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cobragardens · 7 months

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CORRECTED & UPDATED! Clothes + Equivocation = Romance:

The Husbands in 1793

EDIT: I made a significant error when I wrote this. As @goodjomans kindly points out in the comments to Part 2 of this essay (massive shoutout for this, goodjomans! also I love your name!), Aziraphale is the one who dresses the executioner in clothing like Aziraphale's original ensemble, not Crowley. This changes my conclusions about the meaning we can take from this scene!

On the one hand, mea culpa, y'all. I shall get on with eating my crow. On the other hand, I had to go through this frame-by-frame to catch which of the ineffable spouses puts Jean-Claude in his new togs, and the answer only lasts three frames. Here it is:

After Aziraphale changes his clothes, but before Crowley snaps his fingers and unfreezes time, there's a shot of the executioner over Crowley's shoulder, and he is now wearing a light coat with gold embroidery on the shoulders like Aziraphale's. Aziraphale arranges the executioner's death, not Crowley. So I feel like an idiot for missing it, but not a total idiot.

Let's discuss how this information changes what we can read from this scene! I'm going to leave my original text in place and edit with bold green. I can still stand by most of this essay, but this detail changes how I read the meaning of the husbands' communication at the end of this scene.

So we're all clear on the fact that the universe of Good Omens is an inescapable nightmare dystopia in which either of the husbands' merciless authoritarian regimes could be watching or listening to them at any time, yes? And that if either are caught 'fraternizing' with the other that means discorporation, torture, memory wipe, and/or death for either or both of them, yes?

Which means Crowley and Aziraphale can never speak or do anything openly to each other about their friendship or attraction or love. Everything they say and do has to have an innocuous meaning they can point to in case anybody ever sees or hears something Team Azcrow can't explain away. Walls (and ducks) have ears, and the price of slipping up--as we see in 1827--is heavy.

When a character says or does something that has two distinct meanings because they need to disguise what they really mean from one party but make their meaning plain to another, lit-nerds (and lit nerds🍃) call this equivocation. Equivocation is a kind of coded communication meant to pass hostile ears and eyes in plain sight but reach its intended recipient with its true meaning. The 1793 scene is jammed with it.

A lot of that coded messaging revolves around the clothes Crowley and Aziraphale choose in this scene, so--THESIS PARAGRAPH, BITCHES--we're going going to talk about how their clothes read to the people of this time period and location, what their clothes tell us about their characters, how their clothes help them equivocate, and what they're really saying with that equivocation. And Spoiler A-fucking-lert, it is ROMANTIC AF PRETTY GD ROMANTIC. Let's get nerdy!

We start with Aziraphale's beautiful champagne-gold and powder-pink ensemble.

This outfit would tell people of this time period 3 things about Aziraphale:

That he's insanely wealthy--These clothes would be silk, hand-embroidered with thread made with actual gold. Each individual garment could cost years' or even decades' worth of working-class wages and take a team of skilled artisans dozens to hundreds of hours to make.

That he's a fop--i.e., a man who loves fine clothes and dressing up and looking fancy. By the 1790s in England, once-fashionable foppishness was giving way to the Neoclassical 'Corinthian' style, and was considered effete. (Fun note: During this time period, effete did not automatically indicate gay, and pink was considered a masculine color, so while Az. is queering it up to the audience here, his clothes would not have read as gay or overtly effeminate to the other characters around him.)

Even though he's insanely wealthy, Aziraphale wears clothes that are decades out of fashion.

According to the Victoria & Albert Museum, "As the [18th] century progressed, the male silhouette slowly changed.[...] Coat skirts gradually became less full and the front was cut in a curved line towards the back. Waistcoats became shorter. The upper leg began to show more and more[...]. Shoes became low-heeled with pointed toes and were fastened with a detachable buckle and straps or ribbon[.]

Source

That description is not what Aziraphale's wearing. Judging by his heel height and the length of his waistcoat, Aziraphale is wearing a style that's at least a decade older than this:

And this is from 1765. The great crepes caper happens in 1793, almost 30 years later.

My inference: Just as he has in the modern period, Aziraphale has settled into a style he really likes and refused to let go of it long after it's gone out of fashion.

We'll come back to this set of Aziraphale's clothes in a bit, but we need to talk about Crowley's first, because Crowley's clothes in this scene help render a line he says later about this outfit very flirtatious and darkly romantic.

First, some background: What was considered acceptable attire for wealthy people in France changed pretty much overnight during the French Revolution after the storming of the Bastille in 1789 and the fall of the French monarchy. Instead of advertising wealth, clothes now had to advertise political allegiance, and they had to do so loud and clear. And if you didn't want to be murdered by the French First Republic, that political allegiance had fucking better be to the Revolution.

People started wearing a looooooot of super patriotic shit. And I mean it was like little kids on the 4th of July; clothes were red, white, and blue in any hue and garish combination and print. The cockade, a fabric rosette in the colors of the French flag, was required by law to be worn by men, and despite that was just as popular among women. To show solidarity with the laboring classes, the fabrics the wealthy wore went from embroidered silk in light Rococo colors (what Aziraphale is wearing) to sober neutrals without decoration in wool, cotton, and linen.

Now, the script note for Crowley's clothing in this scene is this:

But clearly there were some changes made between script and filming, because Crowley does not appear standing behind Aziraphale; he appears lounging.

And he's not dressed as a French peasant.

Here's how French peasants dressed in 1790:

Peasants at this time wore styles that distinguished them from the styles of the upper classes not just in materials, colors, or patterns, but in shapes. Full trousers and cropped boxy jackets in French flag colors were the marks of the laboring-class Revolutionary, and both styles were huge changes from hundreds of years of French fashion up to that point.

And that's not what Crowley shows up wearing. Crowley is wearing the knee breeches, stockings, waistcoat, and frock coat of a wealthy man, and in fact his clothes reference a very specific type of wealthy man.

In the 1790s, if you were an aristocrat who wasn't happy about the Revolution and you were so sure of your privilege that you would risk your life showing it, you wore black in mourning for the monarchy and in protest of the violence of its deposition. If you were an aristocrat who wanted to protest and you didn't want to be immediately murdered by the French First Republic, you wore a style called half-mourning, which was black with a colored coat.

Here's a picture from a 1790 fashion magazine of an aristocrat in half-mourning:

"The text accompanying the plate describes his ensemble as 'half-mourning,' referring to the aristocrats who lamented 'the diminished powers of the monarchy and [signaled] their willingness to die for the royal cause'" [emph. added]. [Source]

Notice: the shoes, stockings, breeches, waistcoat, and cravat are all black. You with me?

Because here's Crowley in 1793:

I've turned up the brightness and exposure in this image so he's more clearly visible against the stone, but I haven't warmed it up. He's wearing a coat that's a dark blackish red. Everything else, even his cravat, even his shirt, is black. (The black shirt is anachronistic, a lovely little nod to Crowley's refusal to wear angelic white.)

This is 179fuckin'3, y'all. Marie Antoinette is executed in 1793. It's 3 full years after that fashion plate up there in his bright red jacket, and that lil dude was already risking his neck way back in 1790. As we can see from the fact that the government are apparently now grabbing random wealthy-looking Englishmen off the street to murder without trial, the time for a man demon to be sauntering around Paris dressed in all black or even nearly all black is well past.

Crowley's also wearing a whole assload of huge silver buttons, which would have been flashy and tacky and frankly pretty weird in 1793 but very definitely an eccentric Rich Person Thing to do, bc regular buttons at this time were horn or wood and covered with the garment's fabric. The only man in France who could get away with this fancy aristo shit anymore was Robespierre himself, and only "devotion to the cause[...] excused Robespierre’s showy dress since he was perceived as a bridge between the politically empowered bourgeois deputies and the ardently antimonarchical unenfranchised classes." [Source]

So when Crowley teases Aziraphale--

--both of them are perfectly well aware that Crowley's outfit would get him just as killed as Aziraphale's.

And that's why Aziraphale's expression is annoyed when he has abandon his "standards" and change his clothes. Because Aziraphale's the one who needs the favor, Crowley makes him take one for the team and wear the goofy hat.

The clothes Az. changes into here still tell people that he's rich, but they also say he's a hardcore Revolutionary. The red jacket in a current cutaway style, the cockade and sash, and the bonnet phrygien (the red garden-gnome cap) all announce this guy is a huge supporter of the Revolution. His clothes are all still aristocratic in shape and materials (and he keeps his now-unfashionably frilly lace cravat), but he's no longer flaunting obscene wealth in a city filled with angry starving people, and the gnome cap says he's in solidarity with the working classes even if he isn't one of them.

Once he restarts time, Crowley is not leaving that prison cell safely without either changing his clothes or taking Aziraphale with him, because Crowley looks like a rich asshole protesting the fall of the monarchy--which is frankly exactly the kind of thing he'd show up wearing to the Bastille during the Reign of Terror (just like he wears athleisure in Heaven). But Aziraphale's new appearance covers for them both: if the rich-looking guy with no cockade and wearing all black under his almost-black coat is in with this other guy who's obviously a Revolution fanatic, then the rich guy's probably okay, right? He just forgot his sash at home or something. Bees.

Something else happens when Az. changes, too. Look at Aziraphale's new dress from a different angle:

Half-mourning is a white shirt, but a black cravat, so this isn't half-mourning. He's wearing three different badges of the Revolution to make up for the fact that Crowley looks like a Satanic libertine (which tbf he is), but Aziraphale's new ensemble is black and dark red.

Y'all. Aziraphale changes into Crowley's colors.

Now, this is a more fashionable and higher quality version of what the executioner is wearing, so Aziraphale has very plausible deniability here; if anyone ever pulled him up on it, he could say he just copied our man Jean-Claude.

But let me show you what English fashion looks like right now:

This is a French painting of a wealthy Frenchman, but he's wearing the English 'Corinthian' style. It was painted in 1795, so this would have been the very cutting edge of fashion in England in 1793, and the fabrics and colors look right at home in Revolutionary Paris. (He's wearing the cockade on his hat, btw.)

Look at all that angelic white! The buttery almond of the buckskin breeches, the golden kidskin gloves, the rich tan of the riding boots! The blue of the greatcoat! All colors we know Aziraphale prefers!

And yet this is what Aziraphale chooses:

We know from the entire rest of the show how very particular about his clothes Aziraphale is. And yet 150 years before he (accidentally) admits in words that he's Crowley's friend, Aziraphale wears Crowley's colors to take him to lunch to say thank you for a rescue.

When we decide whether a character's speech or action is equivocation, one of the things we check is whether equivocation (and deception generally) is something that character does elsewhere in the text, which, with Aziraphale, hahahahaha, DUH. He's already using equivocation in this scene.

The lunch date itself is equivocation on Aziraphale's part. Aziraphale tries to thank Crowley for the rescue, but Crowley says,

So Aziraphale says,

No more words like "thanks" or "rescue" used, but a couple hours of good food and drink and conversation, Aziraphale hopes, will express the gratitude toward Crowley it's not safe to speak aloud. With this, Crowley and Aziraphale explicitly establish that they are equivocating for each other's safety and using coded communication--immediately before Aziraphale changes into Crowley's colors.

So yes, Aziraphale may well copy the executioner's clothes. But consider: When a character who can't speak or act openly says or does something that has two or more possible meanings, this can be read as equivocation.

We don't get a face reaction from Crowley about Aziraphale's new 'fit, so we can't be sure how he feels about this. But this whole scene is, even on its surface, about 1) the meaning clothes transmit to a viewer ("Oh good Lord," says Aziraphale when he sees what Crowley's wearing) and 2) how to show gratitude and appreciation when you can't speak of them openly. And we know Crowley notices clothing and clothing colors, because look at what he wears, like, ever. So it's very reasonable to presume he notices Aziraphale wearing his colors, and it fits well with both the rest of Crowley's actions in this scene and with his being very hurt and angry when Aziraphale later characterizes their interactions as "fraternizing."

Right, so we've covered what's going on with the husbands' clothes, and we've looked at two examples of equivocation on Aziraphale's part, viz., lunch and his change of colors. (Here's an example of equivocation on Crowley's part as well.) Now let's look at that super interesting thing Crowley says about Aziraphale's first outfit.

Here's the line:

Crowley follows up here on earlier lines in which he teases Aziraphale for coming to Reign-of-Terror Paris for crepes: "Dressed like that?" meaning Aziraphale was guaranteed to get arrested dressed like an aristocrat. The top layer of equivocation is always an innocuous meaning: the plausible deniability meant for the hostile/unsafe listeners. That's Meaning 1.

But "Dressed like that, s/he's asking for trouble" means two other things, too. It's a veeerrrrry familiar phrase, isn't it? We've all heard that arrangement of words in that order before. It's used when people think someone (usually but not always a woman) is dressed to invite sexual attention.

How do we know we're supposed to take this modern meaning from this phrase? This is how:

We have learned in literally the previous sentence to this one that rain has not been invented yet. The only two humans in existence have just left the Garden. Balloons definitely do not exist yet, humans couldn't tell you what lead is, and yet this is a phrase Crowley uses and Aziraphale understands. This tells us, the audience, in the very first line of the very first scene with these characters, that their speech is anachronistic and modern, and that we are to understand their phrasing in its contemporary sense.

So. When Crowley says "Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble" in 1793, we should read that in the context of the scene and in the senses the phrase carries to us today.

And since Crowley is using a phrase that means the executioner is dressed to invite sexual attention, and the executioner is wearing clothes identical to Aziraphale's, then Crowley is necessarily telling Aziraphale that when Aziraphale was wearing those clothes--those frilly, effete, unfashionable-for-decades clothes that nobody else likes and the French now murder people for wearing--that was, in Crowley's view...provocatively sexy. Meaning 2.

"Dressed like that, s/he was asking for trouble" is also what people say to justify violence, especially sexual violence against women and queerphobic attacks against men perceived as gay or just 'insufficiently' 'masculine'. In fact justifying assault is likely the most common way this phrase is used today by a wide margin. Meaning 3.

Crowley's joke isn't even really a joke in this sense; it's a vicious barb. And, because it must, it sounds like it's at Aziraphale's expense: You wore the wrong clothes, you weren't careful enough to guard yourself against the men who want to do you harm, so you deserved the trouble you got. Meaning 1.

Except remember: Crowley is also dressed for trouble. And Aziraphale is aware of this. Crowley's 'fit would be almost as offensive to the Revolutionary French of 1793 as Aziraphale's Rococo pastels, and probably just as likely to get him arrested and murdered by the state if he weren't making letting Aziraphale keep him safe by wearing the cockade and the silly hat. Crowley's not saying anything about Aziraphale here that he's not also saying about himself; and as we know from Aziraphale's initial "Oh good Lord" when he turns around and sees Crowley's black and red half-mourning (with extra black and gobs of silver), Aziraphale knows it.

Then why the rapey joke, Crowley?

This is fucking why:

Crowley rocks up at the Bastille just in time to witness some grubby fucker assault his friend. Assault the person Crowley will greet 15 seconds after this as angel.

Crowley's first act after freeing Aziraphale is to send this dude to his death. Nope! Aziraphale is the one who arranges to have the executioner killed in the clothes he would have killed Aziraphale for wearing. He takes Jean-Claude's ability to speak (but not to make sounds, interestingly! Jean-Claude can still whimper, Jean-Claude can still cry!) so the executioner can't tell anyone about the 'mixup.' It's unclear which of them blocks the executioner's power of speech. The vicious joke about assault in Meaning 3 isn't at Aziraphale's expense at all. It's not You wore the wrong clothes, so you deserved the trouble you got. It's If this guy thinks you deserve trouble for wearing the wrong clothes, he can eat his own rules.

And that's the other piece of evidence that, along with Crowley's ensemble, shows us the audience and Aziraphale which meanings Crowley intends with his equivocation. Meaning 1 is cancelled out by Crowley's clothes. That leaves Meanings 2 and 3.

Crowley and Aziraphale share clothes as a common interest. They don't have the same style, but they're both aware of current fashions, and Heaven and Hell aren't. You can't tell me Hastur or Uriel would recognize the significance of Crowley saying "Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble" about someone else while wearing black stockings and cravat and waistcoat himself. And that means Anything the husbands communicate to each other through clothing choices goes undetected by their masters.

SO. With all this in mind, let's go through the 1793 scene again and look at what their clothes help them say without words.

Concluded in Part 2!

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens costumes #good omens fan theory #good omens meta #good omens analysis #aziracrow #azcrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #azicrow #good omens 1793 #good omens 1984 #good omens clothes and equivocation

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breelandwalker · 11 months

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Oh for fuck's sake, are we having the curse-shaming argument AGAIN??? Every time I think we're done unteaching this nonsense.....

Arright, quick rundown of the points, more or less in order, because I've already had this discussion a hundred times:

One - There is no universal moral or ethical code in witchcraft. Not every witch is a Wiccan or follows Wiccan principles. Not even all Wiccans follow every Wiccan principle, and that includes the Rule of Three / Threefold Law. The Wiccan Rede is ADVICE, not a set of hard and fast rules or divine mandates. You don't get to tell other witches what types of spells they should and should not cast.

Two - If you think the Rule of Three / Threefold Law means, "Whatever you give out comes back to you times three" or if you think it only applies to baneful magic, you don't understand the rule. The original rule, as stated by Robert Graves in "The White Goddess" (you know, the fictional novel that Gardner used as a model for Wicca) states that whatever a witch is dealt, they should deal back three times over. In fact, the passage cites a particular initiation ritual that involves symbolic flagellation, NOT a code of ethics for witchcraft.

It was picked up by later authors as "Whatever You Give" and popularized by media like The Craft and Charmed and authors like Silver Ravenwolf in the 90s when the modern witchcraft movement was having its' millennial boom. (This is a gross oversimplification, but that's when the concept became common enough in pop culture that non-witches were starting to become familiar with the term.)

Three - Karma has absolutely nothing to do with it. Karma is not instant or sentient and the bastardized version of the concept that's been worked into much of modern witchcraft literature more closely resembles the Christian concept of sin and judgment than what karma actually is. Remove the word from your vocabulary when you're talking about magic. The universe does not give one single flying fuck what you do with your spells.

Four - The word you're searching for when you talk about these concepts is CONSEQUENCES. Every action you take, every spell you cast, everything has consequences and everything has a price. This isn't a divine mandate or a cosmic law either. It's a simple fact of life. BUT. It doesn't mean that baneful spells are morally or ethically wrong or that they're going to blow up in someone's face. The only reason a baneful spell might be more likely to rebound is that it's one of the only types of spells that witches actively ward against.

Five - Witches have a right to use magic for persuasion, defense, justice, retribution, binding, prevention, or outright harm if they so choose. If you don't like those types of spells, then don't cast them.

Six - Moral puritanism is a cancer that will destroy us all. Get off your high horse, drop the holier-than-thou bullshit, and remember that being a witch does not make you immune to propaganda.

Thank you for coming to my Toad Talk.

#witch community #witchblr #witchcraft #Advice for Beginner Witches #baneful magic

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jewish-sideblog · 5 months

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hey, so im Palestinian and a strong activist for my people's liberation. i wanted to ask for some info/advice on avoiding antisemitism in my activism for Palestine. im on anon bc i don't want to be called a racefaker for caring about Jewish ppl. i know antisemitism is on the rise right now (and generally over the past few years) and i want to make sure i'm not unintentionally contributing to it.

Hey there! I wanted to start by genuinely thanking you for asking this question. Partially because I don't actually get any well-intentioned or helpful questions in my inbox anymore, but also because I understand the amount of bravery it takes to reach out with a question like that at a time like this.

Next, I want to apologize to all my followers who hate long posts. Judaism is a very complicated ethnoreligious group, antisemitism is a very complicated form of bigotry, and the Israeli/Palestinian conflict is arguably the most complicated international issue that has ever existed. I'm going to try to go through everything as succinctly as possible below the cut-- I am also going to ask other Jews to contribute to and make edits to this list as needed.

And finally-- I'm writing this as though I were speaking to someone with very little knowledge of the subject. I understand that as a Palestinian, you probably know a lot about what's going on here. But I want to make sure that I'm covering bases for anybody else who might need to use this post. So if you're like, Yeah, Obviously I Knew That. Please remember that a fuckton of people on tumblr are engaging in Israeli criticism without obviously knowing that.

There are two primary forms of antisemitism in anti-Zionist spaces-- antisemitic conspiracy theory, and criticism of Israel that no other country receives. The first kind is the easiest kind to pick out, and it makes a nice bulleted list, so we'll start there.

Dual Loyalty. A global stereotype that has skyrocketed since the establishment of Israel, but it's been around for a lot longer than that. Simply put, it's the idea that Jews are more loyal to Israel (or some global secret kabal) than we are to the countries we currently reside in. With I/P, it manifests as the idea that All Jews are directly responsible for Israel or the idea that All Jews secretly support Israel. If you see a Jew who isn't directly engaging in I/P topics, don't ask them what their stance is. Plenty of us have never even been to Israel, and it's fucked up to assume that we're all experts in geopolitics.

The Holocaust was a Fabrication or a Lesson. The idea that Jews made up the Shoah has been around since the Shoah was still happening, and it's always been ridiculous. Today, you'll see three primary lines about this. Either it's that Jews made up the Shoah as an excuse to establish Israel, that the Jews deserved the Shoah because of what's happening in Israel today, or that the Jews "should have learned their lesson from the Holocaust" because now Jews are "the new Nazis". Frankly, I wish goyim would stop treating the deaths of millions of Jews like a TV show. Palestinian deaths are genuinely horrible, but this isn't some kind of "narrative parallel" to the Shoah.

The Kazars Theory, or All Jews are White. This is the DNA test nonsense. The idea is that Israel (or Jews at large) are only pretending to be indigenous to the Levant and that secretly Jews as a whole are actually indigenous to Eastern Europe. It's a lie, started by a German professor of Russian history in the early 1800s. Meanwhile, the vast majority of genetic, historical, and archaeological evidence points to Jewish origins in the Israeli/Palestinian region. There have been literal hundreds of genetic studies on this. Most of them suggest that Jews, even "white" Ashkenazim, are nearly genetically identical to Palestinians.

World Domination. The idea that Jews control the world began with the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in 1903. If you're encountering criticism of Israel that suggests that world governments, particularly European or American ones, are being controlled by Jews, you've got yourself antisemitism. White supremacists like to use the term "Zionist Occupied Government" or "ZOG" as shorthand for this conspiracy. The next two points are born out of this same ideology.

Controlling the Media. The idea that Jews are in charge of Hollywood and/or major news organizations around the world. Regarding I/P, I've seen a bunch of people say something like "Western media outlets won't cover this! (Because you know who controls them!)" only to look online and see... Western media outlets covering it. See also: "My source is tiktok! I don't trust the news!" While it's obviously a fair criticism to say that some Western news outlets certainly have a pro-Israel and anti-Palestinian bias, it's certainly not every single one of them. Reuters and the AP are once again my go-to's here.

Controlling the Financial World. I haven't actually seen this come up regarding I/P, but considering how things have been going, it's only a matter of time. We don't control the banks. We don't control the stock market. We're not in charge of American aid being sent to Israel. HaShem knows that if we controlled all the money, I'd certainly be living larger than I am now...

Those Bloodthirsty Jews. This one arguably started with Blood Libel in the 1100s, when Christians started accusing us of stealing and eating their babies. Straight up, I have met Christians who still believe this in 2023. You see this a lot with I/P-- the Al Ahli Hospital is the biggest example. More than a month later, most reliable intelligence organizations agree that a misfired Hamas rocket landed in a parking lot, killing about 100 people. But a ton of people are still saying that Those Bloodthirsty Jews intentionally bombed the hospital dead on, killing 470 people. I want to be clear-- Israel is killing a lot of civilians. But if you see a bandwagon of people focusing on the one group of deaths that Israel probably actually didn't cause? Consider why.

Causing wars, revolutions, and calamities. Hamas has straight-up got this one in their founding charter. No, the Jews are not responsible for any major global conflicts, revolutions, or counter-revolutions that don't directly involve Israel. We didn't do WWII. We didn't do the October Revolution. See above-- we're not secretly plotting massacres on Shabbat. A lot of people are saying that Netanyahu and Likud let Hamas in to justify the invasion of Gaza... I'd be shocked if that was the case. All evidence points to a classic intelligence failure. We're not orchestrating bloodbaths.

Section 2: Criticisms only levelled at Israel

It's important to recognise that Israeli civilians are no more collectively responsible for the actions of the Likud coalition than Palestinians are collectively responsible for the actions of Hamas. No Palestinian deserves to be stripped of their rights to self-determination in their ancestral lands because of the October 7th attack. Likewise, no Chinese person deserves to be displaced from China because of the CCP's human rights violations in Tibet, Uyghur and Hong Kong. No Russian person deserves to be ethnically cleansed from Russia because of the Kremlin's invasion of Ukraine. But plenty of people do believe that Jews should be stripped of their rights to self-determination in historically Jewish indigenous lands because of the actions of the Israeli government.

After October 7th, I've seen people argue that Israeli babies deserved to be kidnapped because of their national origin. I've seen people argue that Israeli women deserved to be sexually abused because of their nation of origin. I've seen people argue that the seven million Jews living in their ancestral homeland deserve death or displacement because of their nation of origin. Justifying or allowing brutal harm against people because of their national origin is hateful.

I want to make this part very clear-- I do not have an issue with calling out Israeli war crimes or crimes against humanity. But I do have an issue with treating Jewish civilians differently than civilians of other nations responsible for similar horrors. Amplifying bias against a particular group because of that group's nation of origin is called bigotry. Taking a stand against Israeli settlements in the West Bank is anti-Zionism. Collectivizing the label of "white colonialism", and forcing that label upon refugees forced to move to Israel, or Mizrahim with uninterrupted 8,000-year histories in Israel, is antisemitism.

Part 3: Moving Forward

So where do we go from here? If advocating for the destruction of Israel is advocating for the elimination of Jewish self-determination in our ancestral lands, but advocating in favour of the Israeli government is advocating for the elimination of Palestinian self-determination in your ancestral lands, then we must find some middle ground. A solution that allows seven million Jews and five-and-a-half-million Arabs to share the same holy land, without fear of persecution, displacement, or death. For me, this means a few things.

First of all, the recognition that most Israelis disagree with Netanyahu's approach to Palestine, and most Palestinians disagree with Hamas's approach to Israel. And that brings up a question-- why are Likud and Hamas in charge of Israel and Gaza respectively if most people disagree with them? Without getting into the complicated intricacies of the Knesset and the PNA on an already very long post (and without explaining your own government to you), the simple answer is international funds.

Israeli crimes against Palestinians are bankrolled by American Evangelical Christians, who believe that when Palestine is gone, all the Jews will go to Israel, and Jesus will come back to kill the world's infidels. They actually fucking believe that. Meanwhile, Hamas is bankrolled by Iran, which believes that the more often Jews and Sunni Muslims kill each other, the easier it will be for Iranian Shiite Jihad to take over the world. They actually fucking believe that.

So what steps can we take during our advocacy? Not for the destruction of Israel nor the destruction of Palestine, but for America and Iran to get their noses out of our damn business. I genuinely believe that a defunded Likud and a defunded Hamas will allow Israelis and Palestinians to work together for a peaceful two-state or joint-rule solution. Something that will keep my Palestinian friends from feeling like they can't safely travel from Jaffa to Tel Aviv. Something that will allow my Jewish family to visit and pray at the Cenotaphs of Isaac and Rebecca and the Temple Mount. Something that will let Israeli children from Kibbutz Nirim and Palestinian children from Khan Yunis play on the same playgrounds together, instead of sheltering from missile fire.

Frankly, we nearly had that when the Supreme Muslim Council and the Assembly of Representatives began collaborating against the British Mandate instead of against each other. Clearly, it's possible, we just need to stop being pitted against each other by foreign powers.

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me10dy10 · 2 months

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Drunk

Remus Lupin x drunk!fem!reader

Remus Lupin was sitting on a couch, watching as his friends sang a song together. James Potter and Sirius Black screamed a Queen song into the microphone and somehow it sounded good.

Someone sat next to him and he immediately recognized her from her perfume. "Remmy," y/f/n whispered. A grin on her face.

"Yes?"

"Come dance with me. Please."

Remus shook his head and laughed. "Merlin no."

"C'mon, love. Come dance. Lilly left and now I have no one to dance with." Y/n had already started standing up and was pulling him with her, she was much stronger than she actually looked and was able to drag him to where everyone else was.

For about an hour, the two danced together. But then their friends wanted to leave. Y/n and Lilly walked together, holding hands and stumbling on the side walk, running into each other and laughing. Y/n had almost fell of the curb and into the street but Remus grabbed her wrist. "Alright, you too are done," he told them. Remus held the girls and James put Lilly over his shoulder.

Y/n was mumbling things to Remus and although he was listening, none of it actually made sense. "Cause when- think about it. Are you thinking about it?" Remus nodded. "Kangaroos come from America. They're basically human."

"You're a human too, does that mean your from America?"

"I'm from Norway, you know this silly goose," she giggled and almost fell over. "But humans exist in America. My tummy hurts."

"We're almost home."

Y/n sighed and stopped talking. She had started counting her steps. "Hundre," she whispered. "Hundre og trettifire."

And soon the made it to the apartment. Sirius and Marlene McKinnon had gone to their own, James and Lilly went to a different one and Remus and y/n walked up to theirs. The two weren't a couple, but since the other four were they had to share a room.

Y/n cheered when she walked into the apartment and immediately went to the fridge to grab a shot. "Hm, nope," Remus said taking it from her.

"Please, please. I'm thirsty," she said, dragging out the 'y'. Remus pointed to the water bottles they had. "No, please. Just one."

She had started to try and get it from him, pressing herself against him and trying to grab his hand. But then she stopped and just looked up at him. He looked so pretty in the lighting. "Can I kiss you?" She asked.

Remus didn't say anything but just took a step back which surprised her. "I think it's best if you go to bed."

Y/n looked at him and nodded. "You don't like me?" She asked.

"I didn't say tha-"

"So you do like me?"

"...I didn't say that... either."

"Do you like me or not, Remus. Cause you'll dance with me and you'll hold my hand and you helped me in school and we'd kiss sometimes and you'd act like my boyfriend. But then you'll go days without talking to me and... and you'll say the meanest things sometimes and you make me feel so dumb an-and. Merlin! You're so confusing!" She shouted.

"You're drunk, let's talk about this in the morni-"

"No! No! I... No. You don't like me. That's that." She silently walked to the bedroom and went to sleep in her dress. Remus could hear her crying. He slept on the couch because he wanted to give her her space and was planning on what to say in the morning.

He did like y/n. He liked her a lot actually. Maybe even loved her and he never thought she felt the same way and now he was scared he ruined everything...

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #angst #drunk!reader

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bookworm-with-coffee · 11 months

Text

Sleepless Nights. . .

(Fili x Reader)

(A/N); Hey, readers! Thank you for stopping by to read this!! You can probably tell that this was a "lying in bed whilst cold" idea. Cos let's face it - we all want to snuggle a Dwarf. Enjoy! ❤❤

Plot; Bedsharing drabble

Pairings; Fili x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; if you like sweet fluff - you'll probs need a dentist, sexual themes / implied smut / brief scene (18+)

__________________________________________

The last light of the day had finally descended behind the horizon when the Company had finally set up camp for the evening. Although the wind of the evening was soft, its chill bit down to the bone. For the Dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield's company, this was not the case.

The Dwarves had thick, hardy blood from their upbringings and many winters spent within the Blue Mountains, making them immune to what they considered a light evening breeze. Gazing at their merriment, you found yourself envious of their indifference to the elements whilst you sat close to the crackling embers of the campfire. You had no such resistance in your blood. Your homeland was mild and warm, the summers being considered hot. None of the furs and clothing you had brought with you were enough to combat the chill of the nights in this part of Middle-Earth. Snuggling into your blanket that you'd draped over your shoulders, you sighed. You prayed that the cold evenings would cease or that you magically gain resistance to the elements over night. These were only the first nights of the quest, and there would be hundreds more. Bombur's hot stews only gave temporary relief, not being able to stop the suffering you felt in your nightly attempts to sleep restfully.

Night after night now, you'd slept horribly. In your futile attempts to rest peacefully, your sleep was light and consistently broken with your trembling. In the mornings, you'd been feeling drained and sore from being curled so uncomfortably in your bedroll. The Company had sensed your quiet and if they'd seen your exhaustion, they'd kept silent about it for your sake. Thorin Oakenshield was a hard man to please, still remaining unimpressed with your presence, like that of Bilbo's. He'd made it clear to the both of you that you were not to be liabilities on the Company. There would be no stopovers in cities, only the dangers of the wilderness. Despite Thorin's hardened will towards you both, you'd grown close with the Hobbit and become quite fond of him. His soft, kind nature had inclined you to feel more protective over the smaller man. However, Fili and Kili saw it as a point of exploit for their mischievous teasing.

There had been many wails and cries from the forest, heard within the evenings, some even managing to startle Thorin himself. He never rested easy either, to your understanding. "The Orcs must be getting restless", Kili mused beneath his breath, knowing that Bilbo was within earshot. The Hobbit had worriedly glanced around the quiet camp. Kili fought his grin, sharpening and cleaning his blade with careful strokes.

"I wonder how long it'll be before we come across them? Or how long it'll be until they find us?", Fili sighed nonchalantly. Your brows furrowed in distaste at their jesting. This was the second time over the course of the week that they'd done it, Thorin telling them off on the first time. It was your turn now.

"Don't listen to them", you chided Bilbo, sparing half a glare to the younger Dwarves as they sniggered to themselves. "They're just trying to be funny". Bilbo sighed, setting his bedroll next to yours,

"Don't you worry that they may be right??".

"No". Your flat answer and shrug surprised not only Bilbo, but the two mischief-makers across the fire. "We're in a camp full of Dwarven warriors armed to the teeth", you elaborated, eliciting smug brow raises from the Dwarven Princes who eavesdropped. "Their pained screaming would probably alert us so that we could escape". The Hobbit found himself chuckling at your addition, the two Dwarves quickly losing their smugness. Despite that, they found themselves in admiration of your fiery wit and sense of humour; Fili especially. He remembered your meeting in Bag End, when he protected you from Kili's food throwing. Although, you really didn't seem to mind it at the time. Both Dwarven Princes had taken to you quickly, despite their Uncle's coldness to you. You had been kind to them since the moment you'd met, carrying many hilarious conversations and jokes on the journey thus far. A smile curled onto the blonde Prince's face whilst he lit his metal pipe, his eyes dancing over to where you and Bilbo prepared to sleep. The Hobbit turned to you,

"Are you sure you want to sleep so close to the fire?". Pulling your blanket closer to your shoulders, you nodded,

"I'll be fine". Bilbo couldn't help his concern. One turn, and you could easily catch fire. He hadn't realised it, but you'd been trying to sleep closer to him each night, praying that some warmth might leech onto you. Even that had become futile now, this becoming your last resort.

Shuffling down, you started to make yourself comfortable for the evening. A soft hum left your lips once you settled, the deep warmth of the fire reaching your frozen limbs effortlessly. Fili watched in curiosity, as he'd done for the last few nights thus far, unbeknownst to yourself.

He'd noticed the paleness starting in your face, the way you constantly needed to stretch your limbs as if they were weak, tired and sore. You'd also developed a soft darkness beneath your eyes, seemingly more tired with each day's passing. Something was wearing you down. He even thought of telling Oin that you were unwell, Kili refusing the idea. If their Uncle caught wind that you had a sickness, he would leave you in the nearest town for care, unable to risk the safety and health of his kin. Kili was positive that it would pass. Yet, Fili wasn't so sure. Seeing you now trying to curl up to the fire after countless nights of lying extremely close to Bilbo had him worried that you had caught chills from a disease. That slowly, hypothermia may take you. Your eyes fluttered closed, unbothered by the world, Fili's brows creasing with worry.

"What is it?", Kili whispered, noting his brother's expression with equal concern.

"Something isn't right", he replied underneath his breath, eyes drifting to his counterpart. Kili's lips pursed, eyeing your form from afar.

"Agreed. She strays further from being herself every day, growing more exhausted".

"I wish I knew how to help her", Fili sighed. "But, she is silent about whatever this is. Maybe Oin—".

"No", Kili halted him. "I don't think she's sick". The blonde's brows rose, encouraging his brother to elaborate. Yet, before he could, a figure had crossed the camp.

"No, I've seen enough", Dori hushed his brother Nori, turning to your figure on the floor. "(Y/n), pardon me for disturbing, but I can't take this any longer". Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed up incredulously at the pompous Dwarf you'd also grown fond of. Dori had begun to fuss over you in previous days, ensuring that you were eating enough. You appreciated him and his motherly nature, yet now you weren't so sure.

"Dori?", you questioned, a brow quirking in confusion.

"You need to move from the fire right this very instant, lest you wish to burn yourself alive!". Sighing, you rubbed at your eyes.

"Dori, I'll be fine—".

"No!", he cut in harshly, silencing you. His eyes seemed to plead with yours, clouded in concern. "You'll catch alight being this close and I will not allow it!".

"Dori, please", you begged, the exhaustion in your voice softening his eyes. "I'm freezing. I'm cold—". Before the argument could get around the camp, Fili marched forward. He now understood why your nights had been sleepless. It all made sense. You were cold. He'd almost forgotten that you'd come from a more tropical part of Middle-Earth.

"Dori", his stern voice seemed to break the resolve of the older Dwarf. "I'll handle it from here". In his crystalline gaze, there was a surity and a sense gratitude for the other's efforts. Dori conceded hesitantly, sparing you a sympathetic glance before he parted. You came to dread the Prince's presence, grumbling to yourself in frustration. He was going to ask you to move as well, wasn't he?

"(Y/n), just move aside from the fire a moment".

Not wanting any more fights, you huffed, coming to a stand. The evening air attacked your form, your lower jaw beginning to tremble. The comfort of the fire was no more whilst you settled not too far from Bilbo. You curled painfully in your blanket, forcing your eyes to close. Fili had a sense of relief within him. You weren't sick, thank Mahal, but, he wouldn't let you suffer it out anymore.

In your numb, painful state, you hardly noticed the Prince setting his bedroll beside your own. He slid down, increasing the cold you felt when he lifted your blanket from your form. Your eyes shot open in a form of shock, your body tensing and covered with goosebumps. Instead, Fili set the blanket with his own, creating a double-layer blanket. Not only did the Prince cover you, but himself as well, shuffling closer to you. "Fili", you breathed out his name, your teeth beginning to chatter. "What are you doing?".

"It's okay", he murmured with a softness, wrapping you under one of his larger arms. Heat seemed to pour from Fili, his barely clothed form alike to a furnace. "Can I move closer?".

"Please", you shuddered, the Prince obliging quickly. Your arms came to wrap around him, the cold of your hands resting on his back seeming to give him shock.

"Mahal, you're so cold", he mumbled, curling his head over yours to comfortably have your head in the crook of his neck. You huffed harsh breaths, your body slowly becoming used to the warmth enveloping you. His large hands were like branding irons on your clothed skin as he rubbed circles over your arms and back, his hair masking your face from the cold. Once you ceased your breaths, your trembles coming to fade, he eyed your face for sickness. "Are you alright?".

"Yes", you sighed, nuzzling into his chest. "Thank you". A soft smile splayed on his face, relieved to see you no longer in pain. "Please don't leave".

"Just sleep", he encouraged, running his hand over your hair. "I won't leave you". There was a gentle compassion in his crystalline gaze that completely mesmerised you. Your tired gaze finally closed, fully trusting the kind Dwarf. Sighing in contentment, your body relaxed for the first time in many nights. Fili's heart thrummed like a lullaby close to your ears. His soft breaths were calm and steady, repeating in a blissful loop. It wasn't long before your breaths evened out, his callouses running gentle caresses over your cheek. And despite how he usually stayed up later, Fili allowed his eyes to come to a restful close as well.

The following morning came quickly over the horizon, your eyes fluttering open to find soft breaths fanning over your face. Fili's expression was peaceful whilst he slept, his arms holding you flush against his form. His legs had tangled with yours in your shared unconsciousness and you found that your muscles and bones no longer ached with inflammation. It had been the best sleep of your life.

With him already awake, Thorin's ocean gaze scrutinized your tangled forms from afar, yet said nothing. The rest of the Company didn't share his response as they rose for the day.

"You were awfully quiet for two people that bedded each other", Dwalin had teased, earning a disappointed look from Balin.

"Can't have been that good in bed then", Nori commented playfully. Gandalf had shaken his head at their antics.

"I was just keeping her warm!", Fili had defended, the Company laughing in their amusement.

"Aye, I believe that", Bofur conceded. "But, with or without yer pants on?". The blonde glared, sparing only you a sympathetic glance.

"Did you sleep well?", he asked, slipping his coat on over his tunic.

"Yes, thank you", you grinned, your muscles no longer stiff and your face no longer like death. Fili matched your expression. "I'm sorry about them".

"Don't be", he chuckled, shrugging. "They're just jealous". Some part of you felt as if you'd never sleep that well again. You knew Fili was doing this as a one-off and it saddened you. However, you would not waste this energy while you had it. You'd relish in it, even if it was for only one day.

Bombur had made a hot breakfast, rehydrating dried meats, cooking eggs, tomatoes and frying the mushrooms Bilbo had picked in the woods yesterday. Dori had set you aside a plate, ensuring that you had enough sustenance to carry you throughout your day. "I'm sorry", the older Dwarf planted himself beside you. "For everything". You turned to him, feeling the regret in his gaze.

"Don't be. I was lying too close to the fire. You cared for me, like Fili. Thank you". Dori offered you a smile of warmth, rubbing your back comfortingly.

"It's alright", he assured you.

As the day progressed, Ori had offered to knit you an extra blanket. Thorin didn't like the idea of his scribe forsaking his job for you, however, he understood why. Compassionately, he'd offered you his coat instead, which had shocked even his nephews. You didn't wish to deprive Thorin of his source of warmth, thanking him kindly, but declining the offer. The days were growing warmer, you'd noticed, but the nights were less promising.

The evening approached all too quickly, the late afternoon winds carrying a chill. Eagerly, you'd awaited Bombur's rabbit stew, courtesy of Fili and Kili's hunting skills. Ori had approached you whilst you ate, wrapping a scarf gently around your neck that he'd knitted post-haste for you. "I know it's not much", the young Dwarf fumbled. "But, I hope you like it and that it keeps you warm". You smiled, causing his expression to light up before you offered him a side hug. Happily, he obliged.

"It's more than I deserve, thank you, Ori". Dori smiled at your interaction, clapping his youngest brother on the shoulder in gratitude when he returned to his family. Bofur had taken to giving you his hat, lowering the flaps over your ears to keep them warm.

"Keep that safe for me, Lass. Can y' do that?". You grinned at his friendly demeanour, nodding.

"Thank you, Bofur".

"Was the stew hot enough?", Bombur asked with some insecurity. It occurred to you then that word had spread fast around the camp about your more tropical background.

"Beautifully so", you'd assured him to his delight. Oin had even taken to offering you a tea he'd made from chamomile flowers and honey-dipped sage for more peaceful sleep and happy muscles.

However, you dreaded only being with one blanket as the cold front moved in. You'd set up your bedroll as the trees rustled up above. The stone-covered floor beneath you matched the cold in the air, stealing the warmth from your form as you attempted to settle for the night. Steps approached your tensing form, the blonde Princeling aligning his bedroll with yours again to your surprise.

"What are you doing?", you whispered, eyes darting up at him in alarm. A soft laugh rumbled in his chest whilst he settled in with you.

"What does it look like?", he bounced back. "I told you I wouldn't leave you. I meant it". He offered you a lopsided grin that made your heart do backflips. "How close you snuggle up to me is entirely up to you". And despite his cheekiness, you didn't refuse his kind embrace, that same compassion twinkling in his icy blue gaze. His hot clothed skin met your own, a sense of bliss travelling into your very soul at the soothing feel of it. He adjusted Bofur's fluffy hat, ensuring Ori's scarf was also adequately covering you.

"Thank you", you hummed, almost gasping at his callouses trailing up and down your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"It's alright", he murmured, his chin resting upon your head in contentment. Some part of you prayed that he'd never stop sleeping beside you like this.

To your delight, it became a nightly ritual. Most times, no words had to be expressed. It never mattered how involved in a conversation Fili was, he would always follow you to your slumber whenever you decided to sleep. If he was on nightwatch, he would hold you in his arms, bundled into his lap. It was in the quiet hours of the night in which Fili allowed himself to admire the evenness of your breaths and your restful expression. Sometimes, he would lay soft kisses upon your forehead when he was sure you were entirely asleep. Slowly, he came to the understanding that he was becoming taken by you.

Guilt had begun to fill his heart over time. This was an entirely innocent act and yet, Fili felt as if he had tainted it. You had no idea about his feelings and if you did, would you still allow him to be so close? To hold you with the hands he desired to do so much more with? He found it was selfish to keep you so close, feeling that you deserved more than him.

It mattered not when danger struck the Company.

First, it had been trolls who'd taken to stealing the ponies for their meal, before putting yourself and the Dwarves on their breakfast menu. But, with the coming of Radaghast the Brown afterwards, Fili realised there were far worse worries than the trolls they'd faced or his impure thoughts.

Wargs with Orcs astride were hunting you all and there was nowhere to run. Adrenaline carried the Company across a field littered with boulders. "Ori, no! Get back!", Thorin exclaimed, pulling the younger Dwarf back against the fifteen-foot boulder your group had begun to pass. Sweat beaded down your forehead, eyeing Thorin for further instructions. It was Gandalf who instructed you to keep moving instead. "Come on, come on, quick!!", he ushered everyone along. Fili stuck close to you, pulling you with an iron grip to ensure you kept up. You never fought his touch, holding onto his larger hand whilst your legs burned amidst your sprint.

"Where are you taking us?", Thorin had ground out in his suspiscions, eyeing the grey wizard who declined to answer him. The howling of the Wargs was enough to heighten your anxieties, alleviating your pain, pushing you forwards. Radaghast's cries of laughter descended over the hills ahead, alerting you all to the nearby Orc pack. What you weren't expecting was to see Radaghast leading them in the hills right ahead of you. The Dwarves were lead to a sharp left, you all ducking for cover beneath a boulder. Thorin pinned Bilbo beneath his arm and against the boulder face, doing a headcheck to make sure that everyone was accounted for. Fili had you pinned behind him, his large twin-swords drawn. Thorin admired his nephew's instincts to protect those weaker than himself. Not that you weren't a capable fighter, you just weren't as seasoned as the Dwarves. Dwalin growled beneath his breath, his axe at the ready. Ori clung to your arm, holding on for dear life. All of your breaths, despite wishing to catch them, shallowed as the jaws of a Warg gnashed menacingly above. Thorin's ocean gaze darted to his youngest nephew, armed with a bow. Panic leapt into your throat. You would get caught, you knew that. Your mouth opened to protest, but Thorin had given his orders. Kili stepped out from beneath the boulder, firing true between the Warg's eyes. This was not enough, to everyone's surprise. The Warg and his rider tumbled to the floor, the Dwarves striking hard and fast. Your face had screwed into a cringe, the wails of the two hellish creatures echoing throughout the hills. A moment of tense silence passed before a foul tongue was heard on the wind, Gandalf's gaze snapping to the hills ahead. Howls began to echo in the landscape, the wizard shouting, "Move!! Run!!". Your feet hit the ground, Fili pushing you forwards, ahead of himself. Noticing that Bilbo was lagging behind to your right, you gripped onto the Hobbit, pulling him with you.

"Ori, quick!!", you ushered the smaller Dwarf that flanked your left.

"I'm trying!", he gasped, gaining on your lead.

"There they are!!", Gloin yelled, pointing to your far right. You spied the many numbers they had, your heart battering within your ribcage.

"This way!", Gandalf called, looping you further left and down the yellow hills. Thorin was faster than the rest of his Company, taking the lead ahead of the grey wizard. Yet, it was all for naught. Thorin's arm stopped your group, growling at the Orc riders dead ahead.

"There's more coming!!", Kili shouted, arming his bow to fire.

"Shoot them, Kili!! Shoot them!!", his Uncle ordered with urgency. You drew the sword on your waistbelt, holding it in a defensive position.

"We're surrounded!!", Fili proclaimed, only a few yards ahead. The enemy had completely enclosed the Company in. And you were all heavily outnumbered. You darted forwards to help build the front lines, Fili catching you in his peripheral. His strong arm outstretched, catching your smaller form. "Stay behind me!!". The sternness and desperation lacing his voice whilst he held you back was almost terrifyingly different to the softness he usually offered you.

"I'll fight with you! I can fight!!", you argued.

"No!!". His voice dropped an octave. "Flank the others. Protect them. Let me protect you!". His eyes pleaded with you whilst he gently shoved you back. "Do as I say, (Y/n)!". Fili was a seasoned warrior. With so many enemies, you may be the Company's last line of defense. Kili shot arrows effortlessly into the wind, the other Dwarven warriors falling into a panic.

"Where's Gandalf?!", Dori shouted. Now that you looked around, running to regroup with Bofur, Bilbo and Thorin, you didn't see the wizard anywhere. Dwalin flanked your right, responding hatefully,

"He's abandoned us!!". You panted, watching to your horror as Ori took the first line of defense, shooting his slingshot weakly at the leader of the pack to no avail.

"Ori!!", your cry broke the air, Thorin charging forwards from your left to join the outer circle with his nephews.

"Hold your ground!", he screamed, Dwalin and Bofur lingering with you to protect the others. Readying yourselves for a difficult fight, you all jumped when hearing the voice of the wizard you'd all come to love so much.

"This way, you fools!!", Gandalf yelled, seemingly within a ditch in the rocks. It was your best chance. Everyone knew it, not hesitating to sprint in the opposite direction, towards the boulders.

"Come on! Move!!", Thorin barked, ushering Bombur, Fili and Ori ahead of himself. Kili had not stopped holding his ground courageously. "All of you, let's go!! Move! Move!!". As per Thorin's proclaimations, you helped Bofur, Bilbo, Balin and Dori into the ditch below. Meanwhile, the King skillfully struck down the Wargs that attempted to foil your escape. Oin, Gloin, Bombur and Bifur slid down, one by one. Dwalin grabbed ahold of you, once assuring himself that Fili, Nori, Ori and Thorin were near enough.

"Let's go!", he'd shouted, dragging you down into the darkness below. Eagerly, the Dwarves below attempted to catch you both, cushioning your rough fall successfully. Quickly regaining your foothold, you held up your weapon in renewed fervour.

"Kili!!", Thorin shouted, still not descending until all of his kin were accounted for. Gandalf helped keep track of that, having counted you all as you fell in. Ori and Nori had come tumbling into the cavern, everyone pulling together to break their fall. Nori pushed Ori behind himself, growling with a primal fury. The two Dwarves were followed by Fili, Kili and finally Thorin. Dwalin and Fili fronted a defense in front of you, the latter tucking his arm behind himself to cover you.

Instead of the onslaught you'd all expected to follow, a horn broke the air, hooves breaking the softer ground above with thunderous steps. An onslaught had begun, just not involving the Company. Metal clashed in the fields above and arrows flew, an Orc tumbling into the cavern with one piercing his chest. You all were ready to fight the creature, sighing in relief when you found it to be deceased. Not satisfied, Thorin ripped the arrow from the Orc's chest to examine its make. "Elves!", he spat, throwing it aside distastefully.

"I canny' see where the pathway leads!", Dwalin called out, having now moved ahead from the group. "Do we follow it or no?!".

"Follow it, of course!!", Bofur responded all too eagerly, pushing his way through the crowd his kin had formed. The Company didn't wait for further orders, Nori leading his brothers behind Bofur and his cousin and brother. Balin followed suit with Kili at his side. Gloin and Oin followed after them. Thorin's eyes darted between Gandalf and Bilbo with an unreadable amount of frustration before following his kin.

"I think that would be wise", Gandalf agreed with some lighthearted amusement. You breathed a sigh of relief, placing your sword back into its scabbard. The Company had survived, you were all alive. Fili waited for your steps to follow his own before moving forwards. Bilbo lingered with the wizard, their steps falling far behind your own.

"Are you hurt?", the Princeling asked, his gaze travelling over your beautiful body for any signs of injury.

"I'm fine", you sighed. "In need of a lot of rest. And you?".

"The same", he assured with an amused huff. You were all finally safe, having landed in the realm of the Imladris, better known as Rivendell; the home of the Elves. You had always wished to visit these lands, having read about this place only in legends.

The rays of the setting sun reached over the cliffs of the Valley. It provided a dim, natural lighting of a golden orange. Upon seeing the water that flowed freely through the small and beautiful city, your body craved a bath and a new set of clothes. Sweat and dirt had matted your clothing heavily, creating an unpleasant stink and stickiness to your skin. Thorin was in no way impressed about being in Rivendell over the next few days. Yet, most of you couldn't care less.

You all had descended the stone steps, having an Elf by the name of Lindir greet you upon entry. Gandalf had asked for an 'Elrond', a name you had read only in Middle-Earth's greatest history books and legends. Lord Elrond Half-Elven. And it wasn't long before he showed. He and his men came astride many stallions, surrounding the group of Dwarves that shoved you and Bilbo into the middle of their kill-circle. You had been relaxed all along, realising that there was no harm intended. The Elven Lord was kind beyond words, greeting the wizard as a very old friend. He had looked upon your group, noticing how weary everyone was. Without hesitation, he offered food, his house and all its amenities to you all. You didn't hesitate to thank him on the spot, Dwalin and Thorin rolling their eyes at your good manners.

"You are most welcome", Elrond had assured you with an inclining of his head, Gloin's words having been quickly forgotten in your kindness.

The day's passing seemed slower in Rivendell. You didn't feel rushed as you rinsed yourself in pouring water to remove any and all dirt before soaking in a premade bath. All of these amenities were in your room, the silk curtains closed for your privacy. The water seemed creamy, smelling floral as it softened your skin. Steam rose from the water, being just the right temperature. A clean dress had been set on your bed along with a night gown. You used the exfoliating oils on your scalp, rinsing out the sweat and dust once you had left the bathtub. The dress the Elves had been kind to leave you was a soft baby blue, sheer with many layers. The sleeves and underdress were silver silk that clung to your arms comfortably.

When you arrived at dinner, the Dwarves noted your sweet scent. You'd definitely bathed and left your hair loose to dry. Despite being offered a seat at Elrond's table with Thorin, Balin, Bilbo and Gandalf, you chose to sit with Bombur, Dori, Ori, Bifur, Gloin and Fili at their smaller table. You sat between Ori and the space on your left where Bofur sat at the head of the next table. Fili had eyed you from the moment you entered the terrace. Silken silver and sheer blue. It was a breathtaking combination on you. You sat across from him, the sun hitting your back and giving you an ethereal halo. His mouth went dry, but it seemed he wasn't the only Durin in the state of infatuation. Kili had eyed the harp-playing Elf-Maid, her delicate fingers tracing over the strings. He even offered a wink which faced scrutiny by Dwalin, seated across from him. You hadn't noticed Fili's gaze whilst you ate, watching as Kili further humiliated himself at his table. The blonde Princeling had taken his lower lip between his teeth, resisting the impulsive thoughts that raged like fire within his mind and blood.

Dori had trouble trying to convince Ori that salads were good. So you joined, coating some of his salad with the light citrus dressing on the table. "Dressing makes it taste better", you encouraged the younger Dwarf.

Dwalin seemed to disagree with your words, searching his plate frantically for even the smallest traces of meat.

Bombur wasn't fussed, stuffing his face without a care. "Change the tune, why don't you?", Nori groaned eventually. "I feel like I'm at a funeral!".

"Did somebody die?", Oin echoed, his deafness making his counterpart harder to understand. Nonetheless, a change of music was in order and Bofur was happy to oblige. He clambered onto a stone platform to your own surprise and had started singing the merriest drinking song that you'd ever heard. The Dwarves all seemed to know it, clapping and banging on the table, Thorin seeming to tap the floor happily in rhythm. Bofur leapt around, offering you a friendly wink and smile whilst he danced with not a care in the world,

"So, the cat and the fiddle played 'hey diddle-diddle', a drink that'll wake the dead! He squeaked and he sawed and he quickened the tune! And the landlord shook the man in the moon, 'it's after 3!', he said!".

The song came to a crashing conclusion, dinner becoming a foodfight fest amongst the Dwarves. What mattered to you most was that they were all here, able to be merriful. It was a lovely dinner, however, Elrond and Lindir were unimpressed with their guests' manners. With good reason.

After the festivities of dinner, you had chosen to retreat from the terrace on your lonesome to the Dwarves' disappointment. You wished to explore the Elven libraries, whilst the Dwarves took to wreaking havoc on the Elves' pantry. They stayed in a small room, all together with many chairs, a few beds and just their bedrolls.

Night had finally descended upon Rivendell, the evening seeming milder to you. Thorin, Balin, Bilbo and Gandalf had all disappeared for the evening with Lord Elrond, nowhere to be seen by anyone for many hours now.

The moon shone through the curtains of the Dwarves' shared room, exhaustion having taken them all after their post-dinner snacks. The fire they'd made in the center of the room was now dying into embers. Snores were heard for halls beyond, the Dwarves draped both comfortably and uncomfortably over furniture, the floors and the bed. Fili was curled up by the bedside table within his bedroll. He'd bathed and washed his clothes, setting them to dry over the balcony railings, wearing the soft brown tunic and pants he'd brought as a spare. Everyone was dead asleep, yet his eyes were wide open. Even Kili, who had his limbs twisted in many directions on a hard chair had fallen into a slumber. His mind drifted to you, pondering if you were sleeping soundly or not. Despite how he should've been glad to not be sharing his space for a few nights, Fili found himself distraught. He'd gotten used to hushed words being shared before sleep would take you both. He got used to the feel of you within his arms. Your nightly embrace felt right, your bodies snuggled together perfectly. Although he'd never admitted it, Fili had slept better since having you beside him. The Prince realised that he missed you. Packing up his bedroll and abandoning his belongings, Fili crept past the sleeping bodies of his comrades, beginning to wander the halls in search for your quarters.

________________

Bodies molded together in passion, hot breaths mingling. Kisses were like fire upon the skin, strong arms holding you to the mattress in your shared pursuit of pleasure. One could only wish, you thought, placing down the book you'd tried to read in your attempt to relax and sleep. When your thoughts drifted to passion, Fili's expression and tone of voice came to mind. He'd looked at you on the battlefield like nothing else mattered, your skin still feeling his hard grip. The deep warmth of his skin and his callouses often had you fantasising on what a heated night would be like with the Princeling. It had tingles building between your legs. Aside from such thoughts, your mind had drifted to him. Fili must've been glad to be without you for a few nights, surely. He had not the faintest clue of your fantasies whilst you shared soft whispers and warm embraces during the colder nights, nor the feelings for him dancing in your heart. You missed him, unable to chase sleep without his arms around you. Heaving a sigh, you stood from the chair in which you'd perched, your nightdress falling to your knees. It was strappy and hemmed with lace around the chest and ends. It was a pure white colour, sheer with an underdress. The colour matched the silken sheets of your bed, you finally lifting them to climb in. You had to attempt sleep. In the dimness of your room, your mind raced, thinking back on the few handmaids that had tended to your room earlier in the evening. They pondered to you about your supposed partner, noting Fili's glaces and protectiveness over you. You had assured them that he was just a friend. You were you and he was a Prince. He could never—

"(Y/n)?". Your head lifted from your pillow and snapped to the open curtains at the front of your room, the blonde Princeling eyeing you from the doorway. Your eyes had widened in surprise, hardly expecting his company at this hour.

"Fili! I—", you fumbled, trying to cover yourself with your sheets.

"Don't!", he'd halted you. "It's fine, I don't mind". He wasn't exactly dressed properly either, you noted. His tanned tunic hung loosely around his broad figure, the first buttons undone to reveal his chest. The sleeves had been rolled up to reveal the strongly built muscles of his forearms, wearing nothing but a pair of pants with a dagger attached to his leg. "I came to check on you", the Princeling's voice softened amidst his confession. "I wanted to see if you were safe". Seeing you like this had him at a loss for words. Your smile made you seem relieved to see the Prince, and perhaps you were. His eyes seemed heavy with thought, coaxing your next question.

"Is something wrong, Fili?".

"No, no", he assured, offering you a smile. "The lads are keeping me up with their snoring. I was actually wondering if I could stay with you for the night?". You matched his expression amusedly.

"Of course", you nodded, beckoning him to join you. "I'd actually like some company tonight".

"Makes two of us", Fili sighed, straying forwards to your bed. Climbing in on your left, his eyes lit up with gratitude. "Thank you, (Y/n)". His body heat had radiated outwards once he'd settled in beside you. And despite how you weren't the slightest bit cold, you still felt drawn to his warmth. Fili had moved his body closer to your own almost out of instinct, lying so close that you could see the curves of his lashes and the depths of his kind gaze. "Are you alright?". The way you'd withdrawn from the terrace on your lonesome and your sleeplessness had the Prince worried that the Warg attack had unsettled you.

"Better now", you assured, a content sigh leaving your form. "Are you holding up okay?".

"Better now", Fili mirrored with a fond smile. "I feel like I can finally get some rest now, at least".

"Likewise". His brows knitted together in confusion, silently asking you to elaborate. "It was different, trying to sleep without you next to me tonight".

"You missed me??". Fili's heart had begun to hammer within his chest, his courage slowly dissipating with every breath he took. Trying to avoid getting any of his hopes up, his crystalline gaze monitored your expression for any signs that you may be uncomfortable.

"I've hardly slept a night without you since this quest began, Fili. It's hard for me not to miss you". His lips parted, brows raising in slight shock at your confession before he murmured,

"I missed you as well". His eyes had grown sadder, as if harbouring some guilt. "It's also why I chose to come here. I sleep better when I'm next to you".

"Me too", your hushed whisper barely left your lips before you pressed them to his softer ones. Fili's eyes fluttered closed at the contact, his heart having leapt into his throat. His heated hand found your waist, slowly tipping you onto your back with him hovering over you. The beads of his braided beard hitting your face tickled and shocked you with their cold, the kiss becoming devouring, his tongue working into the wet cavern of your mouth whilst your hands wove into his golden mane. His kiss had you seeing stars when his lips retreated from your own, trailing down the base of your throat in soft, searing touches. Fili's hand gripped the delicate material of your nightdress, declining to remove it without permission. When his lips reached your collarbone, his head lifted to tease you, pressing a feathersoft kiss to your forehead instead. Spindling his braid between your fingers, you smiled cheekily up at the Princeling, "The lads will definitely know something's up now. We'll both probably never hear the end of it". A soft laugh rumbled in his throat. Something told you that he didn't really mind the idea.

"We probably won't", he conceded, raising his brows almost suggestively. "But, maybe we should give them something to tease us about?". Heat traveled to your core, noting how his fingers began to thread into the material by your waist. You saw the glint of dark mischief playing in his gaze whilst it danced over your features.

"I quite like that idea". Your response coaxed him into resuming the heated ministrations that he was desperate to continue.

___________________

-- Extended Ending --

When the first light of the morning sun rose from over the cliffs of the valley, the soft light poured into your open room. The sheer curtains moved with the cool breeze, encouraging you to worm yourself deeper into the hot embrace of your lover. A delicious ache remained between your legs, reminding you of the previous evening's delightful happenings. You could still feel the hard grip he had when he'd parted your legs, the tingles from the desperate kisses you'd shared whilst he pumped rhythmically into your core, the smiles both loving and devious; and the way the heavens descended to the Earth when he'd helped you reach your high. Fili had held you afterwards, grounding you from the dizzying pleasure, cleaning you up and pressing sweet kisses across every inch of skin he'd been privileged to see. You truly didn't care for the vulgar sounds that slipped from both your lips the previous night, sighing contentedly in the embrace you shared with the Prince. As if being called by your thoughts, his crystalline eyes opened, blazed with an admiration and a laziness. They traced the features of your face, his callouses working imaginary patterns on the skin of your bare back. Brushing your messed fringe from your face, his lips finally pecked yours lovingly. A sigh left through his nostrils blissfully. Nothing could make this moment any better than it was...

The sound of steps stumbling into the room caught your shared attention, a distraught and exhausted looking Bofur standing in the doorway. "Just lettin' ye know that breakfast is ready", he grumbled, rubbing at his head. "And that the whole building heard y' last night". The both of you pursed your lips in restraint of your laughter, Bofur remaining unamused. "I had to try and sleep to multiple horrifying renditions of a Warg's call. Scarring t' say the least". Bofur forced a smile before leaving, "Glad t' see ye slept well, at least".

When his steps faded, the dam broke loose, your shared laughter pouring from your very hearts. Fili laid back, a shiteating grin on his face. You had to wipe at your eyes that became tearful with amusement.

Maybe this moment had just gotten a lot better?

The End . . .

__________________________________________

Hey readers!!

Hope you enjoyed this one!! As always, any and all feedback is welcome! If you wished to be added to my tagslist, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!

Thank you to all of you for your support!! ❤❤

_________________________________________

TAGLIST; @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @emrfangirl

#fili x reader #fili x female reader #fili durin x reader #fili #fili durin #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction

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jpitha · 6 months

Text

Used to Humans

Lots of "HFY" and "Deathworlders" and "Humans are $Adjective" stories understandably talk about early days with humans in the galaxy. It's fun to think about how humans could be different from other sapient species and how the things that we do that are normal to us could be seen by others. Eventually though, everything gets explained and the galaxy moves on, right? What does it look like when everyone already knows about the wild things humans do.

****

Vic burst through the door into the lounge. "I've got it! If we can route the neutrino stream away fro-"

Resimar and Pel'im didn't look up from their card game. Many of the games humans brought into space are popular, but almost all pale in comparison to the humble deck of cards. The idea of pieces of laminated paper with numbers and symbols on them to play hundreds of different games was appealing across all sapient species in the galaxy. Resi and Pel were currently deep into a Pinochle tournament.

Without looking up at him, Pel'im says, "Nice work Vic, I'm sure it'll work great." He sighs and flicks his eyes up to Resi. "twenty five points." Resi makes a face, but flicks her ears, indicating agreement.

Vic looks at both of them, incredulous. "You don't want to know what I figured out?"

Resi puts down four cards. "Kings around."

Pel snorts. He takes a moment to move the cards in his hand to a slightly different orientation. He doesn't look up at Vic. "Vic. How long as humanity been in the Galaxy?"

"Uh, more than one hundred Earth years now?"

Pel nods. "Right. And in that time, how many planets did you destroy?"

Vic thinks for a moment and looks down at his pad. "On purpose, or by accident?"

"That's entirely his point, Vic!" Resi looks up at Vic while Pel fusses at his cards. "For the last hundred and something years, when something wild has happened in the galaxy, you go to the center and you find one or more humans, either cackling with laughter or covered in soot going 'I had no idea that was going to happen!' We're just used to it now." She frowns at the cards in her hand. "You usually clean up any messes you make, so go nuts, have fun. Tell us when it's over. Is this going to be like the 'Apple Pie' incident again?"

"Double Pinchole!" Pel throws down both jacks of diamonds and both queens of spades, triumphant "That's thirty points, and my win for this round.

Vic crosses his arms. "No, it won't be another Apple Pie. For one, I know more about your physiology, for two, HR has forbid me from the kitchen, and for three the captain says that it wasn't that big of a deal actually, and nobody was seriously hurt in the end."

Resi sighs and scoops up the cards, carefully arranging them and with her smaller than human hands very carefully shuffles them. Pel leans back and takes a sip of his tea, satisfied.

Vic stares at them, deflated. "Oh. Uh, okay then. I'll let you get back to your game. Who is winning?"

Resi snorts. "Pel currently, but the tournament is not over yet."

Pel leans back and makes a gesture like rolling their eyes. "It basically is."

Later that day, when the bulkhead doors slammed shut to prevent all the atmosphere from venting from the ten meter hole that appeared in the hull near Vic's workstation, Resimar wondered if she should have expressed more interest in what Vic was working on.

#writing #humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #humans are space capybaras #jpitha #humans and aliens #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians

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as-is-above-so-below · 10 months

Text

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 9

summary: post-mission drinks and another flashback :) call sign: Freyja warning: NSFW, MDNI. Canon typical violence mentioned. Note: WE'RE BACK AGAIN! I'm super proud of this chapter (it may be my longest!) so I hope y'all like it :') Some of you may recognize a scene in the flashback from the original MW franchise, and you would be correct! I used that as a loose outline for a little Ghost/Freyja (pre-call sign) moment A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @halfmoth-halfman for being the best betas and @peachesofteal for always spitballing. Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Freyja checked on Arthur in his crib one final time, confirming that the little baby was still sound asleep, before closing the door to her bedroom with his monitor in hand. After arriving home following the gala mission, Freyja relieved Gaz of his babysitting duties and finished putting her son to bed while Simon took the first shower. They quickly swapped out so he could check on Joan and she could wash her makeup off.

As she came down, Soap was already sitting on the opposite end of the couch as Gaz, a glass with a hefty pour of amber liquid in hand. His mohawk was damp, indicating he must have showered in their guest bath. Her husband was leaning back in their oversized armchair, dressed in sweats and a black tee. God, if their friends weren’t there…

Freyja positioned herself between his open legs and leaned down, hands resting on either side of Simon’s head, to briefly press their lips together.

He inhaled softly through his nose and brushed his thumb against her bare thigh. “Mmm,” he hummed, then broke off the kiss. “Hi, love.”

“Hi…” She shifted down to join him, bent legs draped across his lap as she cozied up. “How’s Joan?”

Simon reached his open hand around her knees until it came to rest on her outer thigh. “Sound asleep. Gaz did a good job-”

“Make out!” Soap interrupted, smiling into his glass as he downed his drink. “I’ll give ye a hundred pounds.”

Her husband sent the sergeant a pointed look accompanied by a signature eye roll.

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon!” Johnny whined, head thrown back. “Ah’ve never seen ye winch for real!”

“I’m not a whore,” Freyja started, raising a brow at Simon. “But a hundred pounds is a hundred pounds. I’ve fucked you in public for less.”

He chuckled softly at that, starting to rub her freshly moisturized leg, drawing circles with his fingertips. “You fuck me in public for free,” Simon pointed out with a long, lingering kiss on her cheek. The motion sent shivers up her spine that she purposefully chose to ignore.

“CLAM UP!”

“You’re the one who asked me to make out with my husband, you perv!” Freyja cried, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. Simon still had his nose buried by her ear, his deep timber chuckling softly in her ear. Jesus Christ.

“Because I’m sad and horny and miss my boys!”

Roach and Kӧnig were gone on a mission for two weeks. Two weeks without sex had Soap that pent up?

“Soap, I think you have a problem.”

“And why would I indulge you after the performance you put on tonight?” Simon asked, his touch slowly creeping further and further up her leg. Between her and the chair, his opposite hand settled nicely against the snap of her back.

Valid point. The groping and kissing had been a lot.

“I’m sorry! Ah was just tryin’ tae do you both a favor!”

“Nah, she won’t do it.” Gaz crossed his ankle over his knee, wearing a boyish grin and egging her on. Per usual, for Kyle Garrick. “I know for a FACT he tops. No way Ghost is a bottom bitch.”

“Occasionally.” His nose traced the shell of her ear, and his fingers dipped under her pajama shorts. After their meeting in the gala bathroom, if he kept going on the path he was on–

“He whimpers, too.”

“Liar!”

“You two are insuffer–”

Simon Riley was an expert in many areas, including but not limited to shutting his wife up; firm, dominant kisses usually did the trick. And if they wanted a show…

His free hand left her back to gently cup her cheek, in stark contrast to the tongue prying her surprised lips open and lapping into her mouth. Freyja’s eyes fluttered closed, and she let herself melt into his touch, following his lead. She kissed him back with equal fervor, nibbling at his plush lower lip and lacing her fingers through the hair at his nape. It never ceased to amaze her how easily the man under her could turn her into a puddle, soft and pliable in the palm of his hand.

At least thirty seconds of swapping spit had passed by the time Simon’s hand pushed her bottoms up a bit. What they were doing could barely be called a kiss, treading more on the side of a sloppy makeout session. He pawed at her ass, fingers digging into the stretch-mark-ridden flesh before dragging Freyja into his lap, guiding her to straddle him. Just as she sank her weight onto his hard crotch for some release–

“Oooh, steamy.”

Simon pried himself off her, restraining the urge to moan as Freyja moved down his neck and choked, “Sergeants, see yourself out.”

“Cannae drive, mate! We’re hammered, and it’s just gettin’ good-”

“Then go upstairs,” he all but growled, using his hands to roll her hips against his. The quiet moan against his shoulder wasn’t lost on him. “Cause I’m gonna fuck my wife. Plug your ears while you’re at it.”

Kyle, the intelligent man he was, popped off the couch with a salute and marched upstairs. He had seen what he needed to see and wasn’t keen on watching live-action porn.

“Why cannae you go upstairs?”

Freyja sat back to give herself enough room to grab the hem of her husband’s shirt and yank it up his torso. Her chest was heaving with gentle pants, Simon looking up at her with that cocky smirk of his in response to her desperation. What did he expect, for her not to be horned up after getting tossed around in that bathroom?

“M’goin’!”

“Wise choice.”

The couple kept themselves quiet, allowing adequate time for their guests to get to a safe distance. Another well-placed grind of her damp shorts against his hard cock pulled a sharp sound from the lieutenant, and he hurriedly finished ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room. Freyja couldn’t help the proud smile that pulled at her lips, her chest warming up at the power she held over him.

Several years ago

The lieutenant’s arrival in England was unceremonious. Laswell brought her through to John Price’s office and introduced the two. Strong energy radiated off of him, the presence of a skilled leader. He wouldn’t be difficult to work with; hopefully, she could use her time there to learn a thing or two from the captain that she could use on her track up the ranks. The trio went on a tour around the base, where she met Gary Sanderson – callsign “Roach” – who she became fast friends with due to her affinity for British Sign Language.

Then there was Ghost.

John didn’t offer anything other than the man’s callsign. She found it hard to believe someone of his stature could be likened to anything resembling a ghost, but she had seen crazier things during her service. The black ski mask with a skull print was a choice, but not dissimilar to the black gater she sported at the time.

In the days following her arrival, the lieutenant did her best to bond with her new team members, even though the arrangement was temporary. Roach wasn’t a problem, and even their superior made an effort to get to know her and her ambitions, even her personal life.

“No call sign?” Price asked, having already read over the file Kate had sent over.

She shrugged noncommittally. “I haven’t found one that fits me yet. I just go by whatever designation I have for the mission.”

“Bravo-one it is.”

Ghost, on the other hand–

The sergeant proved her first impression wrong. How did the giant of a man manage to disappear whenever she entered a room? However, Ghost didn’t always vanish, and she couldn’t figure out a pattern. It was as though he was intentionally steering clear of her presence, but only in certain situations.

She would be correct.

One of the first things the team did was head to the gym to familiarize themselves with the others’ techniques and skills in combat. With Price, Roach, and Ghost already knowing each others’ affinities, that left the lieutenant to showcase hers. Price wanted to give her a challenge, to see how she would handle someone who clearly overpowered her. Ghost was the obvious choice, at six-foot-four and change and two-hundred-plus pounds.

She won the first round, although barely. She was good, and Ghost hadn’t dared underestimate her before stepping into the ring. She’d somehow wrenched herself out of his grip and onto his shoulders, with her thighs locked around his neck effectively enough for him to tap at her hip. Ghost won the second, taking more time than he would have liked to pin the lieutenant on her back, securing her hands above her head and holding her down with his body weight.

He could take the damned heavy breathing and mischievous eyes staring up at him through her lashes. But when “Good job, Sergeant” slipped past her lips and planted itself firmly in his brain, he leaped off the woman as if she was on fire. His cargos did a good enough job concealing the raging hard-on he sported during the rest of the evaluation, but they didn’t ease Ghost’s suffering as he had to stand there and avoid her occasional glances.

While the newcomer was learning the ropes of the base and making friends, Ghost was preoccupied. He was putting in a considerable effort to not think about her; the mask covering the lower half of her face, her pretty eyes above that black mask, her chest in the tight shirt she arrived in–

Pull yourself together.

He was doing well for a while. Ghost made it six whole hours without popping another boner. Then there was the interrogation.

That night, Roach and Price picked up a cartel member from the cell they were trying to locate. The captain paired Bravo-one, her temporary call sign, and Ghost on the interrogation. Hard to avoid me now, huh? she thought to herself as they approached the room, Ghost pausing just before the door. She wasn’t exactly sure what she had done to make him so avoidant, but she couldn’t be bothered much then. They had a job to do.

With a hand on the knob, the man with the skull plate looked over his shoulder at her. “If you’d like to do the talking–”

“No, thank you.”

Ghost raised a brow under his mask, watching her roll up her sleeves.

“No?”

“I can be persuasive.”

She ignored the expression she couldn’t quite place and waved her hand, directing him to open the door. “After you, Sergeant.”

The pair split off, Ghost immediately going to their captive’s chair, the other hovering by the duffel bag in the corner, packed with various tools and weapons. The one she picked up and inspected for any dents or abnormalities made Ghost’s brain twitch. Well, maybe not his brain–

“And who’s the looker?” the stranger asked, licking his lips. “You’d be prettier if you took the mask off, baby.”

“That’s my lieutenant,” Ghost replied, leaning on one of the metal chair’s arms. “She’s here to make sure you tell me what I want to know.”

“And what exactly would you like to know, Sergeant?”

“Easy question.” He leaned down into the dealer’s bubble, close to his ear. “I just want your boss’s location.”

The man whistled lowly, shaking his head as he clicked his tongue. “Now, that, I can’t do,” he said with a shrug. “Unfortunately for you, this routine won’t work for me. The bad cop smacks me around; the good cop comes in with an offer to save the day – been there, done that. Maybe if you sweeten the deal with that lovely piece of–”

“You’re mistaken,” Bravo-one interrupted his monologue, stepping away from the corner and further into their witness’s line of sight. “He’s not the bad cop.” She bent to his level and brought the torch between them before flicking the flame on. Their prisoner’s stoic face quickly soured, and he thrashed against his restraints, making every attempt to escape the blue flame. “I am.”

Ghost found many things attractive, but he wasn’t aware that watching a woman he had just met torture a grown man and make him beg for life (and eventually, his death) would make him so painfully hard. He tried to blow off steam in the gym a few hours later (after jerking off in the shower, fucking minx), but was yet again met with the sight of his partner. Her hair was still damp from a post-mission shower, leaving a wet spot on the back of her t-shirt. This time, however, she had perched herself outside Price’s quarters. She leaned against the open door frame, chatting quietly, in nothing but a t-shirt and incredibly short shorts. Short enough, that the delicious crease where her ass met her thigh was prominently displayed.

Abort, abort, abort–

It was like the man had blacked out until he was safely in the confines of his quarters, back pressed against the now-locked door. He was a panting, flushed wreck under his mask, which he swiftly pulled off and tossed onto his dresser. Every endeavor to catch his breath or slow his heartbeat went nowhere. He decided cracking his skull against the solid wood door might jumpstart his system again and divert his thoughts away from the lieutenant.

Needless to say, that did nothing to appease the throbbing sensation between his legs.

“Bloody hell…”

Nothing a quick wank couldn’t fix. Again.

Price invited her to a local military bar with the rest of the crew, the usual spot for those who stayed on base on a Thursday night. It didn’t take her long to change and hitch a ride with their captain, donning a simple open-knit sweater with a bralette underneath and dark blue jeans. Once they arrived, she immediately noticed Ghost sitting at the end of the u-shaped countertop, tucked against the wall with his hood over his head. She took her time floating around the bar, shaking hands and conversing happily with various privates and soldiers that weren’t on their assignment. The damp air in the space, combined with her breath, made her mask cling to her face; this was a common occurrence, one the soldier had learned to put up with.

Ghost made no effort to approach her, but she wasn’t blind; his eyes followed her constantly. Whether he was being intentionally conspicuous or not, she didn’t know. After their little sparring match (that left a puddle in her underwear), she thought she had felt something shift. Even though she’d only known the man a few hours then, something about the sergeant piqued her interest. His commanding aura, powerful stance, laid-back yet driven attitude–

Or, his monstrous size and muscles. Those were always a plus.

When Ghost had fled from the training facilities, leaving her on the floor, she raised her arms and let them smack against the mat underneath her.

“He’s a tricky lad to get to know. You’ll get there,” Price had said, insisting that his adverse reaction was nothing personal.

Regardless, he wasn’t making a move, and the constant avoidance wasn’t floating her boat.

So, she allowed Roach to pull her to the cozy dance floor on the other side of the bar. Her eyes wrinkled with the wide smile under her mask as she danced with the silent soldier, chest to chest, periodically spinning under his arm. They laughed and danced like carefree fools; she had been nervous about crossing the pond to a new country, partnering up with strangers for such a vital mission. It wasn’t the same as a deployment or going to various countries with her usual team. The cartel could keep her in England for weeks if not months. Most of the people so far had made her feel welcome.

Most.

Still, she allowed her eyes to fall on the one soul who had made it seem like she didn’t belong – on that mission, on base, in the military in the first place–

And found the portion of his face not covered by his balaclava examining her. Ghost was damn good at concealing his emotions; in the few days she’d been graced with knowing him, she couldn’t figure out his thoughts three-quarters of the time. But at that moment, it almost seemed like fury mixed with a…certain softness?

His gaze shifted to her dance partner and darkened, no longer holding what she thought she had seen just a second before. Ghost held their eye contact while he downed his drink and slammed the heavy glass on the counter. Finally, he stormed to the exit with his hands stuffed into his pockets. She watched him shoulder the emergency door, which apparently had no alarms attached to it, and disappear outside. It was like a silent command to follow. Or maybe a warning, a huge, neon red sign blinking ‘BEWARE! DANGER!’ at her.

However, she had never been known for playing things safe.

“Roach,” she said over the music, slowing her movements. “I need some air. Don’t wait up.”

He simply smiled and bobbed his head before signing, “Sure! I’ll see you back on base tomorrow?”

“Try not to take it too rough tonight,” she signed back with a wink, patting him on the shoulder.

“I make no promises!”

Roach wouldn’t have a hard time finding someone to go home with, that much she was sure about. Even as she weaved through the crowd, she scoped a soldier still in their fatigues heading in her companion’s direction. Lucky bastard, she thought, trying not to let her envy for Gary’s ability to draw men in get the better of her. I’d give anything to scratch that itch right about now. But she was determined. Determined to confront Ghost about his attitude toward her, his superior, and end it. She quickly stepped to the door, hoping to catch the sergeant before he went back to base–

And collided with said sergeant's chest as she went to push the door out.

“Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant recovered smoothly, stepping back to put some space between them. “Sergeant,” she said, nodding to him. “Can I speak to you outside for a moment?”

He stared for a beat before silently stepping back and holding the door open as she stepped out. The cool, refreshing air flowed through the wide knit of her sweater, offering solace from the hot, stiff air, inside the building. The back exit led to a quiet parking lot; all they could hear was the soft buzz of the street light above, Thursday night traffic in the distance, and the muted music from the speakers inside.

They stood side by side in silence for a while, him with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket again, her arms crossed over her chest. The bar was further away from the city, making the clear, starry sky more visible without the smog and city lights. It would be peaceful if not for her whirring thoughts and the intoxicating musk and whisky wafting from the man next to her. Maybe she’d find someone to go back to the barracks with later.

She wasn’t expecting Ghost to be a regular Chatty Cathy, but the silence was unbearable. “Did I do something to upset you, Sergeant?” she asked, not looking up at him.

“No, ma’am.”

God, she wanted to throttle him. “Then why are you avoiding me?” She took the silence that followed as confirmation of her suspicions, which only fueled her fire more. “We’re supposed to be a team; you and I are partners. The whole won’t function with you icing me out.”

Another pause as Ghost contemplated his response. Her sneaker scuffed against the pavement as she shifted her stance, choosing to spread her weight equally instead of leaning to one side. It made her feel taller, and she needed all the help she could get next to the absolute unit beside her.

“You’re distracting.”

“Distra-” She looked up at him then, baffled, and saw him still facing forward. But she did notice his jaw tightened underneath the mask. Distracting? That’s not–

Oh.

“Rather cozy with the little insect.”

She couldn’t help it, honest. At first, she snorted, but her recovery wasn’t as swift as the chuckle rolled into barrelling laughter. “R-Rather…insecure for such a…big man!” she wheezed, hunching over with her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

Ghost asked, “Something funny?” which only made matters worse and threw her into another fit of giggles and snorts. Very ladylike. After close to a minute, she managed to compose herself enough to suck in a deep breath of oxygen.

“You’re jealous?” she questioned, straightening her back again. “Oh, that’s…that’s hilarious.”

“I’m not.”

Liar.

“You’ve been pining after me this whole time, and you–” The giggling started again, but under enough control that she could still speak. “Ghost, Roach is fucking gay.”

Ghost’s eyes snapped over to her at that, although he couldn’t find the words for a smart response. Several things he had noticed about Roach suddenly made sense. He’d been working with Roach for months by that point. How hadn’t he put two and two together?

“You’d have a better chance of getting him to fuck you than me.”

Before he could stop it, his mouth spoke quicker than his mind could keep up with. “Oh, I’m not a bottom, love.”

Now, that certainly wasn’t a response she prepared for. Was it a good idea to proposition someone of a lower rank as a contractor?

Probably not.

If she was wrong and he wasn’t interested, he could report her and get her demoted if not discharged entirely. But if she’s right, and someone else catches them, that would at least count towards a demerit, a permanent stain on both of their records.

But again, you know what they say about her and risks…

“You sure about that?” she hummed, keeping her gaze forward and arms crossed.

Ghost raised an eyebrow and gave her a once over with his side-eye, eyes following her every curve, from her feet up to her exposed shoulder where her sweater had slipped and the open holes to her bare skin underneath. He forced his sight forward like a good soldier, clenching his fists tightly in his pocket to help restrain himself. “I don’t make a habit of fuckin’ my superiors, ma’am,” he offered, head tipped back towards the open sky.

“Who said you’d be doing the fucking, soldier?”

His skin reacted immediately, burning hot under the black fabric. He chanced another look at her without turning his head and saw her looking back through pretty lashes. If there were a definition for “fuck me eyes” in the dictionary with a picture next to it, the eyes he was currently staring into would be there. He had done so well, circumventing any temptation from a superior officer. The military was all he had; if he was discharged, he would have nowhere else to go. The ghost didn’t even have an apartment off-base, always staying in the barracks, save for times when Price dragged him to his house and forced him to stay there.

He had been so diligent and successfully dodged her at every opportunity, dodged her kind advances of friendship, even sat across the room during the few briefings they’d had together to keep physical distance between him and his problem. But with every passing second of peering down into those eyes, the rest of her face concealed by a mask not unlike his own – he felt his impulses surging forward and self-control slipping away.

The man sighed deeply and dropped his head with his eyes closed. “Bollocks.” Ghost placed a hand on her lower back while the other pulled his belt open, the leather slipping through the metal clasp, buckle clinking as he guided her towards Price’s vehicle.

Ever the gentleman, Ghost popped the door open and stepped to the side, allowing her space to climb in first. She couldn’t be bothered with concealing the giddy, satisfied look as she perched herself on the seat and tugged him between her legs by his waistband.

“Don’t give me that look.”

Mischief twinkled in the irises staring back at him, and suddenly the black mask he’d grown accustomed to disappear, showcasing a smile to match. “What look, Sergeant?” she questioned, her voice pitched lower than usual and her touch slipping into his pants and squeezing. Hard. A gloved hand smacked into the frame of the vehicle, supporting his body through the sudden tremor that jerked his hips forward.

Fuck.

She did manage to learn a few things about Ghost in that SUV. Those facts are as follows:

He was much more religious about keeping his mask on than she was with hers

Whimperer

He somehow was able to be soft while also fucking her stupid?

That tongue of his was good for more than quick whit

When Ghost came inside her, his thighs shaking and convulsing as her warm walls milked him dry, she gave them both a minute to gather their senses before rolling her hips again, earning a pathetic whine.

“Come on, Sergeant,” she panted, pulling his head up from her shoulder by short curls at the nape of his neck. “You can do better than that. Make me come again? Please?”

She had known him for two days and already had him on his knees for her. That theme would be consistent in their relationship going forward.

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal, @beakami, @addictedtothefictionalworld, @kaghost, @witchy-writing, @67-angelofthelordme-67, @thychuvaluswife, @mysticalpandabear, @cabreezer0117

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effloradox · 7 months

Text

I’m slightly obsessed with this vampire cowboy if you couldn’t tell 😅

Being the baby in a family of vampires is a difficult position to hold. You're not a baby by any means, you're in your thirties by now, but compared to the patriarch of your new family who is over three hundred years older than you, the other vampires dwarf your time on this planet. You know that this life is a blessing, that without it you'd be long dead by now, but it still stings having your age used against you in practically every family discussion.

Carlisle has more sympathy for your age difference but Edward is the worst for it. He's only seventy years older than you and yet you'd think he was seven hundred years older from the way he acts. You can't help the fact that people born in the same year as you are still alive and well, it's not like you can make time pass quicker and yet your adoptive brother seems to take great delight in pulling rank over you in any discussions about the future of the coven. Knowing he can read your thoughts of frustration does nothing to help the situation either.

Jasper knows it bothers you. He was still fairly new to the coven when you were turned, so whilst he's older than Edward he doesn't have the same position in the coven. It doesn't bother him as much since he outlives Edward, but he understand your frustrations. One of the perks of his abilities is knowing when you're reaching the end of your patience so he can quickly intervene with the suggestion of getting out of the house if only for a while so you can calm down.

It's almost a tradition at this point that not long after a move, the two of you will seek out some private spot far from the new house, far from the new town, that will become your spot for the duration of your time in whatever new place the coven has moved to.

As far as your limited experience goes, Forks seems to be a fairly nice town. Nothing like the small English town you lived in when you were human, but it's nice. It rains almost constantly, which is a nice feeling of being back home, and the people seem more than friendly enough. Carlisle had mentioned you having your tour of the high school in the upcoming days once enough time had passed for the family to have 'settled in'. The only thing you'd actually done upon arriving in town was choosing a bedroom for you and Jasper and immediate heading out to find your new spot.

Carlisle had warned you about not breaking the treaty he had formed with the Quileutes but aside from that, you and Jasper had been given free reign. It still hurt when the last thing you'd heard before you left the house was yet another snide remark from Edward about needing to baby proof the house before the two of you returned. You'd stopped running after maybe twenty minutes, and this was definitely not going to be your spot, but Jasper got the impression you needed time to process the past rather than look to the future.

"Do you think he'll always treat me like that?" You question makes Jasper pause for a moment as he considers his response. He lets his eyes drift over the small clearing the two of you are sat in before his gaze falls back to you.

"I hope not darlin'." His words do nothing to stop the ache in your chest and he knows it. He can tell from the defeated look on your face and the way your emotions flicker across your face. He doesn't need to be an empath to know how much this tirade is starting to bother you.

"Alice said that he'd stop with time, but I don't think I can spend another thirty years listening to him be so condescending about me." The mention of your precognitive sibling makes Jasper pause. For her to have a vision of something so specific would be unusual from what he's discerned over the years.

"Did Alice see something about him stopping?" You shrug lightly, pulling your knees close to your chest.

"Not necessarily. She said she saw something big happening whilst we're here that will make him stop but that could be years away." Jasper lets out a quiet noise of consideration at your words. Alice had been having more frequent visions since you'd all moved, maybe something big was on the horizon. Last time she'd had this many was just before you'd come into their lives.

"I can ask Carlisle to speak to him if you want." You take a moment to consider his offer before shaking your head lightly.

"I think that would just make him do it more out of spite. Thank you though." You outstretch a hand to him that he's more than willing to take. Even after over a decade of being together, it never fails to fill him with joy how perfectly your hand fits in his. Like you were made for him, or he was made for you. Maybe both. It certainly feels that way when you look at him with a smile that could rival the moon for how beautiful it is.

"You want to head somewhere new?" You nod at him and allow him to help you to your feet. Even now you're both standing your hands are still entwined and he smiles as he feels you squeeze his hand gently.

"Lead the way cowboy."

#my writing #drabbles #jasper cullen x reader #jasper hale x reader #twilight x reader

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yeeterthek33per · 7 months

Text

Careful (Steph Catley x Caitlin Foord x Reader)

A/n requested

It was hot.

That was an understatement.

It is fucking hot.

The heat wave that'd hit London just a day earlier was predicted, and yet it was still a lot. Even for an Aussie such as yourself who'd grown up in the gross heat of Brisbane.

The warmups were a nightmare, and it was prediscussed by the officials that there would be set water and ice breaks for both teams.

For whatever reason, you'd forgone having much water after warmups, leaving you stuck feeling a little dehydrated during the first twenty minutes.

The game was rough, which certainly didn't help either. The late afternoon sun was beading down heat on your slightly bloodied up shins.

Unfortunately, you were one to wear your socks low, so you copped more studs than either of you girlfriends liked.

That being said, it feels like your blood is being cooked under the radiation from above.

Running around the field in a black shirt and shorts made you question everything, that's for certain.

The moment the whistle for the water break is blown, you duck into the shade by the bench, immediately grabbing an ice towel and a cold bottle from the cooler, dousing yourself with the cooling liquid.

Katie plonks down next to you.

"You alright?"

You nod.

"About as fine as it gets on this lovely thirty-seven degree afternoon. You?"

"Sweating my non-existent balls off, but what else is new?"

You laugh at that, clapping her on the shoulder before standing again. There's a little whooziness from the sudden movement, but you brush it off.

You join the noticably distanced huddle, standing beside Caitlin who shifts to let you in to the circle.

"Alright ladies, we're doing well out there, but we need to take more caution with those midfielders. They're wedging themselves between you, and that's not what we want. Make sure you're tight on them. Don't let those through balls get to them so easily. Strikers, I need you back when you can be. Leave those extra leads for when we're one hundred percent certain we can break that defensive line. That's the only way we're beating them today. Other than that, perfect work, all of you. Remember to track back where you can, watch that mid, keep it tight. Team on three."

"1.2.3 Team!"

You all disperse, tossing the now warmed ice towels to the sideline and running back out onto the pitch, the sun immediately returning it's assault on all of you.

What you don't notice is the concerned glance from Steph, who now sees the paleness of your face. Your sweating was a concerningly low amount, especially in this heat.

Regardless, the game plays on.

Half time can't come quick enough in your opinion.

You start feeling like the world is spinning a little... differently than what it should. Regardless, you shake your head and press on.

The number of times you hit the ground increases as it gets closer to the end of the first half, leaving you to struggle more and more to get up after each tackle.

At one point, you have to accept the hand up from Kim, who gives you a mildly concerned look as you stumble a little trying to jog back to position, but you wave the older woman off.

Thanking god for the whistle, finally blowing for half time, you make your way off the pitch, hoping the wave of nausea that came over you about two minutes ago would go away.

Making your way into the heavenly air-conditioned locker rooms, you find yourself collapsing a little heavy-handed onto your cubby chair, water bottle in hand.

The noise attracts a few concerned eyes, but you quickly straighten up, avoiding meeting your girlfriend's gaze, who stays watching you for a little longer.

You know Steph's just worried, but you can't help not wanting her to be. Especially not during games.

What you couldn’t see was the exchanged look she shared with your other girlfriend, who had seen your pale face when you'd stood in the circle next to her during the drink break earlier.

You weren't sweating nearly enough for it to be healthy, and they hadn't seen you pick up a drink after warmups when everybody else had, but they'd both brushed it off thinking they'd just missed seeing it.

Now though, they were worried you hadn't been careful with this weather.

Avoiding slouching too much, despite your exhausted muscles' protests, you take slow, small sips of water, not wanting to completely kill your stomach, especially not when the nausea was starting to lesson off now that you were cooling off again.

Your head was starting to hurt now, too, a heat headache setting in. Using the supplied wet cloths, you tried your best to keep away throbbing in your temples, which seemed to worsen the moment you were all told to head back out to the pitch.

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump as you walk out onto the pitch again. You relax a bit before tensing up at the look she gives you.

"You doing alright, puddin?"

You nod, covering a wince as the pounding worsens at the movement.

"I'm doing fine. Let's get back to it, yeah?"

Jogging back to position, you shake off the jelly feeling in your legs, brushing it off as just lactic acid setting in and push it down like everyone else does.

It's just twenty minutes later, after a much more scrappy start to the second half, you realise, oh shit, maybe this might be bad.

Struggling to get up for a third tackle in four minutes, you stumble to your feet again, waving off your now slightly fussing teammates, your girlfriends in particular.

"Y/n... maybe you should go off -"

You shake your head no immediately.

"I'm fine, it's only twenty minutes left anyway, I'll be fine. It's just muscular exhaustion setting in, I can push it."

Turns out, you could not, in fact, push it.

Just five minutes later, after receiving a wayward pass from the backs and turning to send it into the box, you're wiped out from behind by one of their midfielders, earning a free kick for your team.

Unfortunately, you hit the turf a little harder than you expected, and it completely winds you.

You take a second to get up, stumbling to your feet to move so Katie can set up for the free kick.

Before you can make it back to your full stance though, the nausea and woosiness come back full force and you collapse like a sock of rocks, vision blurring heavily as you fall, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist stopping you from hitting your head, but your vision still goes dark for a few moments.

A frantic whistle blowing and several bodies surrounding your own is what brings you back, the pounding in your head far worse as your chest rises and falls with laboured breaths.

The moment you went down, Caitlin and Steph are beside you, frantically calling the ref and medics over, and that's where everything goes dark again.

--------------------------

Everything feels like a blur to you, and you don't fully come to for a long time. Which scares the crap out of your girls. It's not until you're laid on a bed in the paramedic's office of the stadium that you fully regain consciousness.

You feel like absolute crap. Everything feels limp and achey as you shift on the cheap cushioning.

Both of your partners are sat on stools beside you. The doctor is sitting at the desk, writing on some paperwork.

"How you feeling, baby?"

"Like shit, what happened?"

They both frown at that, and the team doctor's head perks up at your answer.

Steph cautiously takes your hand.

"You don't remember how you got here? Or what happened?"

It's a little fuzzy and strain as you might. You don't recall anything that might indicate why you're in a doctor's office. You just feel like shit and are wondering why you couldn't remember anything past getting up again after being tackled.

You wrack your brain a bit more, realising you'd felt like you were practically melting under the heat. Was that why? Had you collapsed? Or had you been taken out? You remember copping a few tackles during the game.

"I- not really. Did I get knocked out or something?"

"Uh, no Y/n, it was heat exhaustion. You collapsed during the game. Can you tell me what might’ve happened beforehand?"

He moves to stand by you as well, clipboard in hand.

Furrowing your brows, you try to think back, but the pounding in your head makes it difficult.

"Not really, I just remember copping a few bad tackles. That's it, really. That and just feeling, I don't know, hot? It's just fuzzy after half time."

The doctor's brow creases slightly in thought, leaving a worried expression on both of your girlfriend's faces.

"That's alright, we can try again later, we'll keep you on watch with the medics at your training centre overnight in case anything comes up."

"In case anything comes up? Is she gonna be okay?"

The question out of Caitlin's lips makes him look up with a reassuring smile.

"It's perfectly normal for people who pass out to not remember the incident itself for a bit. It's just as a precaution. She should be fine."

She nods, and you let your head rest back on the pillows.

"Keep drinking water for us, I'll be back in about twenty to check on you. As for you two, I recommend you both go wind down from the game, take your showers, do what you need to do."

They both go to protest.

"Or if you wanna take turns, your bus will be leaving soon. We'll arrange for her to get transported back to the training centre."

Reluctantly agreeing, Steph moves to go shower and change first, Caitlin stubbornly still gripping your hand.

"I'm alright baby, you can go clean up."

But try as you might, she still refuses.

"I'm not leaving you here on your own."

You smile softly, thumb caressing her hand gently, though it turns into a slight grimace. Having your eyes open at this point is a bit of a struggle.

"You wanna tell me what happened now, or am I wrestling it out of Kimmy later?"

Caitlin shakes her head.

"Hush baby, at least wait until Steph gets back, and we'll tell you. Just rest your head for now."

You hum softly, letting your eyes fall closed again. You must drift off for a moment because it's Steph who gently shakes you awake again.

"Hey, no sleeping just yet, baby."

A soft grumble leaves your lips.

She runs her fingers through your hair, gently massaging your scalp, and it helps relieve the throbbing a little, to the point where you fully lean into her touch.

Pouting when she pulls away, you grab her hand and put it back again, which makes her chuckle softly, moving to sit next to you the bed.

"Still bad?"

Nodding slightly in response, you tuck your head into her lap and turn onto your side, letting her continue to comb through your hair.

"So, do I get to know how it happened?"

"We've gotta see what you remember first, baby. Let the doctor do his thing."

The whine from you makes her sigh softly.

"I know, but I wanna know what happened, though."

"You'll find out later, babe."

You look up at her, wincing at the blinding light of the office LEDs.

"But-"

She gives you a stern look but her tone remains soft.

"Patience, Y/n."

Huffing softly, you cuddle back into her lap, nose buried into the skin of her stomach where her shirt's ridden up slightly.

Her hand continues its ministrations while you wait for the doctor and Caitlin.

--------------------------

You do end up staying at the training facility. As the night progresses, and the pain lessens slightly with mild painkillers, the event comes back a little fuzzy, but not entirely. You vaguely remember actually conversing with your girlfriend's in the doctors office for a while before you fully came to.

That's probably what had them so concerned in the first place that you weren't fully with it. They end up allowing one of your girlfriend's to stay while the other goes home to rest, but, knowing Caitlin, she'd be up pacing a hole in the floor anyway, most likely texting Steph the whole time.

Being woken every two hours with a killer headache until eight the next morning wasn't pretty to witness. Your girlfriend winced every time the medic received a grumpy swipe as they woke you to quiz you in the middle of the night.

You would later feel bad, knowing they were only doing their jobs, but your beauty sleep is your beauty sleep, dude.

It's about nine the next morning that you're allowed to go home under the condition that if you nap at all, you're to be woken every two hours and if anything worsens, you're to go straight to a hospital over the next few days.

Your girlfriends are also under strict instruction to make sure you actually drink water for once.

You do get a visit from the girls over the next day or so, making sure you're alive still and not going totally batshit crazy. You also do eventually find out what happened.

"God babe, you just crumpled. Like, you got wiped the fuck out and when you tried to shrug it off and get up ready for the set piece, you just fell again. Lucky McCabe caught you or it would've been a worse head injury I reckon."

"Really? What happened after I passed out? Because I don't remember anything after that, just vaguely some conversation in the doctors office before he assessed me."

Steph's hand rests on your leg from beside you, squeezing softly.

"That's what was a little scary. You were talking to us. Conversing with us. You complained you were feeling way too hot. But then you kind of, I guess, come to a bit more. It's like you weren't even awake before."

Caitlin nods.

"You know you really gave us all a heart attack out there."

Sighing softly, knowing you'd been too stubborn to admit it, maybe you needed to be subbed off.

Steph rubs your shoulder.

"You just need to be more careful, babe, especially in a heat wave like this. We hadn't even seen you drink water when you should have after warmups."

There's a guilty look on your face.

"It was just a minor mistake, that's all."

The incredulous look you receive makes you wince slightly.

"Okay, minor mistake, slightly less minor consequences, yeah, I know."

They both shake their heads, Caitlin moving to sit beside you, arm around your shoulder, Steph moving her arm around your waist.

"Look, baby, we know you were trying to push through. But we love you, and we don't like seeing you hurt. Just be more careful, yeah?"

You nod your head in agreement and let it fall to rest on the brunettes shoulder, her hand tightening on your waist, to which you squeeze her leg comfortingly.

She was right. You were a dipshit at the time and totally put your life at risk because of some stupid game time. And you scared the life out of your family and friends whilst you were at it too.

They couldn't bear to see you like that. Neither could you frankly.

Never again.

--------------------------

#woso #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #caitlin foord imagine #caitlin foord imagines #caitlin foord x reader #steph catley imagine #steph catley imagines #steph catley x reader

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rederiswrites · 30 days

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I don't see how trump turning America into a christofacsist state is any different than the norm? like it's been like that for native and black people since it's creation like we inspired the nazis in the first place so like what the point? oh trumps gonna kill everyone who isn't a white cis male! and? that's what america's best quality since day one

Okay I'm actually going to respond to this Edgelord Supreme bullshit, because as absurd as it looks written out like this, I actually do think a lot of people are feeling some half-articulated version of this despair and cynicism. Let's kick that in the ass.

First, let's get one thing straight. History has been terrible awful bad always and forever. There have been a thousand genocides and a million wars and a billion brutal, inhuman war crimes. Back in the days of the earliest civilizations, wiping out entire cities when you defeated them was basically just how things were done for many societies. The fact that we have international laws and international bodies of justice, however obviously toothless they remain, is the result of thousands of years of extremely mixed progress.

So at this point, you pretty much have to say either that a) humans are an incurable blight and don't deserve to live, or b) that we've done amazing, beautiful things and experienced billions of moments of happiness and created art and fallen in love despite all this, so we're still worth working on. Personally, I am very strongly in camp b. I see things worth living for a hundred times a day. There's really no comparison.

Second, the USA is not uniquely bad. It is terribly damaging to people both within its borders and all over the world. It is build on genocide and slavery. Many of its foundational institutions are deeply corrupted by these things. And guess what, that's uh....pretty common. No, really. The US is currently a big fucking problem. It's our turn with the big stick, for sure. But even then, we're not alone.

So how the fuck is this encouraging? It isn't. I'm not encouraging you, I'm telling you to fucking GET GOOD, because when you say shit like the above, what I hear is "Oh I SEE, I'm a TERRIBLE PERSON I guess I should just kill myself to make your life easier." I hear someone who would rather give up and call their country morally bankrupt and irredeemable than to PUT IN SOME FUCKING WORK.

Cynicism is so comfortable. It doesn't ask anything of you. "It's always been like this," it says. "Nothing's going to change."

Except things do change, and things have changed, and your entire premise is in fact absolute dogshit. The two presidential candidates are not remotely the same, and we are not, yet, a Christofascist nation. I could, as many before me already have, enumerate the million concrete ways in which your premise is just not true, but honestly I won't bother, because it's not a premise in good faith. What I mean by that is that even a cursory examination of the actual facts would totally trash your expressed beliefs, so you're not really interested in the facts.

Change for the better can happen. Change for the better has happened. It's just not as EASY as you want it to be. There are more steps. For example, you can't have viable independent candidates until you have campaign finance and voting reform. So you have to push for those things. For years, probably decades. Many people have died without seeing the realization of things they fought for, and yet those things have come to pass. You may die fighting the good fight and not see the victory. I may too. Meanwhile, you make the choices that will hopefully get the fewest people killed.

So stop acting like we're all just too shitty to bother about, and put in some fucking work.

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txttletale · 10 months

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hi miss healed, could you elaborate what you mean by dictatorship/authoritarian not being useful/meaningful terms? i know they're terms the west likes to tack on its political enemies, but i thought it might be a case of just misuse of terms that can still be useful, rather than outright a problem with the concept itself, so id be interested to understand your opinion. thanks!

so i don't think 'authoritarian' has any useful analytical value because every state is 'authoritarian' -- the only metrics by which one state might be seen as less 'authoritarian' than another are the metrics which privilege liberal democracy and a free market as a meaningful sort of 'freedom', which as a marxist, i don't! every state is an institution for class suppression--in the state and revolution, lenin quotes engels as saying:

[...] it is sheer nonsense to talk of a 'free people's state'; so long as the proletariat still needs the state, it does not need it in the interests of freedom but in order to holddown its adversaries, and as soon as it becomes possible to speak of freedom the state as such ceases to exist.

every state uses violence to perpetuate and legitimize itself. there is no state that would let you march into the capital and declare its dissolution without deploying armed men against you -- every state is authoritarian, it excercises authority, this is a tautological statement about how states maintain their own existence.

and sure, you could then say 'well we can just call all states authoritarian', but i don't think that makes any sense. the criticism of a state 'authoritarian/totalitarian' implies that there is an alternative, a point of comparison against which the state comes short--and i simply don't think it's possible to use 'authoritarian' as a cogent criticism without having such a point of comparison (usually the US or some european liberal democracy) which in turn means buying into liberal & capitalist ideas about 'freedom'.

as for 'dictator', i have a different criticism of that, also stemming from my marxist perspective. basically, i just think it doesn't describe anything useful in terms of political analysis and massively overemphasizes the role of individual psychology and personality. i frequently criticize both anticommunist and 'stalinist' views of stalin by joking that he must have been a very busy man if he singlehandedly ate all the grain or killed all the nazis. which is obviously a glib way of putting it--but my point is that any dictator who has ever 'done anything' could only do it because they could order a government official to do it who in turn could order a department to do it that could in turn mobilize hundreds or thousands of soldiers/construction workers/bureaucrats/etc. in order to make that happen.

sure, the leaders of countries might make decisions, and in some systems an individual leader might have greater leeway than others. but there are always very clear hard limits about what they must do and what they cannot do. i am sure i can say pretty uncontroversially that mohammad bin salman has an extreme level of political control over the economy and government of saudi arabia, but if he woke up tomorrow and said 'good news everyone, we're converting the country to wicca and donating all our oil to iran' then that would not happen and he would be deposed instantly. for a more realistic example, imagine any 'dictator' of your choice saying 'well, it's time to massively defund the military' -- this would be completely fucking impossible without some kind of loyalist paramilitary organization (which then exerts its own forces upon the 'dictator'.)

and of course all that leaves aside the massive extent to which 'dictator' is politically charged. do i think that vladimir putin was democratically elected? obviously not! but i don't think that any US president has been in any meaningful sense 'elected' by anything other than capital either, and two of the last four straightforwardly lost a popular vote even by the standards of liberal democracy! i think that any political system is best analyzed in class terms, in terms of what interests the government serves in terms of class struggle and competition between global capitalists, rather than in terms of individuals or what formal power structures give out the fancy titles

tldr: as a marxist, i think that 'authoritarian' is a useless distinguisher because excercising authority is the sole purpose and function of a state -- 'dictator' is a useless distinguisher because even the most autocratic fiefdom-state is ultimately a class dictatorship first and foremost

#ask

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felice-jaganshi · 1 month

Text

His Fallen Apple

Lucifer X Reader

Chapter 7

This was it. The day you'd been waiting for. All seven Sins would be gathered in one place… everything needed to be perfect!

They had managed to convince Lucifer to join them on a trip to the beach in Levi's ring! They made a point of all hanging out together once every hundred years. But for the last 2 trips, Lucifer had bailed out, claiming he was too busy with Lilith and Charlie. This time, you had managed where the other's failed. By using the forbidden Puppy Dog eyes technique! And pointing out he hadn't shown you the beaches in hell yet, and you missed the ones in heaven.

He was desperate to please you, so of course you'd win this one! Bee helped you get a cute new swimsuit, something that would show off your best features, without being too revealing. As she felt too much would fry Lucifer's brain too soon.

“You gotta take it slow with him, he's a bit old fashioned.” She had said. And you couldn't help but agree, it was definitely part of his charm too.

You wore your swimsuit under your clothes to make changing easier when you got there.

When Lucifer came out of his room to get you, it took all of your willpower not to laugh! He was so cute! He wore a bright blue button up covered in rubber duckies, with khaki shorts, and flip-flops. Along with a pair of yellow sunglasses and a straw hat.

“Alright! I'll open a portal for us since the others are already waiting, you ready?” He asked, and you nodded, not trusting that a laugh wouldn't slip out. “Alright, let's go then!” He grinned and the two of you were there in an instant! It was a beautiful sight, you had all gathered midday so you could have a Barbecue and watch the sunset.

Fizz was the first to see you both and rushed over to snatch you up in a tight hug, “hey! How's my favorite sinner?!” You laugh and hug back.

“I'm doing good Fizzypop! How are you?”

He whispered in your ear, “Hey, Ozzie and I got a scheme for later, just go along with it okay?”

Now that had your attention! What were the boys scheming this time? You nod along and he lets go before dragging you over to see Bee and her boyfriend.

After a bit of socializing, everyone changed into their swimsuits, Luci's swim trunks being covered in apples was a surprise as you'd expected more ducks. But then he turned around and saw you and his wings popped out!

“Wowza! I- wow, you look great!” He was looking you up and down for a minute before shaking his head and putting his wings away. “I mean, you always look great! Aha, or um, hey let's go for a swim!” He summoned a giant duck shaped float ring and ran for the water with it.

Ozzie chuckled and made his way over to you, “You know, he's right. You do look amazing today. Maybe enough to finally catch his eye… Good choice, just enough to keep him wondering. And me too, if we're being honest.” He winked at you, and you squeaked in response.

“Ozzie! You- you have Fizzle! Don't start with me!” Your face was bright red.

“Oh don't get it twisted dear.” He leaned closer to your ear, “I'm gonna try to make Luci jealous, okay? This is all part of the plan. I'd never hurt my fizzy baby. He's in on this, don't worry.” You look over and fizz smiles and waves from over by the grill. He and Tex were setting it up for dinner later.

You relax and sigh, waving back with a smile before joining Lucifer and Bee in the water. She was trying to sink his duck floatie. So, it was up to you to “save” him.

______

A while later, you all had hotdogs together and were surprised how many Bee could put down for her frame! She ate like 40 without any problems! But, hey, she was the sin of gluttony. And Mammon had challenged her to an eating contest, which he lost at 32.

After a nice meal, and a beautiful sunset, Fizz put some music on and everyone started dancing. Levi dragged Lucifer into a dance before either of you could ask each other.

Asmodeus then approached you, holding out a hand. You smile and accept, without so much as a glance at Lucifer. He pulled you in close and the music changed.

Lucifer was finally freed from Levi right as he noticed Ozzie beginning to sing to you, he looked over with a confused smile at first.

“I can't believe we're finally alone, what are the chances, everyone's dancing and he's not with you~. Mmh mmh mmh.” He shook his head disapprovingly at this line.

“The universe must have divined this,

What am I gonna do, Not grab your wrist?

I could be a better boyfriend than him~.

I could do the shit he never did,

Up all night I won't quit.

Thinking I'm gonna steal you from him,

I could be such a gentleman.”

You caught a glimpse of Lucifer's face dropping and Ozzie spun you around, he looked shocked, maybe even hurt.

“I don't need to tell you twice,

All the ways he can't suffice,

If I could give you some advice,

I would leave with me tonight.”

Ozzie pulled you tight to his body, while Fizzarolli stood next to Lucifer putting on a show of being “heartbroken and lonely” now that Ozzie would have a new toy for the night.

“I never would have left you alone, for someone else to take you home.” Oz looked up at Lucifer with a smirk and wink, and that seemed to be the last straw!

He started marching over as Oz did one more run of the chorus, spinning you around and making you dizzy before suddenly you were pulled from his arms and your back was pressed to someone else's chest!

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #fallen apple #lucifer magne #lucifer x reader #fallen angel

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ep-the-penguin · 1 year

Text

[Child of the Endless]

└─── Headcanons──➤

[Published: Wednesday, November 23, 2022]

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F. Reader

Word count: 3k+

Warnings: Light spoilers for the comic, a bit of a slow burn, implied child abuse/neglect (not with Morpheus), slight yandere themes/tendencies, also soft Morpheus (is that even a warning?), maybe a tiny bit of OOC Morpheus (who knows, you decide)

Notes: This is longer than I intend this to be, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Also, who else loves the idea of a darker version of Morpheus loving you platonically?

Eh? ...anyone...? Don't leave me hanging here... (༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)

Any comments, theories, and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and very much welcomed! Especially since this was my first time writing headcanons...

I also would appreciate it if you REBLOGGED my work instead of liking them. It helps not only me but others' works to be put more in the top spots of the tags algorithm, so our works can get seen by as many people as possible. Thank you for understanding!

╔═ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ════════════╗

What it's like being Morpheus's, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams, adopted human daughter (unwillingly, mind you)... [Part I]

╚════════════ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ═╝

⋅✦⋅ Dream isn't a being known to be friendly or open by nature, appearing cold, abrasive, and oftentimes self-obsessed. To most people and even his own subjects, he's a distant and somewhat intimidating guy, and they are right in a way. Even with his past relationships and the passion he had felt for each of them, it's so very rare for him to get attached to someone or simply show any kindness to anyone in general. Especially if we're talking about Dream before his one-hundred-year capture.

⋅✦⋅ After what became of his only son, Orpheus (and Calliope leaving their marriage because of this), he became colder and more reserved than he previously was. Of course, the pain he felt when each of his relationships had ended had hurt him, but practically losing a child (given his son was now just a head and disowned Dream as his father long ago), it's a pain that words can not even express. And because of this, Morpheus couldn't imagine seeing himself getting attached to someone ever again, let alone someone that, dare say, could bring about something he thought lost long ago…

⋅✦⋅ However, all of that drastically changes when he meets you. An ordinary human girl, of all beings.

⋅✦⋅ Your meeting with the Dream Lord could either go one of two ways. The first was that your father was working as a caretaker for Alex Burgess, and he didn't want to leave you alone with a sitter, so he decided to bring you with him to Fawney Rig in Wych Cross. There, you would hear rumors that Alex Burgess's Father captured the devil, and it resides in the basement. Sometimes you'd catch the guards carelessly talking about the supposed 'Dracula' they're being paid to watch over, intriguing you immensely. Not long after being in the mansion, you made a plan to sneak into the basement, where you were met with a pale naked man in a glass dome. His eyes were the first thing you noticed, they shined and burned like distant stars, slowly dissolving into a pale icy blue color the longer you stared at them.

⋅✦⋅ Or, after Morpheus had successfully retrieved all of his tools, he found himself sitting at Waterlow Park in North London, pondering on what his purpose was outside his function. The Lord of Dreams felt empty whilst he fed the pigeons and ducks with a loaf of fresh bread he brought with him. You were just a simple passerby, wanting to take a break from school work and the 'drama' that always occurs in your household between your parents, and that's when you randomly came across a man dressed in all-black moping. You raised a brow at the sight, curious about his sullen expression, but then saw him feeding the birds with the bread he had, which made you point out that he wasn't supposed to feed them bread, since it's bad for them. With that, you sat on the bench and began to talk to him, which earned you a weird look from him.

⋅✦⋅ You, for some reason, had immediately grabbed the Dream Lord's attention unlike any other being had before. There wasn't anything particularly special about you, just an average teenage girl. Because of this fact, it left Morpheus entirely confused, yet somewhat intrigued. Trapped inside his glass confinement, he watched with a careful gaze as you slowly approached him, looking around the place as you started to question him. Albeit you were a bit hesitant, more so confused if anything. At first, he had tried ignoring you and your questions just as he did with Roderick and his son. However, he couldn't ignore the genuine concern when you looked at him, someone who was but a stranger to you. It was the first time in his captivity that someone showed him any kind of concern for his well-being, someone who showed him kindness, even if it was small. In the park, Morpheus was less on guard now that he was free and more powerful than he was before, but instead of fully ignoring you and the questions you would ask him, he would answer vaguely, which ended up frustrating you, and to his surprise, he found your reactions quite amusing (he also found your little pouts adorable, not that he'll ever admit it, out loud anyway-).

⋅✦⋅ After your first visit to him, he found himself surprised by the gentle warm feeling slowly swelling in his chest. With imprisoned Morpheus, he was wary of you and your intentions, knowing that humans were all selfish creatures, and eventually you would ask him for something, just like his captors. But the more time you spent with him in the basement, talking to him even though he never answered, slowly softened his wariness of you. The more he thought about it, the more he understood that you being there with him was a great risk you were taking, not only for you but your father. You always set a timer on your wristwatch, and immediately leave once it went off, not before sending your goodbyes to him. With pigeon feeding Morpheus, he was curious about your random interaction with him and became more so at the thought of speaking to you again (even if you were the one doing most of the talking).

⋅✦⋅ Not before long, with each visit from you, the warmth within his chest seemed to grow bigger until he became extremely fond of you. At first, he tried to deny his care for you, then resenting you for unearthing a piece of him he had previously believed didn't exist as an Endless being (not that lasted very long. With one look at your face, that anger immediately demolishes into nothing but a distant memory). In truth, even with his previous relationships, he wasn't used to loving anything, and when he (not so) surprisingly found himself doing so, he firmly believed that he would eventually lose them in the end. Everyone that he had loved, that was supposed to love him back, had either one way or another abandoned or forsaken him, and it left him with a deep ache in his heart. However, with each visit from you, he realized this feeling, this fondness for you was the best for him. That you were the best of him, that caring for you was what made him painfully, yet so wonderfully human. Along with this, you had brought him hope, something he thought he had lost long ago. After everything he has been through, with his relationships and the tragedy that befell his son eons ago (and also his imprisonment), he never thought himself to be able to undoubtedly care for someone again, let alone a human child of all beings. You had quickly made your way into his Endless heart, without even knowing it.

⋅✦⋅ You became a constant figure in the Dream Lord's life, and he couldn't stop himself from seeing you. Not that he could in his imprisonment (nor did he ever want to). You were a very curious child, always showing how much you cared for him and his well-being, eyes shining brightly whenever you would talk to him as if his presence brought you happiness. And during this whole thing, Morpheus found himself unconsciously smiling more around you, staring at you with a soft look in his starry/icy blue gaze.

⋅✦⋅ With imprisoned Morpheus, he remained silent but would listen intently to you ramble about whatever topic you had in your mind, making subtle movements and being sure you knew he was listening to you. One particular memory was engraved in his mind where his stoic demeanor shifted and you had seen a smile gracing his lips. At first, you appeared slightly shocked, but then, your entire face lit up at the sight of his smile, however small it was. He remembered so vividly how excited you had gotten, how proud you were to achieve making him smile, and promising that you'll make him smile again, but even bigger. Morpheus wanted to see that expression on you again, the pure joy you had, and it was all because of him simply letting out a smile. When he was left alone in the basement once more, he was quite taken aback at the thought that he was the one to make you beam so brightly.

⋅✦⋅ With free Morpheus, he'd quietly listen to you talk, and would sometimes ask questions, and he couldn't help but feel pride swelling in his chest whenever your eyes would brighten up at his very simple questions. You'd become more lively, your smile widening with joy, and he noticed this particularly happened whenever the conversation was about your hobbies or the thing you found yourself enjoying recently. While you excitedly spoke, Morpheus quietly observed your expression, wondering when was the last time he had made someone this happy, had someone smile up at him with the brightest of smiles, eyes nearly glimmering with stars that were almost similar to his.

⋅✦⋅ As much as he cared for you, he was still careful to not get too attached to you. However, (surprise, surprise) that didn't end up happening. When Morpheus began to regard you as his child, seeing you as his daughter, he knew he had to quickly sever his connection with you, however great the ache in his chest hurt to just consider the idea. For he knew getting close to any human was a dangerous thing, not only for himself and his realm but for you. If he didn't, he'd have to watch you grow into the fine young woman he knew you would become, slowly growing older and older until his sister Death finally arrived and took you away to the Sunless lands. Or, the universe would see his affection for you as some sort of crime and end up punishing you, an innocent child, for his selfishness of not wanting to be alone once more. He didn't think he could live with the pain of losing another child again, having to be forced to watch you wither and die just like every other human that has ever existed before you.

⋅✦⋅ With free Morpheus, he could sever your relationship instantly, yet found himself hesitating when he was in your presence, waiting for the 'right time' to do it. Imprisoned Morpheus however didn't have that luxury. Instead, he forced himself to build up walls around his heart, for he knew the moment he was finally free, he had to immediately leave you and wanted to lessen that pain. He recognized that if he didn't do this, the pain would be too much for him to bear.

⋅✦⋅ However, all of that changed, depending on which path fate decided for you and the Dream Lord to have.

⋅✦⋅ With imprisoned Morpheus, he instantly knew there was something wrong when you entered the basement with the lack of your usual bright greeting. Not even a smile was being shown his way. You quietly took a seat in front of him like you usually did, and that's when he noticed an old book in your hands. When he glanced at you in question, he found that you were avoiding his gaze, which confused him but more so worried him, especially when you finally did meet his gaze, you looked completely lost, guilty even.

⋅✦⋅ You apologized that you didn't realize it sooner, apologized for the wrongdoings that Roderick and his son did to him, and most importantly, that you were sorry for being so blind. Morpheus sat there, completely stunned by your little speech, but more so when your tearful gaze turned into determination as you declared that you were going to get him out of there. Morpheus felt his starry eyes water, his hope of being free, of going back home to his kingdom that had once seemed so far from his reach was now so very close, and that was all because of you. And you, a child that possessed such a rare and beautiful heart didn't ask anything in return, just for him to set things right for everyone. He slowly placed his hand on the glass, watching with a tender look as you placed your smaller one on the glass, smiling up at him.

⋅✦⋅ With free Morpheus, you two were walking through the park, the Dream Lord silently cherishing his last visit with you. You then suddenly pushed him aside, causing him to stumble for a very brief second. He heard you let out a noise of pain and saw you on the ground, along with a male and his bicycle on the ground beside you. The sight of you hurt, blood seeping from your now scrap and dirty hands caused something dangerous to take hold of him. That feeling grew, even more, when he saw the man that had slammed into you with his bike reach out to help you up. If looks could kill, the mortal that dared hurt you would have been dead right where he stood. And if his glare wasn't bad enough, his voice was.

⋅✦⋅ It was so cold, so full of barely contained wrath as he commanded the man to not touch you. Not only did this leave the cyclist and the people around you frozen in place, but it also left you feeling afraid of Morpheus, being unable to recognize the man in front of you. Without another word, he quickly yet gently picked you up (bridal style) and carried you out of there. You were surprised by his actions but mostly embarrassed as you tried hiding your face in his chest, from the eyes of the people there. You asked him about it, but he didn't say anything, bringing you to a quiet area where he carefully tended to your wounds.

⋅✦⋅ Morpheus knew then and there that he couldn't leave you, your love for him was far too precious to abandon. He made a promise to himself that very day that he was going to love you for all eternity, that he would do better, for you deserved that and much, much more.

⋅✦⋅ Whenever you had to leave him, to avoid getting caught by the guards or to head back home and start on your homework (or how you would put it, to avoid your parents arguing about your whereabouts), it left him feeling immensely saddened by it. However, you would always playfully tease him, asking if he was sad, which would either have him send you a pointed look or quietly scoff, denying such a claim of being sad, even though you both knew it to be untrue. You'd reassured him that you would always come back, and you did

⋅✦⋅ Until one day after growing completely attached to you, you suddenly stopped appearing.

⋅✦⋅ At first, he thought you were late since it wasn't the first time it had happened, which you'd apologize for it. But as time continued to pass, with no sign of you coming, Morpheus began to grow worried.

⋅✦⋅ Even if you were late, you never missed a meeting with him. What could have possibly happened to cause you to miss it? But Morpheus, with the hope you gave to him, allowed himself to calm down, believing that you'll show up the next day. He knew you wouldn't just stop out of nowhere, especially if we're talking about imprisoned Morpheus. Yet that didn't stop the ache from building deep within his chest at the thought of something bad that could be happening to you.

⋅✦⋅ One day turned into two, then three, then four, and by the time he knew it, it had been a week since he last saw you. His concern grew to the point where he was nearly distracted from his duties, mind clouded by endless thoughts of you.

⋅✦⋅ With imprisoned Morpheus, he'd silently sit in his glass confinement, his thoughts always circling back to you, to your silly little rambles, your quiet and adorable laughs, your precious smiles. He was so used to being alone in the basement (alone in general, let's be honest here), sitting in the silence he had forced upon himself. However, the longer you were away, it started to become torture for him. And this can be said for free Morpheus. He'd quietly sit on the same bench you two always sat on, mindlessly watching the people there as his thoughts would go to you. Sometimes his raven Matthew popped in because Lucienne, his librarian, sent the male bird to check up on him.

⋅✦⋅ Perhaps you had simply grown bored of him, finally finding someone willing to spend time with you and listen to your conversations. Someone better, someone who wasn't him. It wouldn't be the first time. If we're talking about imprisoned Morpheus, he would feel even worse as those thoughts plagued his mind. Why would someone, let alone a human child, want to spend your time with him, someone who's trapped in a glass prison and doesn't say anything in response to you and your questions? Or maybe you have possibly changed your mind about freeing him. You didn't owe him anything, you only stumbled upon him through your own merits. That last thought alone sent him down a deep, almost dark spiral.

⋅✦⋅ Morpheus had tried finding you through your dreams (even if his powers in the basement were very weakened), yet he couldn't find you. By this point, the Dream Lord was beginning to become quite desperate to see you again, if only it was for a second. He never felt like this before in his entire existence, as if his Endless being needed you by his side for him to continue onward.

⋅✦⋅ When you were, one way or another, back in his life once more (and imprisoned Morpheus no longer in his glass confinement), there was a heavy weight lifted off his chest, as if he was allowed to finally breathe again. Upon seeing your face, nothing can ever compare to the enormous joy he felt, and at that very moment, Morpheus would make certain that you would never leave his sight again. Your unexpected absence from him for the first time since knowing each other made him understand that he simply couldn't live without you, his precious child. He couldn't bear the pain of you being far from him, where he couldn't find you or make sure that you were safe. You are far too important to the Endless.

⋅✦⋅ After that whole incident, the Dream Lord began to send his raven Matthew to watch over your waking life, sometimes even watching you through his companion's eyes (much to the raven's annoyance). When you went to sleep, Dream would personally watch over your dreams, making sure no nightmare dared to enter the beautiful dreams he carefully crafted especially for you.

⋅✦⋅ Too many times the Dream Lord found himself being affected by the thoughts of you one day leaving him as everyone he had ever loved did, disowning him as his own son had done eons ago. It all had hurt him at that time (though, he'd never admit it), but just the thought of losing you, of you hating and abandoning him, causes him a great deal of pain at just the mere thought. He couldn't possibly imagine going through that again, knowing that there would be nothing left of him…

───────────

Would anyone be down for a more detailed version of the two different meeting scenarios? Separately, of course. I think it's a pretty neat idea, considering I would have more freedom to further expand the relationship between Dream and the Reader in the different meetings, whichever fate has decided for them to have.

But what do you guys think? I would absolutely love to know!

Until next time my dear readers!

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