languidly just out of your reach. “Come closer,” you beg, saliva pooling in your mouth at the mere sight of him.

“Stop touching what’s mine, brat,” he orders, eyebrow cocked and gaze trained on your fingers as they slide between your glistening folds. You emit a huff before dropping your hands obediently to your sides, lips parted and tongue out in anticipation of your reward. Tommy praises you softly, then guides his cock inside your eagerly waiting mouth, placing his hand around your throat and pushing deeper until he can feel the substantial bulge against his palm. You moan and inadvertently swallow several times around him, the twin sensations causing Tommy to release a low groan that sets your nerves alight with unabashed lust.

Placing your hand over his, you tighten your grip suggestively and look up at Tommy from under your lashes. You earn yourself a sinister smile in response, and you shift your hands to the arms of his chair, an open invitation for him to do with you as he desires.

Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, his fingers on your throat expertly placing pressure on the points that have you seeing stars as his left hand tangles in your hair to guide your mouth along his cock. You moan with abandon as he mercilessly fucks your mouth, tears spilling over your waterline to match the drool slipping down your chin. The chair shifts back sharply, protesting Tommy’s frenzied pace, and you hook your fingers into his belt loops to try and steady your body. Looking up, you find the absolute picture of ecstasy, sweat-slicked strands of the brunette’s hair dancing across his forehead in time with the rocking of his hips, his supple bottom lip captured between his teeth just barely muffling his feral grunts. The distinct taste of his precum pervades your senses and a whimper escapes your lips that are stretched comically around his thick cock.

Tommy pulls back abruptly, and you whine his name in protest at the loss despite the stinging sensation in your lips. He admonishes you with a click of his teeth for the bratty sound, tightening his fingers around the column of your throat in a grip that’s sure to leave bruises, just as you requested. Using his free hand to uncurl your fingers from his belt loop, Tommy guides your hand to his throbbing cock. You immediately know what he wants, and a strangled curse falls past your lips. Applying pressure, you twist your hand along the length of him, feeling his cock twitch against your skin and closing your eyes seconds before his cum is coating your face. He releases your throat from his grasp and you fall back in the chair, darting your tongue out to wet your chapped lips and moaning at the taste of his release.

“Thank you, sir,” you offer in an utterly cock drunk haze with a demure smile. Tommy feels himself already growing hard again at the sight of your delicate fingers drawing his cum into your greedy mouth, your chest heaving, face flushed, and legs parted in invitation. He kneels to get on your level and you surge forward for a heated kiss, raking your nails along the shaved sides of his head before tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging sharply. He laughs at your eagerness, a low and dark sound that sends yet another wave of arousal shooting to your core.

“I’m sure you’ve left your mark now,” you speak between desperate kisses, moaning as he breaks away from your mouth to drag his nose along your burning skin. You cry out sharply when his teeth follow the same path, nipping and sucking down the hollow of your throat to the curve where your neck and shoulder meet.

“I’m not through with you yet,” he murmurs against your flushed skin before sinking his teeth into the sensitive spot. You throw your head back with a low groan at the prickling sensation followed by the soothing of his velvet tongue, wrapping your legs around his lower back and trapping him against your body. Tommy can feel the heat emanating from your center, and he mercifully slides his middle finger between your folds as he shifts to mark the blank canvas on the other side of your neck.

“Tommy!” You rock your hips against him, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit, absolutely desperate for release. He adds a second finger, expertly curling them in time with your movements and grinning wickedly at the sinful sounds he’s able to draw from you.

“Who do you belong to, love?”

“You,” you’re panting now, climbing higher by the second. “Only you. You own me.”

The pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves and the languid pace of his fingers is driving you wild in the most sensational of ways. He licks a stripe up your neck, collecting the sweat beading there before pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. His voice is deathly low when he growls, “Say my name. Who do you belong to, love?”

“Thomas,” you gasp as your orgasm washes over you in waves, your nails digging into his broad shoulders and legs shaking against his muscular back, using his body as an anchor to try and tether yourself to this world. “I belong to you, Thomas.”

“Good little whore,” he praises softly, making sure to hold eye contact with you while he licks his fingers clean. “Now,” he smirks as he tugs on your bottom lip and you dart your tongue out to brush against the pad of his thumb, “we’ll revisit this idea of branding another day, hm?”

You nod bashfully, and Tommy presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth before untangling your limbs from around his body. “Bend over the desk facing the door with your legs spread.”

Blinking hazily at him in your post-orgasm stupor, you shake your head, not comprehending his words. “What?”

He leans against the mantel, crossing one ankle over the other as he slides a cigarette out of the box from his pocket. Lifting one eyebrow at you as he casually strikes a match, he speaks around the stick between his lips. “You’re not going to like what happens if I have to repeat myself.”

You scramble to stand on your jellied legs, grateful for Tommy’s foresight to have the desk hold your body up. You tuck your fingertips over the smooth edge of the front of his desk, inhaling sharply as your bare breasts meet the cool wood when you fold in half. You hear Tommy groan softly as he sinks into his now vacated leather seat, and he easily kicks your feet apart to bare your body completely to him. You can feel his hungry gaze on you and the wisps of smoke wafting over your body with each controlled exhale from between his beautiful lips. Closing your eyes, you envision the way he balances the cigarette between lithe fingers, how the tip of his tongue meets the end of the stick before each drag, how his lips curl to clear the smoke from his lungs. Craning your neck to look at Tommy because the image in your brain pales in comparison to the man himself, you all but purr at the sight of him casually leaning back in his chair, one hand cradling a cigarette, the other lazily stroking his rock hard length. Saliva pools in your mouth, and you swear you can taste him on your tongue, feel the stretch of him filling you where you need him most.

His cigarette gradually dwindles until he’s forced to put it out. Still, he remains seated and silent, the very picture of dominance and self-control.

“Tommy,” you finally break the silence, the ache between your thighs having grown into an insistent throbbing, “I’m ready for that little bit of Shelby in me now.”

Instead of the heavy weight of his cock filling you as you’d hoped, you feel the sharp sting of the flat of Tommy’s hand against your pussy, the thick ring on his finger sending a jolt through your sensitive clit. You let out an indignant cry and try to rub your thighs together to alleviate the twinge of pain, growling in annoyance when you’re blocked by Tommy’s leg between yours.

“Little bit?” he mocks from his spot behind you, smoothing his hand threateningly over the globe of your ass. “Shall I get one of my brothers to fuck you, love?”

“My sincerest apologies, Mister Shelby,” you hiss over your shoulder. “I need your long, thick, perfect cock inside me. Please,” you’re quick to tack on.

“Better.” He presses a kiss to your delicate lips before cracking his hand against your flesh. You whimper at the duality of the sensations, desperate to feel his mouth on you again and excited to see the bright red imprint of his hand on your cheek tomorrow morning. The wooden legs of the chair squeak against the floor as Tommy stands abruptly, and you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance. “But next time without the attitude.”

You nod dumbly, overwhelmed by your need for him and ready to vocalize this very thought when a knock sounds at the office door.

“Enter,” Tommy calls, sheathing himself inside you with one sharp thrust as Arthur’s broad frame fills the doorway. Your jaw falls slack and your eyes roll back at the exquisite stretch, a strangled moan catching in your throat.

“You bastard,” the eldest Shelby laughs, “you’ve stolen everyone’s favorite barmaid during the rush of the afternoon.”

“She’s serving me quite well, Arthur,” Tommy cracks easily in response. With the way your man brags about you, you’re sure the three oldest Shelby brothers possess more knowledge about your most intimate bits than even you do, but still you feel your skin grow hot at Arthur having found you in such a compromising position. You try to tuck your face into your shoulder for even a modicum of modesty, but Tommy yanks on your hair and forces your head up as he maintains a steady rocking of his hips, pathetic mewls falling past your lips every time he bottoms out and your knuckles turning white from your tight grip on the desk.

“You realize,” Arthur starts with a wicked grin, “the door says Shelby Company Limited, don’t you, Tommy? And Johnny and I are very much part of this company.”

Tommy barks out a laugh that holds no humor. “You boys so much as lay a finger on my girl and you’ll be in the Cut before your next breath.” The low growl of his voice and his overt possessiveness has your walls fluttering around him, and Tommy folds over you to speak directly in your ear. “Tell him who you belong to.”

You lift your gaze to meet Arthur’s with a gleam in your eye as Tommy picks up his pace, forcing you to raise your voice over the lewd sound of his skin slapping against yours. “I belong to Tommy.”

He gathers your hair into a ponytail, using it as leverage to pound into you even harder and commands, “Louder.”

You barely register the door slamming shut as you clench around Tommy’s cock, his warm release painting your walls as your own juices flow down your thighs and you come undone with the declaration, “I belong to Thomas Shelby!”

He presses a line of gentle kisses along your spine while your body writhes beneath him in the aftershocks of your afternoon tryst. “That’s my girl,” he praises, tenderly stroking your hair. “That’s my good little girl.”

2K notes · View notes

thethirdromana · 6 months

Note

You have done cheeses. How about dessert.

Ooh, good idea.

See, the thing about Victorian food is that a lot of it sounds pretty unappealing from the vantage point of the 21st century. There were a lot of overboiled vegetables and stodgy meals designed to get you through winters with no central heating.

But Victorian desserts? Much more reliably delicious. So I can restrict myself to the desserts that these characters might actually have eaten. No tiramisu (1960s) or banoffee pie (1971).

Starting off with an easy one, RM Renfield is the traditional Scottish fruit slice (which I already highlighted in my food guide to Dracula) known as flies graveyard. I'm going to trust that one doesn't need any additional exploration.

Lucy Westenra is light (literally: "Lucy" means light), pretty, and appealing to small children. OK, admittedly the eater-eaten relationship goes the other way around with the small children vs Lucy-as-dessert, but I think it still works. She's a bombe glacée, a spherical ice-cream dessert that first appeared on restaurant menus in the 1880s.

I had a fun browse through Dutch desserts before I found the perfect one for Abraham van Helsing. He's the old man of the story, but he's still a little bit spicy and a little bit divisive - much like anise, which flavours Dutch oudewijvenkoek, or old wives' cake.

For Quincey Morris, there could only be one option. He's from Texas, y'all, he is obviously peach cobbler.

Continuing with the suitors, the obvious answer for Arthur Holmwood would be a dessert associated with wealth and privilege - perhaps Eton Mess, traditionally served at the annual cricket match between Eton and Harrow Schools, and first mentioned in print in 1893. But Eton Mess is a light, sweet, inconsequential sort of dessert and that just doesn't seem right for Arthur. Instead, I'd associate him with a rich, indulgent, traditional, solid plum pudding.

Jack Seward is in some ways the most modern of the suitors. Also the most highly strung. He's cherries jubilee, a brand-new dessert in 1897 as it was (probably) created that year for Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee. It's full of liqueur (suitably for Jack, who's full of chloral) and it gets flambéed at the table.

I have to admit that I struggled with Jonathan Harker. Maybe I just love him too much to caricature him, you know? But what I came down is that he needed to be a beloved treat, available on menus across the UK, not wildly expensive, not wildly luxurious. And also, Jonathan goes through a lot of trials and drinks a lot of tea in this novel. Jonathan is a toasted teacake.

As for Mina Harker née Murray, it seemed appropriate that she should be a similar sort of dessert to her husband. So he's a bun with dried fruit and she's a bread with dried fruit. Specifically, she's an Irish soda bread (since Murray is an Irish surname) that is known either as Spotted Dog or - more suitably for Mina - railway cake.

#dracula daily

293 notes · View notes

tathrin · 11 months

Text

Oh no help, why is my brain suddenly full of an RAF (or RFC) AU where Legolas is a pilot who gets the nickname “Greenleaf” because of how lightly and acrobatically he flies (and also he should probably be Irish or Scottish so the Brits can be derisive about his “more dangerous and less wise” people hmm? ooh or Indian! doesn’t really matter as long as he wears a lot of green so the nickname makes sense lmao) while Gimli was too short for the army but is a fucking amazing mechanic and basically single-handedly responsible for how amazing this unit’s planes are and how no matter how wrecked their planes are if they can get them back to base at all he can fix them, and Legolas fell in love basically the first time he saw Gimli work his miracles with that wrench and Gimli is not in love thank you, he is very very annoyed by this chipper pilot who keeps getting holes shot in his fucking wings and he definitely doesn’t like him at all and certainly doesn’t go out of his way to tinker with Legolas’s plane all the time and make sure it’s the absolute best machine in the air oh no nope definitely not dammit and he certainly doesn’t fret every time Legolas flies off into battle or comes back with his engine smoking again that fucker oh how Gimli loathes him! until one day he finally hops out of a just-barely-landed-successfully plane that is literally on fire Legolas what the fuck you idiot and oh and he stumbles what’s wrong oh no is he hurt oh no and Gimli runs over to help him up and instead they kiss right on the runway oh fuck—!

And the whole unit has been taking bets on this forever, so Commander Strider has to come break up the fistfight between Éowyn-who-definitely-isn’t-using-her-brother’s-ID-and-the-whole-unit-doesn’t-know-she’s-secretly-a-girl-NOPE and Boromir over who now owes whom money before Boromir’s little brother, the only one in the unit who hasn’t figured out that Éowyn is a girl yet, does something stupid trying to stop his brother fighting with “the fellow” he definitely doesn’t have a crush on Boromir please—!

Strider is so tired. He didn’t sign-up for herding idiots in love, he’s just trying to win the damn war, do you lads MIND???

Lord Mithrandir is sitting in his office watching the show from the window and laughing so hard, he fucking loves his deranged pilots so much. He has pulled so many blatant cover-ups for their hijinks, and everybody in high command knows that he’s tossing aside regulations left and right, but his units are the most successful pilots in the damn skies so nobody can do anything about it dammit. (He’s also definitely in cahoots with General Galadriel, who pulls his ass out of the fire every damn time somebody tries to bestow some kind of reprimand or punishment, and who gets regular “briefings” about his pilots that absolutely aren’t just gossip in disguise, and which she certainly doesn’t pass along to her granddaughter who’s engaged to Commander Strider, who definitely isn’t royalty in disguise, nope nope and also nope.)

455 notes · View notes

onefleshonepod · 2 years

Text

Strange Names in Nona the Ninth

Nona’s gang of kids, plus the Angel, all appear to have weird names because they are Nona’s transliterations of their names in their native languages into the language of the Nine Houses.

Hot Sauce nodded. Nona guessed again, “Born in the Morning.” “You mean Born in the Morning,” said Hot Sauce. “That’s what I said,” said Nona.

There are seventeen local languages (according to Ianthe) on New Rho. Nona can speak all of them, without really understanding what she’s doing, so she understands the names she hears and the meaning of these names to be synonymous.

Nona understood everybody, and could speak back to them so that they understood her, and nobody ever said she had an accent. This confounded Palamedes. When she first said that she could speak back by watching them talk and making her lips look like theirs, it confounded him so much more that it gave Camilla a headache.

(I think the same thing’s going on with The Building that Troia cell lives in; I think it’s a word in another language that means building and is used as an official name for the building, but I have no guesses as to what that could be.)

I believe Nona is able to do this both because she is Alecto, who plays the role of the Holy Spirit in Tamsyn's Catholic Trinity 2.0, and the Holy Spirit gave the Apostles the gift of tongues during Pentecost, and because she is the soul of Earth. The languages spoken on New Rho presumably came from Earth, so of course she can speak all of them!

This is my attempt to reverse engineer all of these names into House / English.

The Angel / The Messenger

BOE calls Aim "the Messenger" and the children and Nona call her "the Angel.”

We Suffer: “Usually you both meeting up with the Messenger, whom you call the Angel, would have been very bad.”

When the Angel first appears, her name is playing on the meaning of “angel” as a caring and godly being – the reader gets that it would make sense for children who love her to see her as an angel, so this remark flies under on the radar:

The Angel was what they called the nondescript, washed-out, dusty-haired personage who came to teach the Hour of Science. Why they called her the Angel was unclear.

But it is clear why they call her The Angel! It comes from a word with two meanings: the Greek word “angelos” originally meant “messenger” and later took on the meaning of “angel” or “messenger of God,” so all names originating from this word have both of those meanings.

Names originating from “angelos” include Angela (English, Spanish), Aniela (Polish), Aingeal (Irish), Anděla (Czech), Andjela (Serbian), Angèle (French), Angiola (Italian), Anzhela (Russian), and diminutives like Angelina.

The name is intended by BOE to mean Messenger, because of her societal role, but Nona is translating the other meaning of her name, Angel, because that meaning is what makes more sense to her given the way she sees and loves the Angel.

It's also possible that BOE has a more formal version of this name as a title for the Messenger and the children's "the Angel" which Nona hears as distinct from "the Messenger" is a diminutive or less formal version of the same name.

Born in the Morning

This name could be Sabah (Arabic), Akinyi (Luo from Kenya), or Asa (Japanese), all names which mean “morning” and more specifically “born in the morning.”

Honesty

This is a bit more difficult and I’m really not sure about any of these. There are quite a few boys' names meaning “honesty.” There are even more names that mean “honest” or “truthful,” but for strictly the noun “honesty” we have these names:

Pheakdei (Khmer, from Cambodia); Satyam, Onnesha, and Sachh (Hindi); Zaka and Sadaqat (Arabic); and Onestà or Onesto (Italian).

I don’t speak any of these languages, so I can’t comment on which name is most likely, and there are probably also way more possibilities that I missed in my deep dive into 457 baby name websites and dictionary translations!

Edit: I've seen "Frank" suggested a lot as a potential name, but I don't think this is likely, because "Honesty" is a noun, and "Frank" is an adjective. I think if Tamsyn intended the name to be a transliteration of "Frank" she would have used the adjective "Honest," not the noun "Honesty " – she doesn't seem the type to overlook something like that.

Beautiful Ruby

I think this name is probably just two names, in an unknown language, one meaning “beautiful” and one meaning “ruby.”

Unfortunately, there are millions of possibilities here and I can’t find any combination that particularly jumps out. If you have more thoughts on this please let me know!

Hot Sauce

Hot Sauce, of course – as a delightful choice that only serves to confuse the reader more with respect to all of these names – is literally just named Hot Sauce. You CAN put it on rice and you CAN put it on bread!!

#nona the ninth #ntnspoilers #ntn spoilers #nona the ninth spoilers #the angel #the messenger #aim #honesty #beautiful ruby #born in the morning #hot sauce #nona #edited to fix my misconception that lemuria and new rho are the same #ours

2K notes · View notes

sempersirens · 10 months

Text

a bird in your teeth, epilogue

masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: mentions of past trauma, ptsd, nightmares. so much fluff

a/n: a little palate cleanser. sun bleached flies joel is on the naughty step rn

December 24th, (five years later)

God only knows, what I'd be without you...

The TV turned black as the credits rolled, only the warm flickering lights from the Christmas tree left to illuminate the room.

You took a steady breath in through your nose and locked eyes with Sarah, both suppressing a laugh before simultaneously turning to finally face Joel, who had been trying to silently bite back small sobs for the past forty-five minutes.

"How you holding up, boys?" Sarah teased, lovingly.

"You girls are damn evil. Pickin' such an emotional film on Christmas Eve."

"It's heartwarming!" You interjected.

"My heart is feelin' a lot of things right now but warm ain't one of 'em." Tommy murmured, wiping his eyes with the back of his sweatshirt.

"I just can't believe neither of you had ever watched Love Actually."

"May 'swell have, the number of times I've seen you two watchin' it, all damn year round," Joel said.

"Keep talking like that, Miller, and I won't make you an Irish coffee." You warned, earning oooh's from Tommy and Sarah.

You pulled yourself off the sofa and moved to the kitchen, proving your threat entirely empty. As you pottered around the room, collecting all of the ingredients for the drinks, you listened to the noise of the three people you loved most in the world simply existing in the room next to you. The haze of their laughter mixed with the song still warbling through the TV was softened by the wall separating you, a honeyed prayer just for you.

Somehow, life kept moving after that night. Everything thereafter seemed to be measured in the passing of time. Four days for your lip to heal. Three weeks for you to return Daisy's calls. Seven months until you could stop taking the long route to pick Sarah up and drive down that street again. Two years for the panic attacks to stop, for good. Five years, and counting, for an uninterrupted night's sleep.

Two months passed before your tenancy was over, but you had woken beside Joel each morning nonetheless. Sometimes, before the others had risen for the day, you would creep down the stairs and pour yourself a cup of coffee, sit on the porch, and look at that house across the street. You would watch the lights slowly turn on, see the silhouette of life taking shape. A young family had taken over your lease, and it comforted you to know another life was being nurtured within those walls.

Neither you nor Joel had ever discussed what happened that morning in that apartment. And you didn't need to know; you were content with the understanding you both did what you needed to go on. Call it closure.

"What's goin' on in that head of yours, pretty girl?" You felt his chest pressing against your back, his arms leaning on either side of your body, entrapping you against the counter.

His face nuzzled in the curve of your neck, breath tickling your hair against your skin.

"Just wondering if you're on the nice list this year." You turned to face him, staring up through your lashes at the man you love.

"That so? We've got about," he checked his watch, "two hours until midnight. M'sure I can do enough to make it on each of your nice lists for the next twenty years."

"You're planning on keeping me around for that long? Maybe I'll have a love affair with a real cowboy." You teased.

"Good luck gettin' him to watch a Hugh Grant film with ya."

You rested your hands on his face, using your thumb to trace his cheek lightly.

"How did I get so lucky?" You smiled, shaking your head softly in disbelief.

There had always been a surplus of love inside you, even when you were little. Throughout your life, you had poured it into the wrong people, time and time again. Belittled, taken for granted, chastised. Even though the love remained, you had grown to fear it. It would be like riding an escalator and instinctively grabbing the handrail, but being zapped by an electric shock. Each time thereafter, your hand would hesitate in reaching for the supportive grip. Sometimes it would tentatively hover above, trying to gage the sting of electricity a few millimetres away.

But loving Joel came so easy. Everything about him made you want to tear yourself open and offer him everything you had, everything you ever had been, and all you ever would be. You would wake in the night simply craving the feeling of his skin against yours. And every single time you reached out to him, even in his sleep, he would pull you in.

From the other room, an old Christmas song hummed through the walls.

Merry Christmas, baby / Sure did treat me nice...

"I should be the one askin' that question, darlin'." His right hand flexed in and out of a tight fist, the same way it did when he felt a bout of anxiety rise in his chest.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" You asked, concern digging itself into the furrow of your brows.

"I'm no good at this, you know that."

"No good at what, Joel?"

He pulled away from you slightly, lowering himself onto one knee, suppressing the groan you knew he desperately wanted to release at the tightness of his back and knees.

"My sweet girl, I will never understand why y'picked me. Out of all the men in this damn world, even Hugh Grant, I get to be the one who calls you mine."

"Joel..."

"I don't know much, but I know that I need t'spend the rest of my life by your side. And I need you by mine. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?"

"Oh my god, yes! Of course, I will, Joel."

Joel slipped the ring he had presented from a small box in his back pocket onto your finger. His smile showed off the creases by his eyes that you often wished you could dive into and engulf yourself in each feeling that caused them to deepen.

"Get up, you idiot. Your poor back. I don't want to be pushing you around in a wheelchair just yet." You laughed into his kiss, your bodies merging together like it was all they had ever been made to do.

"Can we come in yet?" Sarah called from around the corner.

"Yes! Come in, both of you." You replied, cheeks wet and aching from the smile etched into your face.

"No chance of those Irish coffees, I guess?" Tommy smirked, you softly clipped him round the back of the head before suffocating him into a hug. "Welcome to the family, Mrs Miller."

Merry Christmas, honey / Everything here is beautiful, I love you, baby / For everything that you give me.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #my fic #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #a bird in your teeth #a bird in your teeth fic #dee writes

230 notes · View notes

mads-nixon · 5 months

Text

100th Bomber Boys: Major John 'Bucky' Egan

Here is a little bit about Major John 'Bucky' Egan (played by Callum Turner) from the prologue of Masters of the Air by Donald L. Miller (pg. 3, 7-8)!

John Egan was commander of a squadron of B-17 Flying Fortresses, one of the most fearsome killing machines in the world at that time. He was a bomber boy; destruction was his occupation. And like most other bomber crewmen, he went about his work without a quiver of conscience, convinced he was fighting for a noble cause. He also killed in order not to be killed. Egan had been flying combat missions for five months in the most dangerous air theater of the war, the "Big Leagues," the men called it; and this was his first extended leave from the fight although it hardly felt like a reprieve. That night, the German air force, the Luftwaffe, plastered the city, setting off fires all around his hotel. It was his first time under the bombs and he found it impossible to sleep, with the screaming sirens and the thundering concussions. Egan was attached to the Eighth Air Force, a bomber command formed at Savannah Army Air Base in Georgia in the month after Pearl Harbor to deliver America's first blow against the Nazi homeland. From its unpromising beginnings, it was fast becoming one of the greatest striking forces in history. Egan had arrived in England in the spring of 1943, a year after the first men and machines of the Eighth had begun occupying bases handed over to them by the RAF-the Royal Air Force-whose bombers had been hammering German cities since 1940. Each numbered Bombardment Group (BG)-his was the 100th-was made up of four squadrons of eight to twelve four-engine bombers, called "heavies," and occupied its own air station, either in East Anglia or the Midlands, directly north of London, around the town of Bedford.

pg. 7-8

As commander of the Hundredth's 418th Squadron, Johnny Egan flew with his men on all the tough missions. When his boys went into danger, he wanted to face it with them. "Anyone who flies operationally is crazy," Egan confided to Sgt. Saul Levitt, a radioman in his squadron who was later injured in a base accident and transferred to the staff of Yank magazine, an army publication. "And then," says Levitt, "he proceeded to be crazy and fly operationally. And no milk runs..." When his "boy-men," as Egan called them, went down in flaming planes, he wrote home to their wives and mothers. "These were not file letters," Levitt remembered. "It was the Major's idea they should be written in long-hand to indicate a personal touch, and there are no copies of these letters. He never said anything much about that. The letters were between him and the families involved." Major Egan was short and skinny as a stick, barely 140 pounds, with thick black hair, combed into a pompadour, black eyes, and a pencil-thin mustache. His trademarks were a white fleece-lined flying jacket and an idiomatic manner of speaking, a street-wise style borrowed from writer Damon Runyon. At twenty-seven, he was one of the "ancients" of the outfit, but "I can out-drink any of you children,'" he would tease the fresh-faced members of his squadron. On nights that he wasn't scheduled to fly the next day, he would jump into a jeep and head for his "local," where he'd gather at the bar with a gang of Irish laborers and sing ballads until the taps ran dry or the tired publican tossed them out."

In Master's of the Air, Major John Egan is sometimes called, "Bucky," "Honest John," and "Johnny." The men of his squadrons loved his leadership style, which was leading by example, as seen in the excerpt above.

John Archer, a long-time British friend of the 100th & its veterans, described Egan in his story, One Man and His Dog:

"The Major was a lean, dark young man with a wisp of moustache. He was 27, but looked older. He could turn on the charm and turn it off whenever he liked. It’s the kind of thing one experiences in foreman of construction gangs and traffic managers at airports, in jobs where contact and participation with the men is the prime factor." Major Egan was involved in the case of “Meatball vs the Pullet” a few days before he went down on a raid over Germany. Now Meatball was a half-grown husky dog which the crew of the B-17 brought over from Labrador on their way to Thorpe Abbotts during the summer of 1943. It seemed that Meatball was a bad dog, and all of a sudden turned into a chicken killer. And when did he decide to become a chicken killer? At a time when the personnel were involved in the toughest flying missions the group had yet undertaken. Deep raids as far as Danzig against desperate opposition. And in this tense atmosphere Meatball got playful one morning and mangled a chicken dead. The nearby farmer went bustling up to the orderly room to see the Major. Major Egan was sitting in with his pilots having an informal briefing with the men about new tactics in aerial combat. It was the afternoon following a raid on Emden, October 3, 1943. The farmer from down the road described “a light brown dog” that had killed a pullet. “Light brown. That’s Meatball, all right,” said the Major. “And you say he got a pullet?” asked the Major sympathetically. “Well, a pullet is pretty important, isn’t it?” “It is,” said the farmer, calming down by this time. Where did you ever hear of a Major who knew anything about pullets, and what is more, who would talk about loss sympathetically in the middle of a grim military operation? Clearly the Major was now pulling out the charm act. He could, of course, have turned the whole matter of Meatball, pullet and payment over to the Adjutant. But the affair seemed right down the Major’s alley. All the new crews who had just arrived at Thorpe Abbotts were by that time listening with amazement. “That pullet, did she look like a layer?” asked the Major. You could see by his face that he was rather tired, after all, it was only an hour or so since the raid was over. “She did, Sir, for a fact,” said the farmer.

“Well, what would you say she’s worth?” asked the Major. “Twenty bob,” said the farmer. “All right,” said the Major. “I think that’s a pretty reasonable sum for a good pullet, don’t you?” he inquired looking around at the crews who flew the big bombers. They looked at him quite dumbfounded, not quite figuring it out, and wondering who was pulling whose leg. And the Major was aware he had everyone right there in front of him. He was the actor and the rest were the audience. The farmer had departed by this time, very pleased, and the Major was rocking back and forth on his chair and looking around. And from the subject of the Germans using rockets and guns, the conversation was not on pullets. One of the young officers piped up and remarked, “A pullet, isn’t that some kind of… a rooster… like…” The Major glared at him and the officer’s face grew red. By now the class was sitting quite quietly. “A pullet,” said the Major patiently, “is a half-grown female chicken which lays a small egg with a very small yolk.” And he showed them just how big with his fingers. “Then,” continued the Major, “the machinery inside the pullet goes to work and all of a sudden – one fine day it lays an egg twice as big as the usual and it is no longer a pullet.” The briefing closed at that point. A few days later, Major Egan said goodbye for the last time to Meatball before climbing into his B-17. On October 10th, during a raid on Munster, the Major became a guest of the German forces, spending the rest of the war in a prison camp.

There was a certain pub in Dickleburgh that missed Major Egan. Sometimes he drove down in a jeep and sang songs in the bar with the locals and Irish laborers. With the affair of Meatball and the pullet, and the grim task of flying missions, Major Egan rounds out into a real example of an American who once walked the lonely lanes at Thorpe Abbotts. Egan served as Air Exec for the 100th, as Commander of the 418th Squadron, and on the Munster raid flew as Command Pilot on John Brady’s lead crew. After being shot down, all but one of Brady’s crew survived as POWs. (you can find more about this story here)

Egan was best friends with fellow 100th Bomb Group squadron commander, Maj. Gale "Buck" Cleven, whom he went to flight school with back in the States. The pair were roommates back in training, and little did they know they'd be roommates once again when they became German POWs in October of 1943. Buck after getting shot down over Bremen, and Egan in a retaliatory raid to get back at the Germans after they shot down his friend.

Egan was leaving for his first leave to London from Thorpe-Abbotts on October 8th when Buck Cleven and the rest of the 13th Combat Wing took off for Bremen. The next morning over breakfast, Egan saw the London Times headline: Eighth Air Force Loses 30 Fortresses Over Bremen," and sprang out of his chair to a phone. Due to wartime security, he had to speak in code.

Masters of the Air, pg. 10:

"How did the game go," he asked. Cleven had gone down swinging, he was told. Silence. Pulling himself together, Egan asked, "Does the team have a game scheduled for tomorrow?" "Yes," came the reply. "I want to pitch." He was back at Thorpe Abbotts that afternoon in time to "sweat out" a long mission the group flew to Marienburg, a combat strike led by the Hundredth's Commander, Col. Neil B. "Chick" Harding, a former West Point football hero. As soon as the squadrons returned, Egan got Harding's permission to lead the Hundredth's formation on the next day's mission.

This mission was set for Münster, just southwest of Bremen where Buck was shot down. Egan flew with Captain John D. Brady on the M’lle Zig Zig to Münster, and the heavy, along with all other planes but Royal Flush (Rosenthal's replacement B-17) in the 100th went down over the target. The crew of the M'lle Zig Zig bailed, parachuting through the flack-filled air. Hambone Hamilton was among the 'Zig's crew, and suffered multiple wounds from shrapnel. When found by Germans, he was taken to the hospital and stayed there recovering for a good while.

Egan, unlike the rest of the 'Zig's crew, was able to evade capture a few days before finally being taken prisoner. The aviators were first sent to Dulag Luft, the Luftwaffe's POW transit center. Egan and the other officers were kept separate from their men in cold and flea-infested solitary cells. Egan and Cleven were just a few cells apart, but neither knew the other was there. After a few weeks, Cleven and the men who were brought in with him were sent to Stalag Luft III, another POW camp just outside the town of Sagan, some 300 miles from their previous location. They were transported by train cars used for livestock, and they reported that "the smell of manure was overwhelming (Miller, 2007, pg. 23)." The trip took them three days. Three days after Cleven got to Stalag Luft III, Egan and his men arrived.

Masters of the Air, pg. 23:

Cleven watched them file into a neighboring stockade. Spotting Johnny Egan, he called out to him, "What the hell took you so long?" "Well, that's what you get for being sentimental," Egan shouted back.

Both Egan and Cleven remained POWs until the end of the war. Cleven, however, managed to escape on a march in 1945. The pair remained good friends until John's death from a sudden heart attack in 1961. Egan served as Buck's best man in his wedding when he married his sweetheart Marge in 1945 once they returned home.

John married his own sweetheart, Lt Josephine "Doty" Pitz (WASP) in late 1945. They had two beautiful daughters together.

tag list: @lena-basilone @luckynumber4

let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!!

#masters of the air #this is for everyone who doesn't have access to the book but wants more info on the guys!!!#major john egan #100 bombardment group #bloody hundredth #major gale cleven #donald miller #mota #hbo war #hbowar #callum turner #austin butler

105 notes · View notes

toournextadventure · 1 year

Text

everyone but her pt.16

Summary: Your birthday and graduation roll around at the same time. Despite your best efforts, Wednesday still finds out about your plans for both and offers to spend your birthday with you. She learns a lot more than she was ever prepared for.

Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: panic attack (flashbacks, freaking out, very slight blood mention, mention of abandonment), swearing, extremely awkward interactions (it deserves a warning) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn

Summer was quickly approaching by the time anyone had thought to bring up graduation. Truthfully, Yoko had completely forgotten it was your senior year; how time flies. It wasn’t like you were going anywhere anyway, it wasn’t an important piece of information. You were still going to be at Nevermore to annoy them until everyone was ready to leave, it wasn’t rocket science.

Though apparently no one else seemed to know that.

“Have you decided on a college yet?” Enid asked when you and Wednesday finally sat down at the table. It was nice to see you both finally acting a little more like a normal couple. If Yoko had been forced to listen to you gripe and complain about it one more time, she would’ve killed you.

You looked over at Wednesday with an expectant face, wanting to hear the answer yourself. Yoko nearly reached across the table to slap you, sometimes you were so stupid. She loved you, she would die for you, but sometimes you were just… you were too clueless for your own good.

“She means you, dumbass,” Yoko clarified, throwing a blackberry at you to catch your attention.

“Me?” You asked, eyes wide.

“Yes you,” Divina said with a smile, “you’re the only one graduating this year.”

“You think I’m going to college?” You asked incredulously. “Me? Have you seen my GPA?”

“You haven’t even applied?” Wednesday asked with the same amount of incredulity. “You’re not going anywhere?”

“Why? Trying to get rid of me?” You asked with a pointed look and side smile that, to any outsider, would have been teasing.

But Yoko knew better. She saw the crinkle by your eye, the knit of your brow, the way your deft fingers managed to pick a blackberry apart seed by seed. It was as if, suddenly, you were brought back to being nine years old again. An ache settled in her chest as she fought the urge to grab your hand to stop you from eventually picking at your own fingers once the blackberry was decimated.

“So you’re staying with us?” Enid asked.

“Absolutely,” you said with a turn of your head and a slightly more genuine excitement, “you’re stuck with me for another year.”

Everyone started talking, going on about all of their summer plans, but Yoko’s eyes were on you. There was still the slightest crinkle between your brows and you were now, as predicted, picking at your own fingers instead of the nonexistent blackberry. You laughed at the right times, looked at whoever was talking, and nodded when appropriate.

All Yoko could think about was how Wednesday needed to learn. It was well known that she was inept in noticing your tells, but she needed to learn. If she was going to stick around - which Yoko hoped she would - then she would need a crash course. No, it wasn’t completely her fault, you were rather conspicuous, but at the end of the day it didn’t matter.

The air seemed to clear now that everyone knew you were sticking around, which was rather shocking to Yoko. How had no one picked up on the fact that you weren’t going anywhere? You hadn’t been trying to hide it. Had you? No, there was no way, you had told her your plans so surely you had told your girlfriend. But she could see the relaxed set of Wednesday’s shoulders and figured that no, apparently no one else had known.

Thanks to the end of the year rolling by faster than anyone was prepared for, Yoko didn’t have any time to talk to you until the week before your birthday. The sun was setting, you had already picked up the pizza, and she had chosen the perfect spot by the lake. Enid, Divina, and Wednesday would be out at the drive-in for the rest of the evening so there was no chance of interruption. The perfect opportunity to get to talk to you with no barriers.

No offense to the girlfriends, of course.

"Here ya go," you said as you unceremoniously dropped the two pizza boxes onto the blanket, "one supreme and one… whatever the hell you eat."

"Don't give me that shit," Yoko said with a roll of her eyes. You plopped yourself down and opened one of the boxes. "A Margherita is classy."

"You just like it cause you're old," you said around the obscene mouthful of food. "I mean, what are you now? 90?"

Satisfaction filled her heart when her foot connected with your side. You groaned and doubled over as the laughter left her mouth. She was so busy laughing that she didn't catch you before you retaliated and elbowed her back. Obviously not with your full strength, but you had expert precision. The laughter died down and you both started eating again.

"Oh," you said after Yoko had finished off a slice, "that one has a bit of garlic, hope you don't mind."

She froze mid-bite, her eyes darting over to you. You weren't even looking at her, just completely focused on scarfing down your fourth piece. Surely you were joking, right? She knew you had your moments but you weren't actually serious. Right?

"You did not," Yoko whispered.

"What?" You asked, finally turning to look at her with furrowed brows and a pout. "What's wrong?"

No. No you did not.

"Are you fucking serious?" She asked.

"What's the big deal?" You shot back.

"You absolute dumbass, you know I'm-" she stopped herself short when your smile finally broke through. "You jackass." She elbowed you again as your laughter echoed off the water of the lake. "It's not funny."

"It's a little funny," you mumbled more to yourself than to her.

It was nice to hear you laugh again. Not that Wednesday didn't make you happy, because she very much did. But the goth girl certainly didn't have the same sense of humor as everyone else. To hear you laugh and see such a carefree smile on your face again? It warmed her dead heart.

You both sat there, eating the pizza and talking. About everything, about nothing. How the family was faring with the end of the school year, if Nicky had made any improvements, all about everyone's girlfriends. Teases were thrown left and right whenever the other would get soft, immediately hardening you both up. At least in jest.

Yoko had missed you. She had missed your calming presence and everything that came with it. The hypnotizing flap of your wings or the incessant humming whenever it got quiet. Your warmth when you wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. The way you smelled of chalk and coffee and dirt, but it was home. You were home.

"Is everyone coming up for graduation?" Yoko asked after you had both laid down to look up at the stars. She could feel the feathers of your wing brush against her arm. It almost tickled.

"Nah," you said softly. "No, I'm not walking."

"Why not?"

There was a beat of silence that seemed to stretch on for hours. Please tell me the truth, Yoko thought the longer it took for you to answer. You had gone months without telling her anything; she knew you were bound to break soon. Please. She just wanted you to speak openly.

"Nicky never got to walk." Your voice was so painfully quiet. "And he worked much harder for it." The silence following your words was almost too much to bear. "Why should I walk when he couldn't."

It wasn't even a rhetorical question; it wasn't a question at all. It dug at the truth behind your recent actions and temperament. At the reasoning behind your glassy eyes and dissociating during classes or meals. Your slacking off with work and studies and even hanging out with everyone.

Yoko had watched you pull away and had said nothing. After all, what could she say? She had watched you grow up, had been there with you through it all. What could she tell you now that she hadn't already said? Nothing, she thought, nothing at all.

"He would want you to walk," she said instead.

"He would've walked today." Yoko stayed silent at your instant change of topic. "I, uh… I looked up the commencement date for UVA." You sniffle from your spot beside her. "He would've gotten his bachelor's today."

Yoko kept her mouth shut. She knew if she said anything, it would derail your thoughts and you would try to shake it off like you so often did. No, she kept silent. But she reached her hand across the small expanse between you and grabbed your hand. The way you squeezed it tightly told her everything.

"I watched the livestream," you continued. "Watched until they would've called his name." Another sniffle. "But they didn't call it." Your voice sounded watery. "Everyone just kept going."

She could hear the tears in your voice, and she debated turning to look at you. But if she looked at you and saw those puffy red eyes and your quivering lip, she wouldn't be able to be strong for you. A comforting squeeze of her hand would have to suffice for the moment.

"I'm tired, Yoko," you said in a voice so fragile that Yoko felt even breathing too hard would break you.

She still said nothing. What words could ease that debilitating ache in your chest that you kept to yourself? Nothing could ease it, she knew. But I can try, she thought as she turned to her side and pulled you close. You were far too big to be the little spoon, but you gripped her hands and nestled in closer to her and for a moment, just a moment, she felt some of that tension release itself.

The grip you had on her was almost painful; you didn’t bother holding back and she didn’t want you to. It grounded you, she knew, and that was what you needed. If she focused, she could feel your heart racing under her hands, the ones you had tucked underneath your chin. Every now and then a wing would twitch and the feathers would tickle her nose, but she would be damned if she sneezed and stopped your moment.

When your breathing evened out and she could hear the softest of snores, she let her mind start to wander. Much like Wednesday, you weren't one to voice your feelings. Hell, even if they did appear you managed to shove them right back down. But you needed physical comfort on nights like this, where you were stuck in your head and nothing could get through to you.

Yoko decided then that she would have to teach Wednesday how to comfort you. And that was probably the most terrifying thought she had ever had in her long life.

—---

You weren’t in school. She had kissed you once yesterday after class before her date with Enid. See you in class tomorrow, she had said, and you had agreed with a nod, a smile, and an exasperated go find Enid. But now it was tomorrow, and you both had Chemistry first period, and you weren’t there.

Bold faced liar.

It felt like there was a void in the class where normally you had resided. The incessant sound of you doodling pictures on the margins of her papers was missing along with the occasional knock of your leg against hers. She didn’t hear you sigh when you got yet another question wrong on the assignment. There was no whining plea for help after staring at your paper for too long without making a single note.

Even if she wouldn’t admit she missed you, she certainly missed your presence.

“Yoko,” Wednesday called out once class was over and everyone was making their way out of the room. “Have you seen Y/N?”

“You noticed quicker than I thought,” Yoko said with a closed-mouth smile. “She always ditches on her birthday.”

Birthday? You had never told her it was your birthday. She knew she didn’t really celebrate anymore, but surely you did. It was a common occurrence for most people, was it not? Why hadn’t you told her? She would have tried to plan something. With Enid’s help, of course.

“Finals are in two days.” Wednesday said simply.

“I don’t know what to tell you-”

“-Where is she?”

Yoko sighed and looked away into the courtyard. This was one of the times Wednesday despised the use of those blackout sunglasses. How was she going to know what Yoko was thinking if she couldn’t see her eyes? It was inconsiderate, if nothing else.

"Yoko," Wednesday said with a little more urgency.

"Okay, fine, jeez," Yoko huffed. "She's out at Moose Mountain."

"What's she doing there?" Wednesday asked. She was getting nowhere with Yoko's partial answers. "She needs to be studying."

"She goes every birthday," Yoko said. There was a bit of hesitation in her words and Wednesday definitely saw her switch weight between legs.

"Is she okay?" Wednesday asked softly. Far too soft since Yoko was the audience. But there was something in the way Yoko was acting that set her on edge.

"She-," Yoko sighed and looked away again. Clear signs of uncertainty. She was horrible at keeping a poker face. "Do you plan on sticking around?" She asked, turning to face Wednesday once again.

All that uncertainty in Yoko's voice was gone, replaced with something else. Wednesday usually prided herself on being ahead of the conversation, but this was admittedly a surprise. She couldn't place Yoko's body language into any one category of emotion. She really needed to practice reading emotions again with Enid. Maybe this weekend.

"I don't understand," Wednesday admitted. Because she didn't. What did that question even mean? Why are people so cryptic nowadays?

"I'm not exposing Y/N if you don't plan on sticking around," Yoko said, and Wednesday's body tensed. "It's not a proposal," she corrected, "but if you're dumping her within a year then I'm not filling you in."

Did Wednesday plan on getting rid of you? Admittedly the thought hadn't ever crossed her mind, not seriously at least. Sure, she had considered it whenever you teased her or acted like a reckless fool. But had she ever genuinely considered it? Could she where consider it?

It's too soon, she thought as she subconsciously blinked rapidly before regaining her composure. She couldn't come up with an answer to that question right on the spot, not without any consideration into the matter. Though, she would admit that the thought of not having you around, even as a friend, forced an uneasiness to settle in her stomach.

"I will be staying," Wednesday said. With how soft her words were, it was almost as if she was trying to convince herself instead of Yoko, who let out a deep, extended sigh.

"Then come on," Yoko said with a gesture of her head. "If we leave now, we can catch her."

Yoko took off without waiting, and Wednesday considered for a moment to not follow. But her curiosity was piqued and she couldn't just stay at Nevermore when she had the opportunity to find out more. With no concern for her own finals in two days, she followed after Yoko until they got to a car, which Yoko quickly got into the driver's side of.

She couldn't remember a time she had been in a car with anyone that wasn't adult. Sure, Yoko was more than qualified to be an adult, but that was simply semantics. It was almost unsettling, and for a moment Wednesday wondered if this was how you felt whenever you got into a car. The anxiety around someone else's driving, or the other cars that you had no control over.

It certainly made it a little easier to understand your perspective.

Neither of them talked the entire three hours of the drive. The only noise came from the car itself or the music humming through the radio. Unusual songs, Wednesday would think with each new piece, but she kept it to herself. She had learned from you that good music was subjective. Her opinion was still superior, but she could keep her mouth shut.

The car pulled to a slow stop at one of the rests on the mountain. No one was around, but Wednesday could see the cliff's edge from where the car was parked. A tall figure stood precariously at the edge, head leaned back and wings stretched just enough to catch the wind as the sun illuminated each individual feather.

"Don't bring up her birthday," Yoko said softly as Wednesday stepped out of the car. "And be gentle."

Gentle. Wednesday could be gentle, right? How difficult could it truly be. She knew how sensitive you could be, she knew how to avoid upsetting you. For the most part. But she wasn’t feeling too confident now that Yoko was emphasising it. What if she couldn’t be as gentle as she thought? She wasn’t necessarily good at it but she was getting better.

Her thoughts were still running wild by the time she finally stood beside you. The scenery was the last thing on her mind as she looked up at you; you with your sturdy stance and your hands shoved into your shorts pockets. Your eyes were closed and the sun shone on your face. What were you thinking? You looked so serene, aside from the downturn of your lips.

“It’s a nice day,” you said softly. Ah, so you had noticed her presence.

“I know,” Wednesday said, matching your tone, “it’s rather tragic.”

The downturn of your lips reversed, and finally, slowly your eyes pried themselves open. They sparkled in the sun, Wednesday noted. Did you know that they refracted the light like a prism when you turned to look down at her? Were you aware that you could hold anyone in your gaze if you simply gave them that little smile?

“Yoko still in the car?” You asked.

“Yes,” she answered. You pursed your lips and nodded slowly to yourself and looked back out to the mountain range.

“She tell you anything?” There was a shake to your voice. Something Wednesday normally wouldn’t pick up, yet she always managed to pick it up with you.

“No,” she said softly.

“Dont-,” you stopped and took a deep breath in. For a moment, only a moment, Wednesday thought she saw your bottom lip quiver. “Don’t look at me while I talk.”

But what if she wanted to look at you? What if she wanted to study you, watch all your facial expressions as you talked about… whatever it was you were going to talk about. She wanted to watch so she could know the exact moment you broke; because it was clear you were going to break, she could see it in the shimmer of your eyes that hadn’t been there before and the overly tensed muscles in your legs.

If you broke, when you broke, she wanted to know. Maybe she could help.

Be gentle, Yoko’s voice echoed in her head, and Wednesday dutifully turned to finally look out at the scenery. It truly was beautiful, no matter how much she wanted to wish it was a little more gloomy. In the distance she could see a few eagles flying high over the lush green trees that littered the mountainside. Just below she could hear rushing water; was it a waterfall? Or simply a river? Had you been down there to discover its secrets?

“I forced Nicky to bring me here for my 14th birthday,” you said so quietly that Wednesday almost couldn’t hear you over the sound of the wind and surrounding nature. “We camped right down there,” you pointed to a spot below the cliff’s edge, “and then spent my actual birthday just sitting up here.”

Your feathers twitched and brushed against her arm. Even through her clothes she could feel it and it almost tickled. She heard a sniffle from where you were standing and wanted to turn, but your words rang loud and clear in her mind. Don’t look. Even though she wanted to check on you, she equally wanted to hear what you were going to say.

“Every year, I camp up here the night before my birthday,” you continued. She heard another sniffle, heard the quiver in your voice when you said the word “birthday.” Did you know how devastated you sounded? “And then spend the rest of the day with Nicky.” Please let her look at you. “It’s tradition.”

Your voice broke there at the end, and Wednesday realised that oh. Oh, she didn’t have to look at you to know the exact moment you broke. Maybe it was the fact that she spent so much time with you now, but for one of the first times, she could hear the difference. Could hear the waver in your voice before breaking at the end and you stopped yourself from saying anything else.

She didn’t know what to do. Admittedly she was getting better, but she still didn’t know how to handle other people’s emotions, especially not the negative ones. But she knew two things; you were sad, and Enid had told her that most people prefer physical comfort.

I can try physical comfort, Wednesday thought as she made the bold decision to reach over and grab the hand you had yet to put back in your pocket. Usually unbearably warm (almost as warm as Enid), your hand was now cold. Cold and shaking and gripping her own hand so tightly that it hurt.

You both stood like that at the edge of the cliff; your hand squeezing all the blood out of hers, yet she wouldn’t dare pull away. Not when this was the most she had ever gotten out of you. She didn’t understand everything, couldn’t put all the pieces together, but the picture was looking more complete.

“You should both get going,” you said after far too long of just standing there, listening to the nature below and watching the clouds drift by. “Before it gets dark.”

Wednesday missed the warmth of your hand when you pulled away. It always left her with a certain emptiness that she couldn’t properly explain. You’re no longer talking, she thought as she finally turned to look at you right as you finished harshly wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“Come on,” you said, holding your arm out to guide Wednesday away from the ledge. She felt the warmth of your hand once again when it rested on her lower back, gently pushing her toward the car where Yoko was still waiting.

You opened the door and ushered her in, buckling the seatbelt before she had the chance to do it herself. The belt pulled tight against her stomach as you checked it, twice, three times. A breath of air fanned across her neck when you huffed, and only then did you finally step back and close the door.

“Be careful,” you said as you leaned through the rolled down window.

“We will,” Yoko answered.

“Yoko.” Your voice wavered and, against her better judgment, Wednesday turned her head to face you. Tears threatened to spill from your bloodshot eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I’ll keep us safe,” Yoko reinforced.

“Do you still have your window punch?” You asked.

You didn’t wait for an answer before leaning in through the window. Wednesday pushed herself back into the seat instinctively, giving you enough room to move around. It took you only a moment to open the glove box and dig around, eventually pulling out an orange handheld device. It looked like a hammer with a blade inside the handle.

Only after checking it over did she hear you exhale and, with shaky hands, you put it back where it had been found.

“Stay below the limit,” you said as you pulled yourself back out of the window. Wednesday could see your skin pulled taut against your knuckles. “No passing anyone, no stopping, just straight down.”

“I know,” Yoko said, far softer than Wednesday would have managed. You were awfully persistent. “Straight down to DHMC, right?”

“I-,” your eyes blinked rapidly as you opened and closed your mouth a few times. Your head turned to look out down the mountain; what was going on in that head of yours? Rarely did Wednesday ever see you so flustered. You turned to look back into the car. “Straight down to DHMC,” you confirmed.

“Then we’ll see you there,” Yoko said, not with a smile but Wednesday could hear the expression in her voice.

You opened your mouth as if to answer but quickly shut it, resorting to a simple nod before standing up and stepping away from the car. As Yoko pulled away - slowly as requested - Wednesday watched you in the rearview mirror.

She almost thought she saw you cry.

—---

“They’re still not here,” you said aloud as you looked out the hospital window for what had to have been the 10th time in the past two minutes.

"They're probably just stuck in traffic," Nurse Jackie said. You could hear the rustling of sheets for only a few more seconds before going quiet. "It's about time everyone got off work."

"Or not," you mumbled to yourself. That ache in the right side of your chest was back. You couldn't even breathe without feeling it stab into you, whatever it was.

You know what it is.

"Just call and ask-"

"-No," you interrupted, finally turning away from the window to see Nurse Jackie standing next to Nicky's now-clean bed with crossed arms. "She needs to focus, not answer a call."

"Then breathe," Nurse Jackie said softly, "and trust she'll get here safe."

But you couldn't. How could you trust Yoko to stay safe when she wasn't the one you were worried about? You had seen Yoko's driving before, she was as perfect as one could get. No, it wasn't Yoko, it was everyone else on that fucking mountain.

"It's crowded today," Nicky said as he turned the key in the ignition. "Must be here to help us celebrate."

"Too little too late," you scoffed even though your grin gave you away.

"Hopefully everyone is too busy coming up, not down," Nicky said with a wink and a chuckle.

Fuck. Fuck. You grimaced as that pain in your chest grew sharper. Your eyes flitted to the clock on the wall: 5:27pm. They should be here. There's no reason they should still be out driving.

"Hey," Nurse Jackie's voice called out, "just breathe."

No. No you couldn't breathe, it was past time for them to be there. They weren't there. What if they were still stuck on the mountain? Oh God, your feet felt heavy until your back hit the wall.

"I got a full ride to UVA," Nicky said.

"What?" You asked, finally pulling your attention away from the window to look at him. "You're leaving me?"

"It's not leaving," Nicky huffed, "it's just college."

The trees outside the window disappeared, opening up to the cliff's ledge.

"Fuck," you whispered breathlessly.

It felt like a hammer was driving a railroad spike into your brain. No matter how hard you clutched your head, it wouldn't ease up. The wall scraped against your back as you slid down to the floor.

"Y/N, you have to breathe."

"I- I- I ca-," breathing felt so difficult it just hurt.

"It's not even that far and we've still got summers and breaks," Nicky defended. Both hands were on the wheel but you could see how hard he was gripping it.

"You're gonna forget about me," you said with a shaky voice.

"I'm not gonna forget-"

"-you're gonna leave me just like mom and dad."

"That's not fair."

Oh God, everything hurt. Your head, your eyes, your chest, your stomach, it hurt. Something touched your shoulder but all you could do was choke on your shallow, rushed breaths. They tasted metallic.

It was too cold, why was the room so cold?

"You're going to get dizzy, focus on my voice."

Where were Yoko and Wednesday? They needed to be off the mountain. They needed off now.

"I'm not mom and dad," Nicky said, finally turning his head to look at you after rounding another bend.

"They left too," you said softly, your bottom lip quivering. To your right, the trees thinned as another ledge appeared.

"I'm not leaving you," Nicky reinforced. His eyes flashed to the road before coming back to you. "I love you, I'm not just gonna-"

-headlights-

"-Nicky, look out!"

It hurts it hurts it hurts.

"I think that's Yoko's car."

Everything in your body stopped. Your breath caught in your throat and the pain gave one final stab before fading away. The light was blinding when you opened your eyes, but you didn't care. Your legs ached as you jumped to your feet and looked frantically out the window and-

-there. Yoko's car was down. She and Wednesday were getting out of the car. Safe and sound.

A choked sob fell from your lips before you could pull it back together. Something wet slid down your cheeks before being hastily wiped away. You didn’t notice the blood from your lips stain the sleeve of your sweater. They were down in the parking lot. Right down there. You needed to get down there.

“Don’t run,” Nurse Jackie said, her hand squeezing your shoulder gently before pushing you toward the door. You stumbled over your feet at first but quickly gained ground.

You didn’t remember the trip down to the parking lot.

“Your lip is bleeding-”

“-you took too long,” you interrupted, walking up to stand directly in front of Yoko. “Are you hurt?”

“We’re fine,” Yoko said with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t be flippant with me, Tanaka,” you said as you poked your finger into her chest. She didn’t back down. “Straight here, no stops.”

“We didn’t stop,” Yoko said, “we hit traffic outside of town. Not all of us can fly over it, you know.”

Breathe.

Your mouth snapped shut before you took a deep breath in. They were safe. They were safe, they were in the parking lot, it was okay. Safe. Yoko was safe, Wednesday was safe - and giving you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher - and everyone was fine.

“Thank you for being safe,” you managed to push out past the metallic taste that had resurfaced once again.

“You’re welcome,” Yoko said. She sounded way too sassy; she needed to watch her tone. Today was not the day. “Want me to wait for you?”

“No,” you answered quickly, “we’ll take the bus.”

“Okay,” Yoko said, her voice taking on that usual soft tone that she used with you. Part of you hated it. The other part craved it. She leaned up and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, her lips cold against your skin. “Good luck, Addams,” she said before getting back into the driver’s side and speeding off.

“Come on,” you said as you walked to where Wednesday was still standing, completely unmoving. “I promise he doesn’t bite.”

She didn’t say anything, just kept looking at you with that same look that, honestly, was making you more nervous than before. Why couldn’t she say anything? Just something, one thing, this wasn’t the time to be silent. But she was.

And you opted for reaching over to grab her hand to lead her into the hospital. You didn’t intertwine your fingers, just holding her hand like you would a friend. She hates PDA, your brain reminded you as you continued to pull her with you, hands sweaty. Did she notice? Could she feel how clammy your hand was getting?

The halls felt like they were closing in the closer you got to Nicky’s room. They got tighter and tighter and your grip on Wednesday’s hand only tightened. Only when you felt her hand squeeze back once did you let up, looking over to offer an apologetic smile.

She didn’t smile back, but her eyes softened. That was enough.

“Watch out, dear.”

You blinked in surprise, thankfully stopping just in time before running into Nurse Jackie. Thankfully she didn’t seem upset. Did she? No, no she wasn’t upset. She was simply leaving Nicky’s room which… you didn’t really remember walking to, not entirely.

“This is Wednesday,” you said unceremoniously without any buildup. God, your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. It was almost painful.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wednesday,” Nurse Jackie said with a kind smile. It eased the anxiety just the slightest. “Your book is in the chair,” she said as she turned to you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, looking down at the floor while pulling Wednesday into the room. The fact that she wasn’t resisting even in the slightest was concerning.

No, you spoke too soon. When you walked fully into the room, you felt Wednesday’s hand squeeze back, tighter than she usually did. You dropped her hand like it was a life wire; it certainly felt the same. Shit, was this too much? It was too much, no doubt about it.

“This is my brother, Nicky,” you said quietly.

The heart monitor continued its incessant beeping. It echoed in your head while Wednesday stayed silent beside you.

This is a mistake.

“You can have a seat,” you said as you gestured to the chair. The hair on the back of your neck stood up when you realised she was staring at you. “Or not, we can go back to Nevermore if you want.”

“Where will you sit?” Wednesday asked, finally breaking the silence.

“There’s another chair over here,” you exhaled.

You turned to face her and the absolute sincerity on her face was too much. No, you didn’t think you liked Wednesday being soft; it was too vulnerable. You weren’t there for vulnerability, you needed her to be harsh and strict to force you to get your shit together. Why now, you thought as you both sat down in your respective chairs. Why be compassionate now?

The ventilator sounded extra loud from your new spot in the room.

What do I do? What do I say?

“Did- did I- did I ever tell you about the time we tried cross country skiing?” You asked, your eyes darting to see Wednesday’s face without turning to face her.

That’s the best you can do?

“No,” Wednesday said. Her voice was still too soft, it was setting your anxiety alight. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

“No,” you chuckled as the memory started coming back in pieces, then all at once. “No, it didn’t go well.”

You leaned forward in your seat when you started retelling the tale. Just the mental image of Nicky on that trip was enough to ease your nerves. It only took that one story before you were telling another one, then another, and at that point you couldn’t even remember what had started the topic.

All the while you were aware of Wednesday watching you. Uncharacteristically for her, she would not along or wordlessly urge you to continue. You were talking too much, you knew it, you could feel yourself talking too much. But the floodgates were opened and now you couldn’t stop.

You almost thought you could see the smallest of smiles on her lips.

“-so he couldn’t even help dig me out of the snow, it was awful,” you said with a laugh as you leaned back in your chair.

But the laughter faded when you noticed Nicky again, laying there, unmoving, eyes closed. And suddenly the stories weren’t so funny anymore, and your eyes were starting to sting, and that sinking feeling made its home in your chest again. Oh. Oh, this wasn’t a normal get together. It wasn’t the typical “meet the girlfriend” day.

Stop being weak.

“Hand me that book, please?” You asked Wednesday, holding your hand out in her direction. Her brows furrowed for only a second before she looked around, handing you the book that she had previously placed on the desk next to her. “Hope you like fantasy books.”

You thumbed through the pages of the novel until you found your spot; you really needed to start using a bookmark instead of taking the time trying to remember where you stopped. But that didn’t matter, not really, because Wednesday hadn’t been here last week and Nicky couldn’t answer.

He couldn’t answer.

It was easier to read stories than to tell them, you thought while the words rolled effortless off your tongue. Reading gave a different kind of distraction; you didn’t have to recall the times that you no longer had. But as you read the novel, it wasn’t the same. Not that day. You couldn’t shake the comparison of Nicky then and now.

A tear fell from your eye before you could stop it.

“I’m sorry,” you said in the middle of a sentence, “I’m going to get some coffee.”

You stood up and dropped the book into your seat.

“Would you like some?” You asked Wednesday, who simply shook her head once. “I’ll be right back.”

You’re leaving her there.

“Shut up,” you mumbled to yourself as you walked down the hall to the coffee machine.

It was hard to breathe. Your fingers shook, nearly dropping the empty cup you had picked up. You felt like a child trying to steal their mother’s coffee with how many things you were dropping, or shaking, or spilling. A sigh of frustration left your lips as you put everything down and leaned against the counter with closed eyes.

“It’s fine,” you whispered to yourself, “I’m fine. It’s just coffee.” But it wasn’t just coffee, it was everything. “Deep breath in,” inhale, “breathe out,” exhale. “I’m fine.” I’m not. “It’s fine.” I can’t breathe.

With one more slow exhale, you opened your eyes and focused on finishing your coffee. Six packets of sugar, a splash of cream, stir, put the lid on. Simple. You took a sip of the hot coffee and, when it didn’t taste quite as dreadful as usual, you nodded to yourself.

“See? Fine,” you mumbled to yourself again.

The old lady in one of the seats behind you was staring at you with a raised brow. Quite frankly, she could fuck off. It was an ICU ward, everyone was on edge in the stupid building. Why couldn’t she mind her own business anyway, who did she think she was? You gave her a polite closed-mouth smile anyway and walked back to Nicky’s room.

And nearly dropped your coffee when you froze in the doorway.

Wednesday was still sitting in the chair with her back to you, but over her shoulder you could see the book you had put down. Her usually monotone voice displayed inflection that was rarely there. She spoke the words clearly, her voice echoing lightly around the room.

She’s reading to him. You know. Without prompting. Yes, you could see that. She’s interacting. Yes, you could see that as well. Why is she reading to him? A wonderful question. This means she genuinely cares, right? Most likely. Get in there. Right, of course.

Your feet controlled themselves, dragging you over to your chair where you sat down stiffly and just looked between Wednesday and Nicky. She stuttered for a moment, looking up to meet your eyes, before looking back to the book and continuing.

She knows I’m here and she’s still reading. Yes, you could see that, you had eyes. She cares. Yes, it would appear so. She’s treating Nicky equally. So it seems. She looks beautiful. Even more so now. I would do anything for her. Without hesitation.

Oh.

I love her.

—---

Enid and Thing were gone by the time you dropped Wednesday off at her dorm. You had left her with a very uncertain goodnight and a hesitant, awkward kiss on the top of her head. Under normal circumstances she would have demanded an actual goodnight kiss, but she would give you a free pass for now.

But now, late in the evening, Wednesday was alone and finally had time to think. Your actions, your behaviour, your moods, it all made sense. How had you kept such a thing to yourself for so long? Did you not just want to scream and rage? She would have. She couldn’t guarantee she would’ve held it together for so long, especially not on her own.

You wouldn’t have to be on your own either, if she had any say in it.

She sat down at her desk and pulled the crystal ball in front of her. Her parents answered almost immediately.

“You’re calling rather late,” her mother said not unkindly.

“We have a situation,” Wednesday said simply. She waited for her mother and father to give her their undivided attention. “How would you like to help our little bird?”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #everyone but her au

689 notes · View notes

magics-neptunes-things · 3 months

Text

Lover

Hello there ♥

Sorry for all the people waiting for this one, you can find the request here, here, here, here and here. Can't believe how many request I have for them to be honest.

But it's the international break so let's find some comfort in here 🥲

It's with the prompt n°15 and 34 from here and the end of the two first chapters that you can find here and here.

Enjoy!

TW : None

PART 1 | PART 3

_____________________________________________________________

Waking up with Katie is probably Caitlin’s favorite thing these days. Even if Katie isn’t the same on the field as outside, sleepy Katie is extremely cuddly and clingy when waking up. With her morning broken voice, her body still warm to have been all night under the duvet and her sulky face if she didn’t get her lot of hug, in Caitlin’s opinion she is simply adorable. And it’s terribly difficult for her to resist her repeated requests to hug or extend their time in bed.

It’s the same this morning. Caitlin is lying on her back, Katie completely lying on her, her arms wrapped around her neck and her face buried at the level of her chest. Caitlin has been drawing for many minutes imaginary drawings on Katie’s hips with her fingertips, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The spirit of the Australian woman flies away a little, remembering some of their memories with a small smile.

Their first kiss that quickly slipped on their first time. The first dinner with their two families together and a big difference in the number of Foord compared to the McCabe, Katie having ten brothers and sisters and Caitlin only a big sister and her mother. The dinner at the restaurant where Caitlin asked Katie if she could change the sens of the Irish ring she wears to signify to the world that she’s no longer single. Their joint move into a new house in St-Albans. The fun they had to heckle like teenagers when choosing their furniture. The memories are many and all bring a pleasant feeling of warmth in the pit of Caitlin’s stomach.

Caitlin’s attention turns to Katie when she moves when a wave of shivers run in her skin.

"You tickle me" moaned Katie, burying her face even more in Caitlin.

"Sorry" laughs the Australian with a kiss in her hair.

Katie only responds with a new moan and the Australian passes her arms around Katie’s waist to tighten her against her.

"We’re going to have to get up Katie baby" Caitlin announces, glancing at the alarm clock on her bedside table.

She still remembers when Katie made fun of her to still have an alarm clock "like a grandmother", but when Caitlin pointed out that it allowed her to watch the time without having to move and interrupt their hugs to grab her phone, it suddenly found favor in her eyes.

"Noooooo" complains Katie, as expected, by infinitely sticking against Caitlin.

This amuses the Australian who laughs softly, laying kisses on Katie’s forehead and hair.

"Five more minutes but that’s all we have left" Caitlin whispers, kissing Katie’s temple.

The latter growls in a low voice, creating a new smile on Caitlin’s face. And as always, five minutes later Katie again asks for five more minutes. Unfortunately, their time is up.

"Fine" grunts Katie sitting on the bed and rubbing her eyes with a sulky look.

Wondering how she can be as cute as at this moment, Caitlin cannot resist the urge to lean over her to gently kiss her cheek.

"You’re beautiful, you know that right?" whispers Caitlin against Katie’s cheek.

The latter smiled as she heard her and laid a kiss on her lips.

"You’re the most beautiful of us two" replies the Irish, frowning when she sees Caitlin rolling her eyes with a smile. "What? It's the truth"

"Of course, my love. Avocado toast for breakfast?"

"Please" answers Katie with a big smile.

********

Hours later, the two young women are on the football field of the Arsenal women’s team, the referee’s whistle announcing the end of the match. It’s with general relief from the players of Arsenal that the whistles are welcomed. The match against Manchester City was complicated, but they managed to win with a difference of one goal, bringing the score to 3-2. Beth, Alessia and Caitlin managed to find the net despite an excellent goalkeeper. A few yellow cards were also handed out, one to a Katie who was a little too abrupt when she pushed a player who had the misfortune to make a bad tackle on Leah.

At the end of the game, Caitlin takes the opportunity to talk a little with Alanna, whom she sees too little to her taste despite the fact that they live on the same island again. Catching up with Mackenzie is simpler as the latter is also in London. They are soon joined by a teammate of Alanna who enters herself the discussion. And it only takes Katie three seconds to find that this young and charming Swedish is looking at Caitlin with a little too much interest.

Leaving her teammate of the Ireland team behind, Katie quickly goes to the entrance of the tunnel, where the conversation between the trio takes place. After having greeted Alanna warmly and then a little less warmly the other brunette, Katie positions herself next to Caitlin. Without necessarily touching her but her positioning leaves no doubt about the threat barely masked to her opponent.

"Can you stop doing that?" gently laughs Caitlin after they say goodbye to Alanna and her teammate, Alanna and Caitlin promising to call each other in the week to see each other quickly.

"Do what?" Katie asks, following Caitlin into the corridors leading to their locker rooms.

"Intimidate people"

"She doesn’t have to look at my girlfriend like she did" Katie groans grabbing Caitlin by the waist.

Turning her in her arms, Katie gently sticks her against the wall behind her and also sticks against her.

"You’re mine" she says, frowning.

"Okay, keep your pant on, cowgirl." Caitlin laughs as she wraps her arms around the Irish girl’s neck. "Of course I am"

They only have time to exchange a kiss before they are interrupted, Kyra emitting a disgusted "ew" like a child surprising her parents kissing.

"I’m taking you for a date tonight" Katie abruptly decides.

********

Later in the evening, Caitlin and Katie are actually in a restaurant that both particularly appreciate by their shared passion for sushi. The conversations are light and their complicit looks are enough to make the people around them understand that it’s useless to try to disturb them if they ever recognized them. Tonight, it’s only about them and whatever if the world explode.

"There’s something I’d like to talk to you about for a while" Katie begins while trying to catch a grain of rice with her chopsticks.

"Okay?" Caitlin replies, looking at her with curiosity.

"But I don’t know how to tell you. And I must confess that I’m a little afraid of your reaction"

Caitlin slightly frowns, mixed between curiosity and worry. What’s going on in Katie’s mind that she’s afraid to talk to her about something? But, deciding to remain benevolent, the Australian gently puts her hand on Katie’s who is sitting in front of her.

"You talk to me about anything Babe" says the Australian, smiling.

Katie looks at her, hesitating for a little while before finally opening her mouth. Caitlin feels like she can hear Katie’s brain working from where she is.

"How do you feel about kids?"

"Good, I think? I mean, I know Kyra beats me in Harper’s favorite aunties, but I think she likes me" says Caitlin, shrugging her shoulders before realizing. "But you mean having kids?"

"Yes" sighs Katie, secretly relieved not to have to explain any longer.

"I’ve never given it too much thought before" Caitlin honestly replies. "When you’re a woman athlete, I find it hard to combine. It makes you stop more than a year, with pregnancy and everything after it"

Without saying a word, Katie listens religiously to her girlfriend. Her only visible sign of nervousness is that she bites the inside of her lower lip.

"Katrina had courage" Katie simply replies, since Caitlin referred to Harper just before.

"I’m not saying I don’t want it. I perfectly imagine us both starting a family" Caitlin says, looking for Katie’s eyes. "But maybe not right now. I selfishly want to have you just for me a little more"

Katie smiles softly, interlacing her fingers with those of Caitlin on the table. It’s been a long time since they decided to stop hiding and act naturally with each other.

"And please don’t tell me you want eleven kids like your parents"

"No" laughs Katie shaking her head. "I am exceedingly admiring how my parents managed to raise all eleven of us without any of us going wrong. But definitely not eleven"

"How much then?" asks Caitlin, tilting her head to better observe her.

"I don’t know, one already sounds good. And why not a second a little later"

"Two is good" confirms Caitlin, recalling moments spent with her sister.

Her sister and her mother are two of the most important people in her life, Katie having managed to make her place in this ranking. But after growing up without a father, having these two people by her side when she grew up was very important to her. She wouldn’t see herself without her sister.

"Two is perfect. Like you are" smirk Katie.

#woso imagine #katie mccabe #katie mccabe imagine #caitlin foord imagine #caitlin foord #mcfoord #caitlin foord x katie mccabe #katie mccabe x caitlin foord

73 notes · View notes