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babygirlispunk · 1 year

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Summer Fling - PART ONE

Pedro Pascal X f!Reader

Summary: living in a completely different hemisphere, you didn’t expect to bump into Pedro Pascal at a music festival.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of alcohol

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Reader is not physically or ethnically described but is Australian. Honestly inspired by my own summer romance I experienced when I was younger with a guy who happened to be Latino lol. This is just quickly written to get over my jitters and get confidence to post other stuff SO ITS PROBALY A BIT MESSY SORRY.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

The ground is vibrating beneath you feet, your ears are ringing from hours of listening to loud music for days. The temperature has cooled down from the summer sun with the night sky. Bodies glisten with sweat, dancing in the crowded space as you're all harmoniously vibing and singing to RUFUS. Everyone's either drunk or high, sloppily hanging off one another or shouting aloud enthusiastically.

It's New Years Eve, 10 or so minutes from midnight. You can't believe your seeing one of your favourite bands live and an absolute banger of a song is playing right now and you can't help but raise your hands into the air and dance your heart out, shouting the lyrics not caring how scratchy your voice is from singing along with different singers and bands for the past 3 days.

You manage to hear your name being called out next to you. It's your best friend Syria. You two managed to lose the rest of your group when squeezing your way further to the front wanting to get into the heart of the crowd and the vibe.

She leans in closer so you can hear her over the pounding music. "I reckon we should get to the very front before midnight hits."

"Why don't we ask someone if we can sit on their shoulders?" you yell back.

You both look around to find any guy or girl that would be willing to hold you and Syria up but most people are already paired up or in groups leaving the creepy looking ones left that would probably feel you up.

Bodies keep dancing around you as you duck and weave your way through to the front. You quickly make it, motivated by the words 'You were right' booming from the speakers and the singer announcing that New Years is drawing in. As you emerge to your new spot you bump with some guy passing a quick sorry and turning your attention to the stage. Both happy with how close you are, you wrap your arm around Syria's shoulder and she wraps hers around your waist. You scream-sing, jumping up and down together getting hyped, probably sounding like squealing pigs, when you just hear a laugh next to you.

(Highly recommend listening to You Were Right - RUFUS DU SOL for the next part, for the vibe)

You look where it came from and connect with gorgeous chocolate brown eyes accessorised by glasses, paired with a wide cheesy grin framed by a scruffy, patchy beard and unkempt curly hair. He must've been the guy you bumped... Being polite, you smile back and turn back to the stage singing with Syria.

But it hits you like a brick wall and you double take. You look back to see the guy talking to their friend, up close as they talk into each others ears. Colourful lights bounce off him from the stage and you focus on his face, confirming who it is.

"Syria!" You hiss into her ear but she's too entranced by the music to notice so you give her a shake under your arm and gives you a 'what' face.

"You would not believe who is next to me!" She gives you a confused look then peeks in front of you to look at him, returning to face you with eyes as big as an owl.

Without wasting a breath she shoves you into his direction and you trip over yourself and bump into him again, basically landing on him but he ever so gracefully catches you, hooking his hands underneath your armpits.

"Woah there, had a bit too much to drink have we?" he chimes out loud.

You're embarrassed and can only blurt out a no.

"Sorry about that, those guys next to us knocked us over." Syria covers for you.

"Assholes." he looks at you, still held in his strong hands, smiling sweetly.

He brings you back to your feet and you turn around to say your thanks but your close. Really close. Face to face. Your eyes flicker at every point of his face, really soaking in every detail your buzzed out brain can retain till you land on his eyes. They're looking down at you're lips before they flick up and lock with yours. They're so deep and gorgeous, you could just dive and swim in them

"Thanks." you manage to say despite your heart is beating violently inside your ribcage. He winks back with a cheeky grin making you blush as you turn back to face the stage. The song keeps pumping around you and Syria is dancing and singing her little heart out.

He stands right besides you now and you can feel his hand brushing against your arm as you both dance on the spot. You can feel the goosebumps travelling up your arm as he keeps touching and nudging you. You can't help yourself but steal a glance at him only to see him doing the same, biting your lip, saving yourself from giggling like a little girl. That damn smile hasn't left his face.

The massive crowd surrounding you start screaming out the minute countdown and you join in trying to distract yourself from the closing proximity between the two of you. Try as you might, you still keep looking at him in the corner of your eye only to see him doing the same.

30 seconds left.

A hand gently glides around your waist followed by a body pressing against to your side sending a chill through your body and the butterflies are released, fluttering wildly in your stomach.

20 seconds left.

You look up at him, he's looking forward at the stage bobbing his head pretending like he isn't pulling your body towards him right now. He's clearly showing his interest, there's no point chickening out now.

You snake your hand underneath his loose tee and wrap your arm along his back, placing your hand on his hip using your thumb to caress the skin on his back.

He turns his gaze to you with a smirk on his face and squeezes his hand holding your waist making you gulp down.

10 seconds left.

He bends down so that his mouth grazes your ear ever so softly.

"I was wondering if you would be my new years kiss?"

He moves his face in front of yours, just a breath away, waiting for your answer.

"Are you sure?" was all you could manage.

"Why not start the year kissing a gorgeous girl?" he inches closer to you, nose tips brushing.

You're both breathing heavy, both of your eyes fliting between each others eyes and mouth. Breaths brushing each others skin.

You turn your bodies to face one another. Moving your arms around his neck, his hands not losing contact with your waist, squeezing your lower half closer to his, pelvis' coming in contact inciting a flutter down there.

The song drops and lips crash into one another, the impact cushioned by his plush lips, you feel euphoric. This all surreal even with Syria screaming her lungs out behind you along with cheers from the masses.

You feel the heat of fireworks and sparklers set off from the stage as everyone celebrates the new year but it doesn't compare to the fire burning inside you as he pulls you in tighter making your chests rub against each other as you two are hungrily trying to taste one another. He swipes his tongue along your lips as an invitation to deepen the kiss and you let him in immediately. As your tongues dance together, tasting each others choice of alcohol, you feel his nose tickle against your cheek.

Not wanting to pull away, you inhale and exhale through your nose and you are enveloped by his smell, his sweet musky smell. He is like a damn drug and you're already addicted. Wanting more you tangle your fingers through his hair, desperately trying to bring him in closer, deeper than physically possible.

You're becoming overwhelmed by it all that a moan slips out of you, passing though and exchanged to his lips. You try not to over think it but you feel a slight smile form on his lips as he devour you, returning the moan back for you to inhale. His hand drops to your ass, kneading them in his fists and pulling you even closer than you thought possible letting you grind up his hard rump forming underneath his thick jeans and your core slickens fast.

Not wanting let go but starving for oxygen, you eventually pull back, not letting go of your bodies. He is also out of breath, shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

“What’s your name?”

You say your name through shallow breaths and he repeats it after you. You feel excitement hearing him say it out aloud, making your own name sound like liquid gold oozing from his mouth. Still getting your breath back, be gently nudges his nose on yours, pecking you and not wanting to lose the space between you, eyes never leaving yours.

“Would you come back to my tent* with me? Get away from this crowd and prying eyes…” he says almost desperately asking as his lips keep pecking yours, knowing exactly what he’s really asking.

You nod in agreement and he smiles that sickly sweet smile. Moving his hands from your ass, he threads his hands into yours and turns to his small friend group speaking with each other. You then realise they had watched the little show you two had put on. Then you feel like something is missing.

Syria.

You look all around in the surrounding crowd of singing and dancing bodies but you can’t find her. She’s missing. Letting go of his hand, you continue looking around getting on your top toes, jumping to look over peoples heads. You call out her name but she’s no where to be seen. Every worse case scenario runs through your head. Your group made one rule to follow during this festival.

Never ditch your buddy.

A wide hand grips around your wrist, giving you a slight fright till you remember who it was connected to, following his body till your met with his puppy dog eyes.

“My friend is missing, I need to find her, make sure she’s okay.” You say frantically.

“Let me help you.”

“No no it’s okay.” There was no way you were going to drag an A-list celeb around massive festival grounds swarmed with thousands of people that could horde him, away from the safety of his own friends.

“Are you sure?” He brings you in closer wrapping his arms around your waist as if locking you to him and you hold onto his arms, getting a good feel of how toned they are. You look at his lips, swollen from your kiss, hungry for more but you had priorities…

Giving him one last kiss, you keep it sweet and simple, lingering there for a moment fighting the urge the stay. “It was nice meeting you Pedro.”

As you pull away he give you a sad smile to pair with his puppy eyes. Turning away, shattered your moment was cut short, you weave through the crowd looking for Syria.

You circle round the crazy crowd, desperately looking for Syria but to no avail. You whip out your phone fumbling fingers on the screen trying to call her. Reception on its last bar unsurprisingly but by some miracle she answers. You hear your name from the other side but it’s staticky and broken, repeating over and over again as you try to call her name on your end.

Barely making out the words over the static and loud music pounding around you before it eventually hangs up. You look at your screen, call failed.

You growl in frustration, till a hand grabs your shoulder. Twisting around hoping to see his face, you’re sadly met with your friend Joey.

“Hey we’ve been looking for you!” He yells over the music.

“I’ve been looking for Syria!” You yell back.

He rolls his eyes and grabs your hand and leads you.

Once you’ve reach the back of the crowd, the music is less rattling and people are more spread out, laying on the grass, too drunk or too high, you spot of friend group with Syria.

“There you are! I thought you were kidnapped or something.” You give her a big hug, relieved.

“Oh my God no! I spotted some of the group in the crowd and went to get them so they could witness you getting with your celeb crush!”

“I still don’t believe it. Could be a look alike” Huffs Joey.

“Well luckily I took a pic.” Syria proudly unlocks her phone and shows everyone the photo.

It’s blurry and all you can see is your back facing the camera with the top of Pedro’s head next to yours. The butterflies from before flutter again as you see he’s arm wrapped tight around your waist and his hand gripping your ass.

“Can’t see shit Syria.” Someone else says.

“Fuck off.” Syria shoves the person and turns her attention to you. “I’m sorry I ditched you. Didn’t mean to scare you and ruin your moment. Literally the one time it really mattered. Now you probably won't see him again.”

You give her a big hug knowing she didn’t ditch intentionally. “All good. Just glad knowing you're alive and not kidnapped by weirdos.”

“You hot bitch, you hooked up with Pedro fucking Pascal!” She squeals his name and jumping like an energized puppy, overly excited for you.

You laugh out loud, still not quite comprehending it actually happened despite your skin still hot from his touch, the tingle lingering below and your lips swollen from your intense pash. You bite your bottom lip, reminiscing.

“What a way to start the year.”

MASTERLIST - NEXT

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A/N: Multiple day festivals in Australia, typically, people camp at the festival site with tents, camper vans etc. and depending on the festival, they sometimes have the VIP tents with working facilities that cost an extra pretty penny AKA glampin' so he’s chilling in that 👍🏼

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader

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didhewinkback · 9 months

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the moment you knew

a something old blurb, exploring the moments they both knew they were in love with each other. it switches pov halfway through

word count: 5k, warnings: its not the proposal

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2009

When you were fifteen, Johnny’s parents were going to be out of town for a whole weekend and he was planning on throwing the banger of the year. It was all anyone in your year could talk about for the whole week. Everyone was planning on going. Everyone, that is until your parents told you they had plans that night and you had to babysit Archie. You screamed, you cried, you got sent to your room but they wouldn’t budge, not caring at all about the fact that they were absolutely ruining your life.

You sat on the couch that Saturday, playing round after round of Mario Kart and bemoaning the state of things when there was a knock on your door. You told Archie to pause the game while you got up to answer it, expecting it to be the pizza he begged you to order, grumbling and stomping your feet the whole way. You swung the door open, cash in hand, only to find Harry on the other side, holding a few DVDs and a spare gamecube controller.

“Room for one more?” he asked, smile growing on his face when he sees the shocked expression on yours.

“What - what are you doing here?”

“Came to hang out with my best mate Archie. Guess you’re alright too.” he says, pushing past you to get into the house, heading straight for your kitchen.

“Harry!!!!!” Archie shrieks, running from the couch to the kitchen and hugging him tight, Harry laughing as he hugs him back. “I’m soooo happy you’re here, she was being sooo soo boring.”

“I dunno, man.” he says, smiling over at where you’re frozen in your spot, in shock that he’s here, crashing you and your brother’s pajama party instead of being at the actual party a few blocks over. He winks at you and your cheeks immediately burst into flames and you have to look away. That’s new. “I think your sister’s pretty cool.”

“Not tonight. She’s in a mood.” Archie says adamantly with a firm shake of his head, which makes Harry laugh, hard. His head tilting back, eyes crinkling. You can’t take your eyes off him. Has he always been this cute?

“Hey mate, ‘m gonna get some snacks ready in here, but I brought my controller, why don’t you get us all set for the next round? You’re the only one I’d trust with this,” he says, deadly serious, handing Archie the controller, which he holds to his chest with utter reverence, nodding before sprinting back to the tv room. Harry watches him go with a smile, before turning back to rifle through your fridge.

“Think your dad will notice if we nick two of his beers?”

“Why are you here?” you blurt out, mind still whirring from seeing him on your doorstep.

“Ouch.” he says, raising his eyebrows at the blunt question.

“I don’t mean - I just mean - “ you say, shaking your head, unable to think of anything else but the fact that he’s here. Not at the party he’s supposed to be at, the party of the century, but here. In your house. To play Mario Kart with you and your little brother.

“Johnny’s party is tonight. Everyone’s going to it. Like Katie’s gonna be there -”

“Yeah, well, you couldn’t go. Wouldn’t have been any fun without you. ” he says simply with a shrug, not waiting for your answer as he grabs two cans of beer, letting the fridge door swing shut behind him as he turns towards you. “Rather be here. With you.”

Oh.

And it’s like the world tilted off its axis. Time stops as you stand there, absolutely frozen in place, staring back at him as he grabs a bag of crisps off your counter, experiencing a feeling you’ve never felt before, a feeling that in years to come would only grow stronger, a feeling you would associate with him and only him. All these little moments from the past year suddenly make more sense, like missing pieces of a puzzle clicking into place.

The way his hand holding yours at his birthday party made sparks shoot up your spine, the way your heart races when you catch a whiff of that new Axe spray he’s been using, the way your cheeks flush when he holds eye contact with you, something that never happened before this year. It’s like your chest has been cracked open, warmth flooding your veins, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Your heart is racing and you feel like you’re on fire.

You love him. You’re in love with him.

Oh god.

“You coming?” he asks, starting to head towards the tv room, beers and snacks in hand, pausing when he looks back at you, brows furrowing. “What’s that look on your face for?”

“What?! Nothing - nothing.” you say quickly, warmth flooding your cheeks. “I’m fine. I’m gonna grab some pretzels or something.”

“I already grabbed the pretzels.”

“Right. You did. I’m uh. I’m going to wait here. For the pizza. Should be here aaaaany minute.” you say, brain scrambling for any sort of excuse, needing a minute to stand here alone and think.

“Oookay. You’re being really weird.” he says, heading into the living room, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, the flush on your cheeks only getting warmer by the second. You can hear him and Archie talk in the tv room, his animated tone making your heart beat even faster, thinking about how good he was with your little brother, how good he was with everyone, how good he was.

You bury your head in your hands, trying to catch your breath, to slow your racing thoughts.

You were in love with your best mate.

What the fuck were you going to do?!

2019

It was his mum’s birthday and Harry was prepared for anything.

Rain? He had ordered three types of tents, all to block out a potential storm but not detract the view from the garden that his mum cherished so much. Sound system glitches? He had five different kinds of bluetooth speakers and six auxiliary cords to be sure there would be no interference with the Shania Twain playlist he curated himself. Uncle Mack has one too many and starts asking Gemma how it feels that her younger brother will be getting married before her? He had Johnny prepped to keep an eye on his drinking and distract him with Man City stats if needed.

It had been ages since he had been able to be home for the celebration and he was determined to make it perfect. He loved his mum more than anything and even though he had a team of people willing (and paid) to assist him at the drop of a hat, he was set on doing most things himself, a point he knew his mother would take pride in. He had invited all her favorite relatives and closest friends, ordered a massive catered menu inclusive of all food allergies and even decorated her favorite cake, strawberry cream, himself. He had first aid kits, a stocked bar, endless supplies of SPF. He was prepared for absolutely anything.

Anything, that was, except for you.

He was having a drink with his cousins, reminiscing about the family parties of the past when he looked up and there you were.

Christ.

He’d never seen you in that dress before. He felt like his eyes were bugging out of his head as they traced the way it held your body so perfectly, like it had been custom made for you. He was practically ogling you, something he had never done before, at least not consciously. You’d always been pretty but today, right here, right now, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It felt like the earth shifted under his feet. Like the world tilted off its axis. His pulse was racing, his brow starting to sweat.

He was making his way over to you before even making the conscious choice to do so. It’s been ages since he’s seen you or even talked to you, his calls and messages going unanswered for weeks now, ever since his album listening party in August, which yeah, he fucked that one up. Should’ve talked to you first, should’ve done something different to not ruin the tradition you’ve had together since you were 17, the way you’ve been ignoring him making him realize it always meant as much to you as it did to him.

He can’t seem to get anything right these days, keeps doing what is expected of him, what looks best, ignoring what he wants and hurting people in the process. His brain has been so muddled these past few months that at this point he doesn’t even know what he wants. He feels like he doesn’t know anything. Especially here and now, feeling like he’s burning up on the inside just from looking at you.

He knows he should give you space, let you come to him so he can take the time to pull you aside and right any wrongs but he can’t stop himself, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He was by your side in seconds, breath catching in his throat when you turned away from your conversation with Gemma to face him, small smile on your face.

“Y’ look - that dress is nice. Um. Y’ look - y’look really nice.” He’s stuttering over his words, barely able to string a single sentence together, feeling hot under his collar, Gemma’s scrutinous gaze not helping in the least.

He hasn’t felt this way around you since he was 13 and tried to hold your hand on a walk to the heath one day, only for his sweaty fingers to get caught in one of your bracelets. He had turned practically scarlet in embarrassment, pretended there was a bee he was trying to shoo away, refusing to admit the truth, that he had a massive crush on you and all he wanted to do was hold your hand.

“I’m going to get a drink.” Gemma says, eyes darting between the two of you. “Either of you want anything?”

You both shake your heads, thanking her with smiles and he can feel her eyes linger on him for a second, the way he keeps shifting his weight, fiddling with his rings, his sister picking up on his nerves better than anyone before she squeezes his shoulder and heads over to the drinks. He watches her walk away and then turns back to face you, where you’re staring down at your hands, not able to make eye contact for more than a few seconds.

“‘M really glad -” he starts to say, at the same time you say “Is your mum - ?” before you both cut yourselves off, sheepishly laughing.

“You go,” he says softly, desperate for you to talk to him about anything, biting on his tongue as he wills his mouth to stop moving, feeling petrified that if he opened his mouth right now all that would come out would be something along the lines of “I know ‘m engaged and you’re my best mate but you look dead fit.”

“Was just gonna ask if your mum was having a nice time.”

He deflates a bit, was hoping for more about you or what you’ve been up to, anything to get a good read on you but you’re talking to him so he’ll take what he can get.

“Yeah, think she’s cried about three times already. So far, so good.” he says, resisting the urge to duck his head to force you to make eye contact with him.

“You done good, H.”

“Thanks,” he says and you smile at him quickly before looking back at your hands, silence falling between you once more.

He hates this. He’s not sure what’s going on or what he did, knows it's more than just that party, the two of you have been out of sync for months now and clearly you’re trying to avoid talking about it but he has to try something. He’s got a feeling there’s things you aren’t telling him, but he also knows there’s been certain things he’s been avoiding talking about, the nerves gnawing away at him about his upcoming nuptials, how he’s not sure what he’s feeling is just a case of cold feet or something more, something that terrifies him when he thinks about it too much. So, he doesn't. He just looks back at you, feeling more lost than ever before.

A strand of hair falls in front of your face and he has to clench his hand to hold himself back from tucking it behind your ear, suddenly feeling desperate to touch, to drag his knuckle down your cheek and along your collarbone, wondering if the sensation would make your breath catch, fire simmering in his belly at the thought of being the cause.

What the fuck?

He shakes his head, trying to drive those thoughts out of it, not sure where they’re coming from, thoughts he’s never had about you until now, at least not that he’s aware of. His cheeks burst into flames, looking back at you to be sure you can’t tell what he’s thinking, but you’re barely looking at him and he can’t - this can’t be how today goes. He needs his best mate, needs to have a fun day celebrating his mum, needs to forget the weirdness and stress of this year, if only for a few hours.

“Hey, so I know we’ve both been busy and I haven’t heard from you in a while,” he says, speaking quickly when he catches your look of apprehension, “which is fine, ‘ve done that with you loads of times it’s nothing - I didn’t mean to bring that up. Not like that. I just -”

He pauses, takes a deep breath, tries to rearrange his scrambled brain.

“We’re both here and you look great and I’d just - I’d really like it if we could just forget everything else and just hang out like old times. Just have fun. Me and you. And Johnny. ‘M flying solo today -” he says, catching the way you visibly relax and oh.

Is that it? Do you not like Erin? You’ve always seemed to get along with her just fine and they’ve been dating for years and you’ve never said anything. If that’s it, why haven’t you said anything? Your friendship has been rocky since the engagement but he never thought - if you’d had a problem you’d have said something, right? But you’ve both been avoiding any talk of relationships in recent years, cagey about the subject with each other ever since that fight you got into the pub a few years ago. Maybe that’s been a mistake.

He wants to get into it now, demand answers from you, but knows that would negate everything he just said, and knows that keeping everything light is the only reason you’re still looking at him now.

“It’s been a really weird year and right now I just want to hang out with my best mates, celebrate my mum before my work schedule gets mental. Let’s just fuck around today, yeah? See how many beers we can sneak Archie?” he says, something loosening in his chest when you huff a small laugh.

“Yeah,” you say, smile growing on your face. “That sounds good to me.”

“Cool. Let’s grab a drink then?” he says, turning to walk towards the bar.

“Wait,” you say, reaching out to grab his hand, quickly letting go when he spins back to you, his hand tingling with the ghost of your touch, itching to grab hold once more. “I just - I’m sorry for not being around, um -”

“Hey, no, ‘s fine. Got nothing to apologize for. Y’ just -”, he pauses, placing his hand on your shoulder and squeezing once, eyes never leaving yours. “Y’ know you can talk to me about anything, yeah? Your friendship means everything to me. You’re my best mate. That’s never changing.”

“Right,” you say and there’s a flash of something in your eyes he can’t quite decipher, gone just as soon as it appeared.

“‘M gonna hug you now.”

“Please don’t -”

“It’s happening whether you like it or not,” he says, wrapping his arms around you, feeling relieved when you do the same, relaxing into his hold. He’s holding you tighter than necessary but so are you, both of you seemingly needing to be close after this year of miscommunication and distance. He could stand here all night holding you, he thinks, feeling the most at ease he has in ages. You pull away first, quickly rubbing at your eyes but before he can say anything you’re already starting to move away.

“To the bar, yeah? Pretty sure Archie’s got a new girlfriend he won’t talk about. A few pints oughta loosen him up,” you say, already heading over there.

And he knows alcohol will only make more of a mess in his already muddled brain, the way he’s fighting the urge to watch you walk away, a swirl of confusing emotions flowing through him, but he needs this time with you. To have fun, let go. To forget. Scared of what will happen if he ruminates too much. So he doesn’t.

Six Months Later

He presses his palms to his eyes until the memory disappears and all he sees is black, practically curling in on himself as the April air whips around him, the estate lights blinking in the distance, the last of the partygoers still going at it. Was that the moment? Should he have been paying more attention?

You said you loved him for most of your life - had he been that selfish, that wrapped up in his own bullshit to not notice? He wracks his brain for signs of something he missed, rifling through memories to try to look at them from this new lens. Tries to think of the biggest moments of friction in your friendship, they are far and few between but …oh. There was that holiday break that haunted him for years when you wouldn’t talk to him when he brought home… - you said you felt sick but was it because he brought a girlfriend home? Were you jealous? Or heartbroken?

He continues on his walk, shaking his head at himself, at this night, at what this weekend has come to. He’s felt off kilter all year, feeling like he’s performing to an adoring crowd, his performance instincts trickling into his real, personal life, making him feel like a shell of himself. He knew something felt wrong the second he got down on one knee in front of all of Erin’s friends and family but brushed it off as nerves because she looked so happy so surely he must be too?

But he’s been lying to himself, too scared of disappointing those around him to grapple with the truth, trying to convince himself that this was part of growing up and becoming a man, that real love, the marriage love, isn’t the all consuming, unquenchable, need them like you need air kind of love. That a mature love is one that just feels fine most of the time, something expected, simple, fine. He keeps telling himself that being so public with his love life is what happens when you enter new tiers of fame with a famous partner, that everything is happening as it should, regardless of how he feels about it. Resigning himself to this new reality without taking a moment to challenge it or question it or demand better for himself.

Not questioning how weird it is that his engagement, supposed to be one of the biggest moments of his life, happened without his best mate ever knowing. That the thought of telling you filled him with so much dread that he avoided it entirely, just sent you an invite to the engagement party like a coward. How you had politely offered congratulations then avoided him for the rest of the night, which turned into the rest of the year, blaming work schedules and busy social calendars, leaving him feeling more unmoored than ever before. Never questioning the reason why that was, not realizing you’ve been his anchor for so long.

You.

You’re the first phone call he would make when he couldn’t sleep late at night, on a bus somewhere in another American city, feeling so young and old at the same time, worn down from years on the road while feeling all the confusing emotions of being a teenager, needing to hear your voice to calm his racing mind. The first face he would seek out in any crowd, especially that first solo night at MSG, feeling like he was teetering on the edge, getting swept up into something so much bigger than himself, and then locking eyes with you, the two of you looking at each other as if to say “can you fucking believe this?”. The first person to call him out when he started getting too used to this new world around him, a bit high off his own supply, leaning into the parties and the girls and the paps screaming his name, the free drinks and clothes and gifts, starting to expect things to be done for him instead of asking first until you shrewdly looked at him from across the table one day at lunch in 2014 and said, “you’re turning into a bit of a wanker”, which shut that down right quick.

The first person he would fly over when he felt lonely on tour, living for the way your face would light up when you could see the view from the stage, the way you lived for all the tourist attractions, your post show fro-yo bike rides turning into late nights at whatever bars were close by turning into private parties at the best restaurants each city had to offer as his career expanded and took shape. The first person he would see when he landed back home and over the years crashing at your house for days on end became crashing at your dorm became crashing at your flat in the big city, with you showing him your new favorite spots in London, telling him he can’t call himself a true Londoner until he lives here for more than six months at a time. Some of his favorite memories over the last few years have been exploring the city with you, you playing tour guide for once, taking him to off the beaten path museums and coffee shops, indie theatres and underground dance clubs, determined to make your home city feel like his, a feat that became impossible when he got engaged to an American.

He thinks back to his mum’s party, how visions of you in that dress lingered in his mind for weeks on end, how when he began to promote the new album, it was sometimes your face he saw when he closed his eyes and sang, something that only happened when he was trying to write songs with White Eskimo when he was 13, desperately trying to rhyme “hairband” with “want to be your man”. How he’s tried to sit down in the studio the past month to work out his thoughts through song, only confusing himself more when the only lyrics that would pour out of him were about you. You, who he’s barely spoken to these last few months.

He’s spent the last year trying to convince himself that the distance between you is due to growing up and schedule changes, that it is always difficult for the best mate who’s a girl to get along with the fiance. He knows how horribly reductive and stereotypical that is but you weren’t giving him anything to work with and he was too determined to not rock the boat to ever ask, never once thinking you were keeping your space because his engagement broke your heart. Because you’re in love with him.

You’re in love with him.

He wants to be angry with you, angry that you could keep this from him for so long, never saying anything for years, that you waited until now to do anything about it but instead he only feels anger at himself. That he missed the signs, that he didn’t try to talk to you more over these last few months, that he let you think the only solution was to leave. That he spent years convincing himself that when he gave any of your boyfriends a hard time it was just him being protective, that those pangs of jealousy he felt whenever some random bloke made you smile was par for the course of your friendship, that it was totally completely normal for his blood to boil whenever one of his mates from LA asked for your number, a request he always ignored. How could he be so bloody stupid?

He clenches his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand. This weekend has felt like someone placed a ton of bricks on his chest, the pressure slowly building and burning every hour that passed by. He couldn’t catch his breath all night until he finally found you on that courtyard, heart fluttering at how pretty you looked until he took in your expression, your packed bags, the way you were clutching onto your mum.

He winces when he remembers how broken you looked, tear tracks down your face despite your best efforts to wipe them away. He had been desperate to do whatever he could to make you stop looking like that, whatever he could to help. Never once thinking…

He stops walking, staring up at the night sky as he blinks back tears, tries to slow his racing heart, his racing mind. Every thought that has flown through his head over the last few hours, every memory that he has picked apart, overanalyzed, it's all come back to you. You, one of the only constants through his ever changing career and ever growing life. You, his best mate and his favorite person on the planet. You, who stood in that courtyard looking like the most beautiful woman he has ever seen and told him you’re in love with him, that you’ve loved him for most of your life and he’s not sure anything could get any better than that.

The fog in his head clears as he blinks up at the sky, feeling more settled in his body than he has all year, feeling like he finally truly knows what he wants.

It’s you.

It’s always been you.

Nothing has ever made more sense to him. He’s been in love before, has had it reciprocated but nothing - none of that, none of them - ever felt like this. He didn’t know anything could feel like this. It’s like his chest has cracked open, the world tilting on its axis, a missing puzzle piece finally fitting in place.

All the confusion, all the agony, all the questions have suddenly faded away. There’s a reason it always felt like something was missing from his relationship, from what was supposed to be his great love. There’s a reason few things have felt worse than having to watch you kiss Conor Williams at that birthday party. There’s a reason he never feels more settled, more at home, more himself than he does when he’s with you. He started loving you when he was 13 and a part of him never stopped. He’s never been able to give himself over fully to anyone else because a part of him has always belonged to you. And now he wants you to have all of him.

He’s in love with you. And you’re in love with him. The greatest woman he’s ever known, his favorite brain, the heart he’s always felt most protective over has been steadily beating for him all this time. He can’t stop the tears now as they streak down his face. Feeling the most confusing combination of elation, clarity and dread. Because he knows now what he has to do and it’s going to be ugly. It’s going to be the worst thing he’s ever done to another person.

Because he can’t get married tomorrow. Not to someone who isn't you. And he wants to like, date you first before he -. He shakes his head at himself, running his shaky hands through his hair, huffing a laugh of disbelief at how he’s already getting ahead of himself, how he already feels like he can breathe properly again, how nothing has ever been more clear.

He’s going to go face this now, before any more damage can be done. He’s going to talk to his mum and Gemma, then he’s going to talk to Erin.

And then he’s going to go get you.

a/n: if you've been with this story and me for a while first of all ily second of all, you know how much i looove to explore their past before writing a big moment for their future and this was so fun to think about and work through. i had written the whole first half and his 2019 bit in like march so i loved getting to come back to it! thought everyone would like to see where he was at post confession. let me know what you think ! also the collage is just of his parts, i didnt want to put a pic of 2009 harry up. outside pics are the party, middle pic is rehearsal dinner fit.

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

#something old #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #i didnt edit this much #please let me know what u think love u mean it

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anna-scribbles · 1 year

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hey anna! the wait for kwami’s choice part 2 truly is abysmal and it’s so hard to navigate through the tag with all the leaks about, do you have any fic recs to tide us over until gloob puts us out of our misery?

not only do I have fic recs, I also have way too much to do rn and therefore will spend an inordinate amount of time crafting a detailed rec list for you 😘 (we can also just consider this my 2022 ao3 wrapped lol)

goes without saying perhaps, but ANYTHING by @peachcitt is gold and also uniquely devastating, some of my particular favorites being:

metamorphosis - 97k, enemies, sleepovers, you get it. i'm normal

those benevolent stars - 23k, ladrien thief/prince/soulmates au. what more do I even need to say

chat noir's white french man hit list for feminist purposes - 7k, hilarious and devastating, this fic is a child to me

double dare - 32k, ladrien, absolutely everything. cemented my friendship w/ peach bc I had to scream at her everyday abt it

I thought the plane was going down - 11k, attuned to my tastes specifically, adrinette having a History while on airplanes

@carpisuns also puts out banger after banger like it's her dayjob, specializing in understanding the ridiculous nature of the lovesquare to such a degree and also being the funniest person alive. some of my faves from her are:

tell me something I don't know - 120k, the marichat fic EVER, mar's dissertation on lovesquare and guess what she's right

pink - 14k wip, adrien loves marinette, SOFT

two idiots and a hamster (collab with @botherkupo) - 24k, adrinette roommates, makes me cry laugh

@picayunearts is a goddess on earth. she bends word and image flawlessly to her will. recently she has enraptured me with

final girl - 41k, marichat, au where marinette succeeds in giving up her miraculous to alya in origins. INCREDIBLE marinette character study

@rosekasa invented ladynoir and i'm not afraid to say it. check out everything on her ao3 but just note the following

when things were good - 15k wip, breakup fic/post hawkmoth takedown, has been ruining me in a SPECIAL way

new marinette 12k, post-guardianship memory loss marinette, a classic

like poles of a magnet - 12k, enemies au, hurts my feelings

ya'aburnee - 13k, ladynoir, HURTS ME VERY MUCH. I'VE NOT RECOVERED

@buggachat's fics always feel like i'm attending a course on adrien and marinette's true characterizations explained to me by someone with a PhD in lovesquare and I walk away enlightened. she has an incredible gift for storytelling and just Getting It. anyway read

maintaining a professional distance - 43k, ladynoir hotel room shenanigans, god-tier characterization

when you're near 10k, ladynoir dating but adrinette have never met, a classic

@sha-nwa should honestly quit her career and write lovesquare fanfiction for me full time. proof:

the way I loved you - 68k, marichat break up fic, will be cemented into my mind forever

photograph - 1k, sweet adrinette, abby loves making me cry

things WOULD be amiss if I did not mention @officialratprince (carolinaa on ao3) bc their fics derailed my homework schedule on several occasions last semester, though I'll be honest that their fics are not for the faint of heart or those who wish adrien agreste to have a good time. my faves are

I will take it / it can't go wrong series - 3 fics at 16k, 25k, and 39k, adrien's journey through experiencing child abuse and his friends being there for him, culminating in gabriel's court trial

home sick - 14k wip, adrien gets pneumonia and Everything Is Really Bad

other various fics I love for various reasons:

how hawkmoth got his groove back series by @agrestenoir - 2 fics at 3k and 1k, one of my favorite crack fics i read last year. had me crying laughing

1 step forward, 3 steps back by agnes writes - 10k, breaks my heart every time I read it. also makes me legitimately angry at adrien while still keeping him in character which is a feat in and of itself

the last day on earth by reiaji - 10k, chat blanc keeps happening as marinette gets older, I am incapable of not recommending this fic

okay now go forth and don't do your work<3

#such a struggle for me to hold back and not just list every single one of everyone's fics.#looking at this list I realiize that I in fact read a lot of fanfiction #I cant even find it within myself to feel cringe about it bc these are all legitimately so GOOD #ml #miraculous ladybug #ml fic rec #mlb fic rec #anna rambles #asks

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lowkeyrobin · 2 months

Note

hiiiiii can u pls make a tommy x fem!reader where they go on a fake date for a vlog (but its actually a secret plot by tommy or yn (u choose) to go on a date w the other bc theyve had a secret crush on thr other for a long time🤭🤭)

and then like,,,, in the middle of the date the other realizes that oh,,,, i like them

AND THEN CUE THE PANIC THAT COMES WITH REALIZING U LOVE UR BEST FRIEND IN THE MIDDLE OF A FAKE DATE AND THEN MAYBE AFTER FINISHING THE VLOG THEY LIKE REVEAL THEIR FEELINGS TO EACH OTHER AND AGREE TO GO ON A REAL DATE LATER???👁️👁️

omg yes of COURSEEEE ; also I do only do gn readers but I can 100% do the rest of this 💪💪 hope you enjoy 🫶 ; also djo is mentioned (I've been a fan since like 2020) do not start gatekeeping on me LMAO ; listening to my tommyinnit playlist while making this and 🙏🙏🙏🙏 (link can be found on my masterlist -> playlists 👍 it's a banger

TOMMYINNIT ; real date ❌️ fake date ✅️

summary ; you go on a fake date for a vlog and decide to go on a real one because the romantic tension got you both positively nauseated

warnings ; language

genre ; fluff

word count ; 1.5k

masterlist

"Y/n, you wanna go stop for food?" The blonde asks, dropping the vlog camera a bit as he hears his stomach grumble in hunger. "We can make it a date for the vlog" He suggests, praying you'd say yes.

You nod, agreeing to the bit and the food considering you were also beginning to starve. Meanwhile, he feels his intestines flip around in his torso, trying to hide a giggle of approval as you agree.

You stop at a little lunch place and dine in with some sandwiches and soup. You and Tommy sit at one of the half-booth-half-chair tables, and put the camera in front of you as you sit next to each other. You talk about and eat at the same time, basically doing a mini storytime for the vlog, considering he was trying to do a vlog challenge to upload every week and have his videos reach at least twenty minutes and you were down to help him.

Tommy tries to push off the weight off his shoulders, love pulling him down as he looks over at you, talking to the camera about a story from earlier. He feels his stomach fill with butterflies as you laugh and smile, your eyes twinkling like sun reflecting off of water.

He quickly looks back down at his food, trying to hide his longing eyes for you. His ears dust a little red, feeling flustered as you joke around with him, making little date conversation to play up the bit.

You eventually get into the joke as a whole, making fake flirty conversation, making both of you silently panic inside. It's obvious to everyone but you, his ears and cheeks dusted pink, you trying to hide your smile as your face warms up past the heat of the oven when you bake out-the-box cakes together. You have to walk out of the building because you were getting too loud with laughter and didn't want to disturb the other patrons.

You walk down the sidewalk together, talking on and on and opening up more than usual about a lot of things. Tommy shows off all the scenery as you walk, later to be edited with Empire State Of Mind in the background, considering you'd been traveling around New York together while Freddie and Jack did their own things around the city.

You take the camera after a few minutes, wanting to have some fun with it. From silly angles and .5's of your foreheads to the Empire State Building and the flashy lights and screens everywhere like Times Square, you got it all. You found it so fucking enjoyable, catching all the beauties of city life you'd never experienced before. The bustling streets and the sound of music coming from just about everywhere, it weirdly comforted you.

You hold the camera up high, zoomed all the way out to capture you and the blonde, singing along to End Of Beginning by Djo, the song playing in the earbuds you were sharing. I mean, this was the beginning of a new end, in all honesty, the tour, him, your new eras and styles of content, the new way you'd picked yourselves off the floor and made yourselves new people. You were both happy enough to be on the hectic rollercoaster of life with each other in the seat next to the other.

Tommy can't help but find your funny control over the camera and your jokes amusing, to say the least. He couldn't help but fall more head over heels than he already was. He didn't know how he didn't notice it already, but when you touched the concrete in New York City, he felt it. Something in him awakened, like he realized how amazing it was to have this tour going on, for one, two, you were there. You were always there. You were always right in fucking front of his eyes.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You lay face up on the bed in your hotel room, staring at the ceiling. The room is freezing considering the heater doesn't work, and you needed the window open to get some fresh air. You're wrapped in a blanket you'd brought from home for comfort, and hidden under the thick bedsheets you'd been given for the night.

The show went well as per usual, at least.

What wasn't going well was the fact you couldn't sleep.

All because of a certain blonde haired boy who was currently obsessed with sweatshirts and jeans.

His laugh was contagious, his smile shining a thousand sun's, his eyes flowing as deep as the sea you longed for back in Europe, which you frequently walked with MotherInnit. You could stare at him all day, you'd never realized how you felt about him, or the fact the way you thought about him was romantic.

You stare up at the ceiling, a boob light hanging above your feet. It was times like these where you wished you could afford a nicer hotel. The mattress itched of dirty sheets and crumbs, which were not caused by you, or maybe that was the fear of sleeping in a bed that wasn't yours... one of the two.

You wanted to stomp up to Tommy's room, a floor above you and down the hall some, to just rant about taking him on a proper date tomorrow considering how much you'd enjoyed your "date" earlier. But you didn't have the heart, you lay with your stomach twisting and turning, heart aching and burning for him by your side to warm you up.

The bustling city night life soothes you to sleep, the vehicles below on the streets all headed home or to work or around the city. The people shoulder to shoulder on the street, enjoying a peaceful walk to wherever their feet were taking them, the homeless girl you'd given a couple hundred dollars to earlier as she played her flute. A boy about her age had joined her since then, wielded with a guitar, possibly becoming friends through bonding with their interests and the fact they were both struggling.

You could hear their music even from four floors up and through the city traffic, it was beautiful. They fit together perfectly, like two neighboring pieces of a puzzle. You wished you felt that way with Tommy. You wished you could come clean to him about your feelings and how you really thought of him. Yet, tonight was not that night.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The panic had set in from last night now.

You were barely awake when you stared up at the ceiling, swooning over your best friend, but now you were wide awake and in total realization of your thoughts. You internally cringe every time you think about it, wanting to vanish off the face of the Earth.

Through the last day in New York, you found yourself avoiding Tommy at all costs. From wandering off with Freddie to eating by your lonesome and spending time in your hotel room to "edit videos," you'd probably only spent a half hour around him.

He was growing concerned while Jack and Freddie shared a knowing look, knowing exactly what was happening. They'd both known of his crush on you, which spanned past the past four or so months. You finally realized you liked him back and wanted to deny it.

The two wanted to intervene but decide to let fate run its course, trusting that your natural human instincts would bring you together again. You bump into the blonde in the hallway, needing to go get ice to sit in it for an hour in the bathtub as some sort of therapy, which Tommy highly always made fun of you for. You apologize, the empty bin for ice in your hands.

"Ice?" He asks, then groans with a smile, "You seriously gonna sit in ice til we have to leave for the airport tomorrow morning?"

You shrug with a light smile, feeling your heart racing. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out his beautiful voice.

"Y/n? You okay?" He speaks, snapping you back to reality.

Without any thought behind it, you shoot your shot. "Do you wanna go on an actual date sometime?" You quickly speak, stumbling over your words.

His face quickly shifts to a smile, his smile lines showing themselves off. "Yeah! Wait, no, I mean like, "Yeah, sure," not like, "I'm so desperate, yeah-"

"Cool!" You quickly rush past him, your hands sweaty, your face flushing as you dart towards the ice machine.

He turns and watches you quickly speed walk away, his cheeks burning bright as he smiles, watching you walk away.

TommyInnit ; fake and real dates with Y/n <3 ; 20:49 ; Posted 4 hours ago

Y/U/N left a comment!

Y/U/N ; youre actually a dork

TommyInnit replied to your comment!

TommyInnit ; well you couldn't pick between a fake and a real date, apparently. we had to do both

Y/U/N ; fake date ✅️ real date ❌️

TommyInnit ; people.

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #badlinu x reader #tubbo x reader #tommyinnit oneshot #tommyinnit #mcyt x gn reader

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tiktaalic · 1 month

Note

I get the basic theories for tswift flop. But as someone who genuinely really liked Lover and Folklore and liked Evermore (if I remember correctly you did too, with perhaps additional fondness for Evermore), do you have a theory for how she dredged up that upswing before crashing so so hard to her lowest point?

I lovedddddddd lover. I didn’t even listen to it in the age of #hype I fully heard lover for the first time and was streaming it like it was my job in 2023. Folklore I like evermore I couldn’t name a single song from but it’s good I guess. My theory. I think lover and reputation are actually pretty similar quality wise. You show me reputation and say and then she made LOVER. and I go. Yeah okay. Some solid goofy chunks on both which is fine yeah Taylor let’s get goofy. Some solid bangers on both. Some solid yearners on both. I think. I think a lot about how her reaction to rep losing a Grammy was to immediately start writing a new album. Lover a direct response to reputation not getting rewarded. She was trying to outdo herself. And. I think. My theory. Is that a switch flipped at Some Point post folkevermore. Because people liked those I think I’m pretty sure people were giving those good scores. And instead of trying to Make A Better Record. She has since been trying to Make A Relevant Record. I think something happened to her and she got scared about failing at Being The Best Artist but said but by god can I churn out stuff that will make me the Most Popular Talked About Culturally Relevant Artist. I fully think she’s switched metrics because she’s thinking in terms of cultural capital. Idk WHY. because she’s doing fuck all with it except complain about it and ink nfl sponsorships to get More Obscene Amount Of Money. But I don’t think she’s approaching albums as art anymore I think she’s just kind of putting in the effort of a little hobby in terms of songwriting / performance. Because I do think she is experiencing more and more worry about being toppled, especially because she is, in terms of popularity, The Top right now. And she doesn’t feel confident in her ability to maintain The Top through quality bc her previous attempts at quality did not do as well as she wanted. There’s also the fact that quality requires time Away from the spotlight where you become less relevant. For an album that might not even do well. I think also maybe her lesson from red rerelease doing well was not “people like red because it’s good songs because I spent lots of time on it” but “oh people like 31 song albums”. So .

#anonymous #ask #t swift

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stuckybarton · 1 year

Text

Bathala and the Forsaken Queen

Summary: He was called by the Spanish as the child without love, but to you, his wife, he was the man that has saved you and your child from the impending death at the hands of the colonials dead-set on killing your entire bloodline. Character: K'uk'ulkan/Namor x Filipino!Queen!Female Reader. OC Daughter (Adlaw) Word Count: 6,388 Warnings: Philippine History Inaccuracy, changed some dates to suit the story. Mention of War and the Atrocities during the Spanish Colonization in the Philippines. Death and mentions of corpses. Angst. Happy Ever After. BPWF spoilers and slight deviation to the plot. Mention of consuming dangerous plants. A/N: A request from @kpopgirlbtssvt, Another banger of a request from you thank you so much for this. Again I did tweak a few things here and there and i hope that's fine with you.

Masterlist || Join the Library ( i no longer do taglist you can just turn on notif here)

Bathala and the Forsaken Queen

TALOKAN | PRESENT DAY

Shuri walked into the room where Namor had been spending most of his time painting the murals on the walls. The vibrant colors and intricate details caught her attention as soon as she stepped in.

“Princess.”

Shuri continued to observe the paintings, noticing the different scenes depicting the history of Namor's people. She pointed to one in particular, showing a woman and child, protected by a God-like being from attackers.

“Who is this?” Shuri had inquired. Among the numerous of artworks, there was a certain veneration, a certain care into painting this woman among the rest of the artworks in the murals on the wall.

“She is my wife, my Queen, the mother of Talokan.”

MACTAN, CEBU, PHILIPPINES | 1592

You hold your daughter close to you as you run along the sandy beaches. The wind is whipping at your hair and dress, and you can hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the screams of death of your people, and the sound of the fire enveloping your homes. Your heart was pounding in fear as you glance over your shoulder to see the Spanish Conquistador chasing after you with a sword in hand—blood that you were certain was of your husband, the King’s after the brutal fight. Now you and your child run to avoid becoming the spoils of their victory.

“Keep running,” You urged yourself, holding your infant close to your chest, trying to sound calm despite the terror and anguish in your heart. “We will not let them take us.”

Your daughter coos as if sensing your own dread, her eyes filled with tears as she was looking up at you. You can see the fear in her eyes and it breaks your heart to know that she is experiencing such terror at such a young age. You are the Queen of your people, but in this moment, you feel powerless against the force of the Spanish invasion.

As you run, you see a large rock formation in the distance. It's your only chance to take cover and make a stand against the Conquistador. You pull your daughter towards your chest even more, hoping that it will provide some protection.

As you reach the rocks, you turn to face the Conquistador, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this could be your final stand. The Conquistador approaches, his sword gleaming in the sunlight.

You stand tall, ready to fight for your life and the life of your daughter. You know that the odds are against you, but you will not go down without a fight. You hold your daughter close, feeling her small body tremble with fear. You whisper words of love and comfort to her, trying to give her strength in this dark moment.

The Conquistador approaches, his sword raised high. You close your eyes, ready to face your fate. But before he can strike, the sound of a neck being snapped and the Conquistador falls dead to the sandy ground below you was what now comes to you.

You feel the surge of gratitude and relief wash over you as you turned to face a possible soldier from your people that helped, but the smile that was slowly growing on your face faded just as quick as it had appeared. The man in front of you was no soldier of your people—but a man that exuded power greater than any Gods in your lifetime.

Was this Bathala? Has he finally answered your prayers? You could not think straight out of fear of everything that has transpired, you had pulled your daughter closer to your chest. Protecting her from whatever wrath the God might come for you and your fallen people.

The man speaks, a language that you know nothing about. Fear grew more and the possibility of him being just like the Conquistador but instead of savagery, you were given a small bracelet which he gently slipped onto your shaking wrist.

You approached the man cautiously, your mewling daughter close to your chest and ready to move if the need arises. With his hands held up, you took a look at the man and realizing he was truly no human you had ever seen in your life before.

Pointed ears, same skin as you, his ears, nose, and neck adorned in jewelry but the most shocking part of the man in front of you were the pair of wings on either side of his feet. How only now did you realize that he was not standing on the sand, but was hovering and the sight of the fluttering wings both interested you as much as it did scare you.

With your own shaky hand you slipped off your own gold armband, handing it to the man in a quiet exchange hoping he would understand you were no threat, just simply a mother trying to protect your daughter. You watch him take hold of it, how he had slip the band around his wrist and the smile of reassurance resting on his face.

The fear slowly fading away from your system at a friendly company, but your mind was now washed with the anguish of what was left of your home. Everything that close to ashes at this point. No longer did you hear the sound of cries nor the sound of swords in the distance. It was quite painful to hear the empty silence of what was left of your people because of the Conquistador.

As you turned to finally thank the man that has saved you and your daughter, the man was gone, leaving you and your daughter to tend to yourself from now on.

TALOKAN | PRESENT DAY

“She was just like me, but from another country far from our own. Her people and her first husband were killed in the aftermath of the Spanish Conquistador.”

Shuri could only nod, watching as Namor gestured to images of you, who moved and settled to a cave-like home, far from what you were once so accustomed to in your life.

“She had a daughter?” Shuri wondered, looking more into the child that once had the same color of skin in the first image before her skin was now painted blue just like your own now.

“My blessing. She might not have been my blood, but I have treated her just like my own.”

MACTAN, CEBU, PHILIPPINES | 1592

It was hard to start from scratch.

The fear of possibly another Conquistador coming for you and your daughter had you on edge and instead of returning to your home, you have decided that it was best to live in a cavern close to your home, but discreet enough to hide you and your daughter from anyone that would place the both of you in harm’s way.

It’s been days since the attack in your home, days since you have ever caught a wink of sleep. In the damp floor with your daughter resting on what was once your lavish robe laid besides you sleeping, you found yourself sobbing. You begin to mourn the death of your husband, who fought valiantly against them in hopes of buying enough time for the both of you to escape. You could remember the way your husband was outnumbered, how in his dying breath he had screamed for you to and your daughter to run for your lives, how he had told you his love and devotion to you, his Queen and his wife. The memory was a burning reminder of everything you have lost because of the invaders.

Your hands had covered your mouth, fearing that you might wake your daughter up because of your despair. You watch your daughter’s chest gently rise and fall and in the image of her, you grew numb for what you knew you needed to do to live, to strive, and to ensure that she would grow up happy and away from whatever danger that was in this world.

In the stillness of what you now call your temporary home, you heard footsteps. The alertness waking you from your sleepless state. You crouch in the dimly-lit cave, your heart racing as you listen for any sound of approaching danger. In your arms you had lifted your daughter up, your six-month-old daughter sleeps peacefully still, oblivious to the turmoil that surrounds her.

You stroke your daughter's soft cheek, marveling at her innocence and her trust. She is your hope and your future, the embodiment of all that you hold dear. You vow to keep her safe, to teach her the ways of your people, and to instill in her the strength and resilience needed to survive in this harsh new world.

As you wait in the darkness, your mind drifts back to happier times, before the arrival of the Spanish. You remember the lush forests and sparkling beaches, the vibrant festivals and colorful ceremonies. You remember the warmth and generosity of your people, the sense of community and belonging that permeated every aspect of your life.

But those memories are tinged with sadness and anger now, as you realize how much has been lost. Your people have been forced to flee their homes, to abandon their farms and fishing boats, to abandon their traditions and beliefs. The invaders have brought disease and death, destruction and despair. They have shattered the very fabric of your society, leaving nothing but chaos and uncertainty in their wake.

Suddenly, you hear a commotion outside the cave grow louder. You can hear the Spanish shouting and cursing, and the sound of horses whinnying in distress. You dare not hope, but perhaps there is a chance that they will not find you. But your hope is short-lived. You hear footsteps approaching the cave, the sound echoing in the darkness. You hold your breath, trying to remain as still as possible. You do not want to give yourself away.

The footsteps stop just outside the cave. You can hear the Spanish muttering to each other in their foreign tongue. You understood what they are saying having insisted to your husband that it was a good thing to learn their language to know their true intentions.

Suddenly, a hand reaches into the cave, groping blindly in the darkness. You shrink back, trying to make yourself as small as possible. But the hand finds you, gripping your arm tightly. You try to pull away, but the hand is too strong. You feel tears stinging your eyes as you realize that this is the end. You and your daughter are going to be captured, enslaved, or worse.

Turning to the owner of the hand gripping onto you, you saw the same man that had saved you a few days prior. He held up a finger against his lips, requesting for you to keep quiet. He had guided you towards the darker corners of the cave, wrapping a blanket around you before he walks towards the sound of the Conquistadors that you were certain were still after you and your daughter.

You hear the sound of violence, the sound of your savior killing the remaining Spanish soldiers who came to look for you in the cave. You do not want to listen, but you cannot help it. You can hear the brutality of the way he kills each and every single one of them without mercy. You can hear the sound of bones breaking, of swords clashing, and of flesh being torn.

And then, as suddenly as it began, it is over. You hear the man's footsteps approaching, and you brace yourself for his arrival. You do not know what to expect, but you know that it cannot be good. But when he appears, he is different than you expected. He is covered in blood and dirt, his face twisted in rage. But there is also something else there, something that you cannot quite name.

He looks at you and your daughter, and you see the rage in his eyes soften. He approaches you, his hand outstretched. You catch sight of the golden band you had given him wrapped around his wrist. You do not know what to do, but you realize that you must trust him. You take his hand, and he helps you and your daughter to your feet.

He spoke a language you did not understand. You blinked uncertain what you could say or do to understand the man.

“Mi nombre es K'uk'ulkan, aquí no estás a salvo. Hay muchos que todavía te buscarán. (My name is K'uk'ulkan, you are not safe here. There are many that will still look for you).”

You pulled your hand away as he spoke the same language as the Conquistadors. You held your daughter closer to your chest, fearing of what the man might do now or of his intentions with you in this moment.

“No quiero hacer daño. Mi gente es víctima de los conquistadores como la tuya. (I mean no harm. My people are victims of the Conquistadors just like your own).”

You find yourself sadden by his words. You had believed that you and your people were the only victims, only to turn out there were more people like that had suffered so much at the hands of the colonizers. Walking a little closer to the man now, but still the precaution was ever so evident for you.

Standing in a damp and dark cave with your six-month-old daughter in your arms, you can feel her little body trembling as she snuggles closer to you, seeking warmth and comfort. This was not the healthiest environment to have her live. You can have no one else to blame, for you were just as afraid about this circumstance. You know for certain that the Conquistadors would continue to hunt you and your daughter still. As you look around the cave, you see nothing but darkness and silence. You wonder if this is where you will spend the rest of your days, hiding away from the world.

The man, K’uk’ulkan, was a tall and imposing figure, with a regal bearing that genuinely reminds you of the nobles of your own people. He is dressed in a long white cloak with a headdress adorned with shimmering feathers. He looked far too different from the first time you had met him and it didn’t truly give you the benefit of trusting him in this moment. Especially with the blood that still painted his skin and some of on his cloak from his actions against the Conquistadors.

“He venido a ofrecerte santuario en mi propio reino. Es el lugar más seguro para usted y su hija mientras los conquistadores aún los buscan. (I have come to offer you sanctuary in my own kingdom. It is the safest place for you and your daughter to be while the Conquistadors still search for you).”

You stare at the man, uncertain whether you could truly trust him. But the two instances of him saving your life should have been enough for you to at least try. Aside from his abilities to kill the Conquistador with his bare hands, the sight of him with wings and the pointed ears had you cautious of what more he was capable of doing. It was as if you were not truly in the presence of a mere mortal—but something far greater or worse depending on what you decide to do.

"Mi reino está lejos de aquí, pero me aseguraré de que tú y tu hija lleguen a salvo. Puedo ofrecerte protección y un hogar, donde estarás a salvo de cualquier daño. Y prometo que haré todo lo que esté a mi alcance para garantizar que nunca más serás perseguido por los conquistadores. (My kingdom is far from here, but I will ensure that you and your daughter arrive safely. I can offer you protection and a home, where you will be safe from harm. And I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are never hunted by the Conquistadors again)." The man continues, his voice spoke softly.

You consider his words carefully, weighing the risks and the benefits of accepting his offer. You know that the journey to his kingdom will be long and dangerous, but you also know that you have no other choice. The Conquistadors are still searching for you, and they will stop at nothing to capture you.

Finally, you nod your head, accepting K'uk'ulkan's offer of sanctuary. You feel a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that you and your daughter will be safe from harm. As you follow K'uk'ulkan out of the cave, you can't help but feel a sense of trepidation. You know that the road ahead will be long and hard, but you also know that you have made the right decision.

The walk out of the cave was filled with death, you did your best to ignore the bodies laid around and brutalized by the man that walked in front of you. But it filled you with a great sense of fear and reassurance, fear for what he was capable of doing and the reassurance that he will be there to protect you should the need ever arise against the Conquistadors.

As the sunlight begins to beam against your eyes, you tried your best to adjust as the first brush of the wind has brushed against your cheeks and your baby slowly but surely waking from her slumber.

“¿Cuales son tus nombres? (What are your names?)” He asked you waiting by the end of the cave.

You told him your name, of your daughter, Adlaw, a daughter-born under the scorching sun that had ended the long-standing drought in your land. He smiled as you explained your daughter’s name to him. How invested he seemed to be of what was once your people.

“Tu hija le ha dado a tu pueblo la lluvia tan necesaria como yo le he dado a mi propio pueblo el sol. (Your daughter has given your people the much needed rain as I have given my own people the sun).”

You gasped, realizing that the man was truly a God after all.

You continued to walk through the now deserted beaches. The putrid scent of death and burned down husk wafted and it took a lot out of you not to gag from where you stood. As your eyes to one last glance around what you once called your home, you noticed something strange. Warriors that were now closing in on K’uk’ulkan who have blue skin.

You rub your eyes, thinking that perhaps you were seeing things from lack of sleep, but when you open them again, the blue-skinned warriors were still there and meant no harm as they kneeled in front of your savior. Hands helped up in a gesture that was similar to an open flower.

You glance over at K’uk’ulkan, who notice your confusion and apprehension.

"Esta es mi gente, (These are my people)," he explains. "Son los soldados más valientes y leales que he conocido (They are the bravest and most loyal soldiers I have ever known)."

You can't help but stare at them in wonder. You have never seen anything like them before. Their blue skin seems to shimmer in the sunlight, and their eyes are a reassuring shade of black just like your own. Aside from armor that were somewhat similar from that of your own people’s, aside from their skin color, it was the mouthpiece covering their mouths and nose that took you by surprise, made you wonder how they could breathe at such a constrictions. As you walk alongside them, you feel a sense of safety and security that you haven't felt in a long time. These warriors are here to protect you and your daughter, and you can tell that they take their duty very seriously.

But as you continued to walk, you felt uneasy as you walked closer towards the water instead of what you would have expected to be in the forest up above the mountains. You had watched half of the warriors make their way towards the waters, diving in without an ounce of hesitation. Turning towards K’uk’ulkan, he provided a reassuring smile, holding onto your hand.

“¿Confías en mí? (Do you trust me?)” He asked you.

“No. Pero prometiste mantenernos a salvo a mí y a mi hija y cumpliré tu promesa. (I don't. But you promised to keep me and my daughter safe and I'll hold you onto your promise).” You responded right back honestly.

“Y mantendré la promesa mientras viva. (And I will keep the promise for as long as I live).”

Eventually, two of the warriors have come to stand in front of you, the mouthpiece they wore was now handed to you and your daughter and with a small prayer of guidance and remaining bravery after everything that has happened in your lives, you accepted the mouthpiece and with K’uk’ulkan holding you and your daughter made your way further and further towards the water to a life that was not your own anymore, but for the sake of your daughter will be the best thing to happen.

TALOKAN | PRESENT DAY

“Yuum!”

The sound of giggling children sounded catching Shuri’s attention. Turning to where the sound began, she had watched the sight of three small children making their way towards the both of them, walking slower after them was two women, spitting image of each other.

“In Reina. In sáasil k'iin.” Namor spoke so tenderly towards the two women. His attention turned towards the three children, peppering each and every single one of them with kisses and endearing words that reminded Shuri so much of her father long before he had passed.

Shuri turning her attention back towards the women, she had come to realize who exactly they were. The similarities and the much more evident jewelry that adorned their necks and ears.

“You are the mother and daughter in the murals.” Shuri spoke.

TALOKAN | 1593

“Mama.”

You smiled the slow but sure progress of your one-year-old daughter in a place that you now call as your own. Your daughter was slowly but surely learning the ways of Talokan, of their people without sacrificing the ways of your own people too. You have mourn the death and end of your people for months, being allowed the courtesy by K’uk’ulkan to do a ceremony for your fallen people and of your husband.

But like your daughter, you began to learn about the ways of the people of Talokan, even if you remained in the comforts of K’uk’ulkan’s cavern above the water. Every single day, a teacher would come to visit you and your daughter, teaching you the language of their people and slowly but surely you have stopped using Spanish to converse with the people and began to use their own, in your own end had thought them about the history of your own, of your Gods and of your culture that were somewhat like their own before they had escaped to the waters.

“In chan k'iino'. (My Little Sunshine).”

Turning, you realize you and your daughter were not alone. K’uk’ulkan has returned from his duties. You gave him a smile, it been a year now since you have arrived in Talokan after he had saved you from the Conquistador—twice. He had kept his promise to keep you and your daughter safe away from the Conquistadors and from whatever danger may come lurking in the corner. Upon your arrival to his home, you have learned of his identity—a King and God to the people of Talokan, the first-born of the people of Talokan and a man that gave his people the hope that never truly settled because of the attack of the Spanish.

You watched your daughter make her way towards K’uk’ulkan. It warms your heart how it had been easy for your daughter to trust the man, the people of Talokan, and of the new life that was not of your own. Just as much as it had been hard for you to do the same. The never ending apprehension even with all the kindness his people have given you and your daughter.

“My King.” You spoke greeting the man.

“I thought we have agreed to call each other by our names, In Reina.” He playfully scolded, arms were quick to hold onto your daughter and to lift her up.

You had watch how K’uk’ulkan had a soft spot for her, how he grinned and played along with your daughter and her dangerous curiosity. How he had allowed for your daughter to hold onto the jewelry nestled on his nose even as hard as your daughter would tug at the jade.

“I am no Queen in Talokan.” You spoke, finding yourself now sitting onto the chair, your eyes lingering on the murals that painted the walls—K’uk’ulkan’s creations.

“But you are the Queen of your people, as much as your daughter is still the Princess. It does not change here as long as I would allow it.”

You nodded, knowing it was no use trying to argue with the man, he would always find a way to ensure that he gets his way.

TALOKAN | 1598

A year turned into two, then into three, then you have realized that it had now been five years since the fateful day that the man had saved you from the clutches of the Conquistador. Five years of living your life and your daughter’s own under the confinements of the cavern of K’uk’ulkan’s home. You were beyond grateful for everything the man has done for you, for keeping his promise of keeping you and your daughter safe, for stepping into the role of your daughter’s father but always spoke kindly of your late husband and his valiant effort to keep the both of you safe all those years ago, for allowing you to believe that there were still people you could trust and love even after all that you have been through.

It wasn’t sudden, nor did you plan for it to happen but it did. How you found yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with the man that loathed the surface world and its people, but had opened his home to you and your daughter. He had promised you a life safe from the terrors in the surface and he gave you the home that was nothing you had ever dreamed possible.

But the most important thing he had ever given you was the choice. A choice to remain as the human you still were or be just like his people, to live in the waters like every single one of the people of Talokan. You know your daughter craves the water, from the instances of her playing with K’uk’ulkan in the shallower parts of the waters, how she had longed to be able to play with the other children of Talokan deep in the waters instead of the confinements of the cavern.

He promised you that he would respect whatever decision you might decide, but he provided the option should you want to finally make a change.

“You want to go back to the surface?” The panic was all so evident in his face when you had made the request one morning. It’s been five years since you took the risk of coming with them and you have yet to truly regret your action. But you needed to have the much needed closure before you open the new chapter in your life.

“I—I want to see my home one last time.” You explained hoping it was enough of an explanation for him. And the nod he had given seemed like it was. He requested for two breathers to be brought for you and your daughter.

It took no time at all when you made the request. No hesitation and no apprehension from the man at your request. How it was easy for him to explain to your daughter about the trip that you were to make up to the surface. How the excitement bubbled in every question that escaped her lips, her eyes twinkling as she continued to ask K’uk’ulkan about the surface world, of the life that you once had before Talokan.

You did not truly have the heart to tell her that this was the closure that you would finally have for the both of you. Your late husband would have wanted just as much, after everything that has happened, it was time to finally move on with your life and with everything it encased.

It took less than an hour for you, your daughter, K’uk’ulkan and a handful of his most trusted warriors to arrive to your home. The shore of what was once your home was a part of the home you missed, of the laughter and fun you had growing up with your siblings, running through the sands and talking about the life you would have hope to have growing up. It was bitter to know that as you stood looking at your feet, that you stood as the last remaining member of your family and of your family’s line and worst part was those dreams of the life you hoped to have no longer viable for you or for your daughter.

“Are you alright, In Reina?” K’uk’ulkan had inquired, he kept his voice low, hoping that your daughter would be unaware of the mental chaos in your mind.

As you approached closer towards the land of your once-beautiful home, you felt your heart racing in anticipation, of the hope that your home was restored and there was still a glimpse of hope of your people even in the years of your disappearance. It has been years since you had last laid eyes on your home, remembering the gore and death that you had run away from and of the smell of fire and blood.

The hope has died further into the pits of your stomach, you were struck by the emptiness and desolation that surrounded you. Your heart sinks, the tears have fallen at the sight that have come before you. Corpses from all those years ago still remained, like trash discarded for the wilderness to take. Homes that was once gave you comfort burn, golds and jewelry robbed and the number of weapons that were discarded, both guns and swords littered the ground.

You look around in disbelief, struggling to make sense of the scene before you. Your beloved home, once filled with your people, now lies abandoned. The trees were stained with blood and ashes. As you move through the land, you heart grows heavier with each step. All around you, evidence of a brutal invasion was evident, after the initial one that you had escaped from. Your once-beautiful gardens have now been trampled and burned.

As you move to where you knew was your hut, your heart grows heavier at the sight that befell you. You were certain of who it was. The putrid smell of death could not waver you as you kneels toward the skeletal remains of your husband. How he still wore the garments from which he had died in. The anger for the Conquistadors for removing his gold jewelry after, of the array of brutality you were certain they had placed on his body after his death, it brought a sob out of your lips.

You whispered a prayer, hoping to the Gods that your husband has finally laid to rest peacefully. Kissing your hand before resting it on his skull, you stood back up and made your way further into your hut, to see that every single jewelry and possession you once had now gone with some of the clothes you had woven for your infant now torn and painted in blood.

You sobbed as you were now facing the truth of the aftermath of the Conquistadors. Everything you had left behind was taken from you. You felt the deep sense of loss. You walked out of your hut to the sight of K’uk’ulkan that was carrying your scared daughter and the number of his people keeping guard while to took one last look at your former home.

The sound of a far too familiar language had you turning to the owner of the voices.

“Kill them.” You ordered the Talokanil warriors.

“In Reina—”

“Kill them and burn everything to the ground.” You ordered to which the warriors bowed towards you before doing such thing.

You stepped towards your daughter that was now shaking in fear at the sight of you tear stricken and the sound of death of the remaining Conquistadors being killed by the Talokanil soldier.

“Hush, little girl. Once we come back home, you’re gonna be able to play with the kids in the water.” You whispered reassuringly towards your daughter, sensing how K’uk’ulkan had tensed at your words.

“Are you sure?” He asked you, cupping your cheek with his free hand, his thumb rubbing away the tears.

“We have nothing else here in the surface to live for, the Conquistador had succeeded in destroying my people. It is only right for us to return back to Talokan as part of your people. Not as a guest, but part of your community.”

“I want you to be my Queen.” He pleaded, pulling you closer to him, his warmth radiating giving you as much as it did your daughter, the reassurance that you did not truly have in the moment of weakness. “Be the mother of my people as much as you are the mother of our daughter.”

Your heart raced, he had always showed his love and affection for your daughter, but this was the first time he had actually acknowledged her as his own. Not by blood, but by circumstance that he made the most out of it. Nicknames might had constantly escaped his lips when it comes to your daughter and your daughter had always called him ‘Yuum’ and your late husband as his Baba but this was the first time that there was a clear indicator of it all from him.

“I have kept my promise of protection and all I want in return in your love for me and for my people.”

Looking, you had realized one of the healers has arrived from the waters, you had realized that he had the idea of you finally making your much needed decision for your sake and for the sake of your daughter. In his grasp was a glowing blue plant and you know that once you’ve made the life altering decision, you will finally live the life that you have never expected but realize was all you needed.

“You always had my love and of my daughter’s.” You whispered smiling as his forehead rested against your own. You held onto your daughter’s hand and as the pain of your past slowly washes away, you could only hope what the present and future would be like for you three as a family.

As you three had walked towards the shore, the sound of the crackling fire echoed the skies, you had accepted the bowl given to you by the healer, you had watched K’uk’ulkan sit on the sand besides your daughter, reassuring her that things will be alright and when she wakes up they could play in the deeper part of the waters from now on.

You watched as K’uk’ulkan had hand fed your daughter the plant, seeing how your daughter was wincing at the bitter taste of the crushed plant but continued on as her eagerness to be in the waters overcame everything else. You took a deep breath as you finally consumed the plant in one go, your teary eyes closed as you tried your best to eat everything that was in the bowl.

You felt your skin grow jelly and with one of the warriors holding you up, you were assisted onto the sand and as you opened your eyes you saw your daughter now unconscious in the arms K’uk’ulkan. The panic never sets in, as the trust on the man had grown a hundreds of folds since the first time he had asked you to trust him to return to his home. You trusted him more than you would have ever believed you could.

“Thank you for giving me this new life, K’uk’ulkan.” You whispered.

“Ch'ah Toh Almehen.” He spoke, moving your head until they rested on his shoulder.

“What?”

“My real name. My people call me K’uk’ulkan, my enemies call me Namor, but I want you to call me by my birth name.”

You nod, your eyes grow heavy as your last words before darkness consumed you was his name, the name that he had entrusted for you to use from now on as you lived a life away from what you once lived for. No longer were you the Queen Mother of the Raja in Mactan, but now as the last ounce of life in the surface world fades away, you now became the Queen of Talokan, the mother they had always hoped to have in their life and in their community.

You awoke hours later, but instead of the beach from where you had finally made the decision to change, you were in he middle of the water and the first person you had seen was the man that had saved you. A smile on his face as he pointed towards the side and your eyes had caught sight of your daughter, freely playing with the children in the middle of the waters—breathing through the waters just as much as you and K’uk’ulkan did.

You smiled, holding onto the man’s hands and before you know it you pulled him into a kiss—sealing your fate as the Queen of Talokan and eventually the wife of the great King and God of Talokan.

#k'uk'ulkan x reader #K'uk'ulkan oneshot #K'uk'ulkan oneshots #K'uk'ulkan fluff #K'uk'ulkan imagines #K'uk'ulkan imagine #namor x reader #namor oneshot #namor oneshots #namor imagines #namor angst #K'uk'ulkan angst

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nattasha-romanoff · 8 days

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i just started watching bridgerton but i gotta say i love how they use music. we associate strings with old timey stiff waltzes at balls but the fact that they do covers of modern pieces makes it feel as it did back then, for the people who lived in that era - like you were at the club, dancing with your friends to some real bangers because it was how people experienced it at the time!!!

#bridgerton

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gabessquishytum · 1 year

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wait i just had a cracksmut thought. this could be an au but honestly this would be SO much funnier in canon. so. exorcist hob, except his one single exorcism technique is just. seducing the demon out of the poor bastard they're possessing.

this is 100% something hob did accidentally once like. a friend of his was possessed and he was trying to get the demon sent off with as little mess as possible and wound up offering a fuck in exchange for leaving his friend alone and it was? shockingly effective??? so hob winds up honing this particular skill, and when he catches wind of something that sounds like a possession, he heads off to see if he can help out (and also get railed in a really exciting fashion. as a perk.)

dream, crucially, hass absolutely no clue about any of this. until he's sorting out a possession for constantine in exchange for her help with something. and he gets there only to see hob in full (slutty, slutty) swing and currently in the process of convincing a demon that really, sex with humans is so boring after a while, but he's sure they'd be so much fun in their true form. and surely it would feel better for them too? why don't they leave the boring human be and come have some fun with hob, hm?

dream. does not mean to watch. but he's honestly not sure? what to do?? he's not about to leave hob alone with a demon, what if he needs help? but also hob... sure does have things under control, huh. in hand, as it were. and rapidly progressing from there. and dream sure does watch hob get fucked (for. hours.) and then, once the demon's thoroughly worn out, hob banishes them back to hell. job done. dream is confused, impressed, and horny in a combination and to an extent he's never experienced before.

-🐈‍⬛

Hooray, cracksmut! Happy dreamling anniversary my darling <3

Hob Gadling: seducer of demons. What an absolute banger of a concept. I’m imagining Jo texting him like “I’ve got a lust demon over here do u want to handle it or should I?” And if Hob is a slutty mood (so a good 95% of the time) he hops right on over to get it done.

(He’s aware that this means that Constantine is basically his pimp. He’s trying not to think about it tho).

Male presenting demons have one thing in common: big dicks. So Hob knows he’s gonna get absolutely railed. If the demon is femme presenting he’s not complaining; some of them have dicks too and the others can dom the shit out of him in other ways.

He knows that Dream is watching, when it happens. He’s got this 6th sense when it comes to Dream. And well, maybe he puts on a little show. Moans loudly and wiggles his arse, turns up the dirty talk to 100. Makes sure that Dream hears exactly how much he likes having his guts rearranged.

Next time they meet officially, Dream is blushing and Hob is oh so smug about it. He makes sure that Dream gets a good view of his butt in his new, specially tailored jeans. Maybe he casually invites Dream up to the flat to watch a movie: “it’s a classic, it’s called The Exorcist.”

Dream chokes. But not as hard as Hob does, in the store cupboard 5 minutes later.

#🐈‍⬛ anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #sandman crack

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nohoperadio · 8 days

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Oh, hello. That's right, I'm in Bristol, thanks for noticing. I had some business to conduct with some goats, which has just lately concluded. It went very well.

Definitely the best time I've ever had seeing them. It helps a lot that Mr Jon Wurster was present, the last several times I saw them goats it was the drumless version, which is still good but having him makes a huge difference. I hope the fandom at large understands just how special Jon Wurster is, I feel like we have a proportion of people who really do Only Listen To the Mountain Goats or close to it, which is fine as long as you appreciate how lucky we are, the man is a fuckin... like I wanna say he's a fuckin beast but I need to convey that his drumming has tremendous power but also great intelligence and artistry. He's like a fuckin, a beast who's a wizard as well. You know?

Great set list tonight, and although I was rude about the newer albums on here a week or two ago, I have to report that every song they played from the past ten years (there were about 6?) was one I was actively excited to hear. Not that these were new revelations to me, I already knew they were bangers, but it's good to be reminded that they are still putting out some bangers and I'm glad to see the band agrees with me about which ones those are. Or I just got lucky tonight, but fine I can be glad about that too.

It's an open question in my worthless opinion whether Matt Douglas and his contributions have been a net positive on tMG's recorded output, but there's no possible doubt he's been a huge positive to their live presence. There were several moments during the show that made me audibly gasp, or put my hand to my heart, or say out loud "oh fuck", or make some other melodramatic gesture, and a good many of those moments were directly Matt's doing. Also, what a great face he's got? Absolutely iconic face, inspires a combination of enthusiasm and trust otherwise elicited by only the very best dogs.

I love Stabbed to Death but would never have expected it to be a highlight of the gig like it was, I can't describe the mad shit they did with it but I can tell you it was gripping.

I only contributed my voice to I think three songs towards the end, most prominently the best No Children I've ever experienced, but managed to give myself a sore throat anyway. Don't worry, it was mild enough merely to contribute to the atmosphere. I must admit that despite being an annoying hipster who thinks This Year is just a pretty good B+ song, I did get swept up by the spirit of it this time.

It's been a firm and settled matter in my mind for years now that Beat the Champ is the third best album (Tallahassee second, WSABH first), but the last song of the encore was Heel Turn 2 and as the first chords sounded I was instantly and forcefully struck with the thought: "wait, is Beat the Champ actually the best Mountain Goats album??" I feel quite perturbed. I am going to have to think.

There was some kind of throuple directly in front of me who were all dancing with indefatigable abandon and frankly excessive horniness throughout the show, and it's a testament to the excellent general atmosphere, to my good mood, and I suppose also to their winsome spiritedness that I was for the most part simply charmed by this. Normally any stranger being conspicuously happy and in love is enough to fill my shrivelled lonely heart with black bilious resentment, but tonight, quite the opposite. That's part of the magic of them goats, you know.

#nohopelistenio #the mountain goats #uninteresting

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singlesablog · 6 months

Text

A New Cool

“West End Girls" (1985) Pet Shop Boys Parlophone Records (Written by Tennant/Lowe) Highest U.S. Billboard Chart Position – No. 1

There are two lines of thinking concerning the debut pop single for the seminal electronic pop band Pet Shop Boys; one, that the song is atypical of all of the hits they would ultimately create (and are still creating over 30 years later), and the other is that this is their signature song. I am of two minds, that it is at once very them, and conversely not them at all; in some ways their first hit was a makeover of the band, whether by design, or not. It is undeniable that in 1986 it was enormously successful, an evocative ear worm, and that the single introduced the strangely beautiful tenor voice of singer Neil Tennant, and ushered in one of the greatest pop duos ever.

Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe met in a hi-if shop in London on Kings Road in Chelsea in 1981, and discovering a mutual love of electronic music, formed a band. Tennant was at that time an assistant editor at Smash Hits magazine, and Chris a college student studying architecture. Immediately, they began writing songs together in Neil’s bedsitter apartment (which I believe translates as a studio in the US). They signed with American producer Bobby O (who oversaw rather crude Miami-tinged 80s dance music) in 1984/85; together with him they produced for the first time many of the songs that would appear on their debut Please, and the follow-up LP, Actually. “West End Girls” was released in 1985 as a 12” disco version that was much cruder and sparer; it was a minor hit in Europe and a “Screamer of the Week” on the influential 80s radio station WLIR in Long Island, New York (who's djs had a nose for new wave talent). Nevertheless, it sank, and they spent the next year extricating themselves from Bobby O and signing with EMI, relinquishing to him some of the future royalties on many of the soon-to-be famous songs they had already written, including “West End Girls”, “Opportunities”, and “It’s A Sin” (all of which were re-recorded and eventually went top ten in the United States). It would seem that the Imperial phase for any great band must always begin with a lawsuit.

“West End Girls” was re-released by the band in late 1985 in a much different version produced by Stephen Hague, and it immediately conquered the world, selling 1.5 million copies. Where the Bobby O version squawked and squealed and sounded dated even then, this new track slithered on to the airwaves with a newer, more insinuating quality. Rather than a club banger, this was now a highly suggestive track, with droning, floating synths, every effect modulated downward into an expression of cool detachment. It was an important single not only in introducing this idea of bored aloofness from the duo, but also by permanently stamping them with the image. No matter how hard they would try in the future to produce bombast (say, on “It’s a Sin”, a truly bezerk pop hit) they would be forever labeled as sardonic, stand-offish, bored, or sarcastic. These are words that really translated into one idea for me: that they were actually gay, and smart, and therefore happy to play along with any narrative the public chose for them as long as people continued to buy their records. The song’s lyrics, written by former history major Tennant, apparently reference Eliot’s “The Waste Land”, which sounds hilariously high-toned, but for the then 19 year old that first experienced it, it was clearly a coded story of gay boys clubbing on the wrong side of town, because the gay bar is inevitably on the wrong side of town, and that perhaps West End Girls is a clever wink at describing gay men crossing over. On top of all of these suggestions was a very fey British man successfully talk-rapping lyrics (a rap I can to this day successfully recite), telling a story with no obvious conclusion, because, well, you know. It is a coded song about a coded world. And while the Pets didn’t invent the electronic pop song, like couturiers they certainly tailored it to the measure of some very strict gay signifiers, and when I fell in love with the hit (and the band) I was already acquainted with those ideas and understood them instantly. Of course, I did not experience the duo as detached; instead, they were stylistically and artistically brilliant, and their songs were clever, propulsive, and unique.

Please as an album can be examined as a cohesive slice of queer nightlife in the 1980s: escaping to the city (“Two Divided by Zero”, “Suburbia”), sneering at society (“Opportunities”), fighting oppression (“Violence”, “I Want a Lover”), and, finally, reconciling to life and love, whatever that might mean (“Later Tonight”, “Love Comes Quickly”, “Why Don’t We Live Together?”). I am sure “West End Girls” does reference “The Waste Land”, but somehow, just perhaps, Neil, the master of collage, is actually speaking more allusively to the mating habits of the male homosexual circa 1985. Chris Lowe, for his part, made absolute certain that the songs would be played were they belonged, which was in the club, his complete obsession in every way; the electronic sounds he produced are essential to the texture of what Pet Shop Boys ended up doing better than anyone else, which was to document gay lives by dropping clues and signals to fantastic disco music while leaving out the specifics. And this is possibly why the original Bobby O version was so awfully wrong, and not really them: the duo must have discovered that they didn’t need to bang bang bang, that they could be better than that. In fact, they actually didn’t need Bobby O at all; they could conjure up these subtle and delicious scenes all by themselves.

Sadly, Bobby O still got the money. Kind of just like a Pet Shop Boys song, isn’t it?

A little cynical, but true.

*The title of Please, which I always found entertaining, I imagined was a reference to gay men chastising one another with "Oh, Please", or "Girl, Please." This has never been substantiated. Instead, Neil was quoted as saying it was a little joke, so when a customer asked for it, they would be forced to say I would like Pet Shop Boys, Please. Hmmm. Regardless, this would still qualify as a double entendre.

Dropping a hairpin (verb, gay, archaic slang term): to reveal one's sexual preferences by dropping broad hints; thus keep your hairpins up, and maintaining a 'normal' mask.

Who, who wants a cocktail? (“Opportunities (Reprise)”)

Someone spread a rumor. Let’s run away. (“Two Divided By Zero”)

In every city, in every nation, from Lake Geneva to the Finland Station. (“West End Girls”)

You may not always love me I may not care But intuition tells me, baby There's something we could share If we dare, why don't we? (“Why Don’t We Live Together?”)

And you wait 'til later, ‘til later tonight. 'Cause tonight always comes. (“Later Tonight”)

Neil Comes Out

In the early 1990s, Jimmy Somerville, formerly of the very out, gay 80s band Bronski Beat, accused Neil and Chris of Pets Shop Boys of exploiting gay culture for career purposes, and of not putting anything back.

Neil came out officially in 1994, and commenting in print on the matter, said that he resented anyone telling anyone how out they should be, or just what constituted a “contribution” to gay culture:

“I do think that we have contributed, through our music and also through our videos and the general way we’ve presented things, rather a lot to what you might call ‘gay culture’. I could spend several pages discussing the notion of ‘gay culture’, but for the sake of argument, I would just say that we have contributed a lot. And the simple reason for this is that I have written songs from my own point of view…”

He pauses again. “What I’m actually saying is, I am gay, and I have written songs from that point of view. So, I mean, I’m being surprisingly honest with you here, but those are the facts of the matter.”

Having finally got all that off his chest, Neil Tennant pours himself a glass of mineral water and takes his sweatshirt off. He is looking distinctly pink around the gills. Maybe it’s the effect of suddenly admitting that for all these years he has been singing nothing but the truth. Or maybe it’s just the unbearable heat in here. “Well,” he says, in a voice which carries a distinct [air of]‘moving swiftly on’, “what’s your next question?”

Source: Neil Tennant in Attitude Magazine, 1994

#west end girls #pet shop boys #1980s #pop #disco #electronic music #Please #music history

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raayllum · 11 days

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too many bangers to just do one little blurb, so here's a few of my favorite excerpts from the chapter that absolutely destroyed me

"...the dam bursting of every time she’d been frightened or hungry by herself, every time she’d wondered if she’d ever make it back to Katolis or see anyone she loved again, and the persistent pulsing push in her mind, constantly telling her that she didn’t deserve to."

"'You are not a burden,” he continued. 'And even if you are, I want to carry you. You don’t have to be good enough, Rayla. There is no invisible standard you have to meet. You don’t have to be perfect to be perfect. You are not responsible for other people’s choices, and you don’t have to pay the prices for their mistakes. You don’t have to pay the price for your choices and mistakes.'"

"'You are a person and you deserve to be here without having to constantly be hurting yourself to earn it. You don't have to justify your existence by punishing yourself for it. You deserve to just be. To live and exist and be loved. Unconditionally.'"

chapter 7 man.... lives were changed. as someone who has the absolutely hardest time describing feelings--especially something as complex and messy as depression and suicidal thoughts feel--you just absolutely blew me away. and THEN to just put therapists across the globe to shame with the literal most perfect affirmations of all time? when i said this chapter destroyed me i forgot to mention that it also healed me. this is classic literature. this fic should be required reading in schools. shakespeare and my therapist are rolling in their respective graves

I have a lot of Rayla feelings in Ch7: at the end of the tunnel in particular tbh so I'll break them down here in regards to what went into the passages above.

To begin with, I'm so glad this part of the fic resonated with you. This isn't the last time we'll be addressing Rayla's mental health but it is one of the more prominent, as idk how anyone can watch s1-s4 + TTM and not take away that... she's not Doing Well, to say the least. I was definitely thinking about quotes from the show's writers with "Rayla can sometimes default to 'hurting myself is clearly a good, because I'm taking it away from someone else'" to heart.

I've written this discussion and affirmation scene in other fics, and explored Rayla's mental health before (probably most notably "say the winds won't change on us," "i care if i am guilty," and "i hope you die (i hope we both die)") but given that fanon s6 is such a big ambitious project I wanted to make sure I was getting it right in particular, here. While I've never experienced Rayla's forms of self loathing myself / to the same severity, I have quite a few people in my life that I deeply cherish who have, or in ongoing struggles with it, and I've been Callum here more than a few times.

I think a lot about how Rayla rarely allows to let two things matter if one of those things is herself ("Don't worry about my hand now; the egg is all that matters") when the boys are perfectly capable at holding space for multiple concerns, including themselves, in most instances. Rayla leaving in TTM is just the most extreme version of that, and I think the way Rayla will exceptionalize herself in a negative way—everyone else deserves good nice things / second chances / happiness except her, for Some Reason ("Your plan was fine! [...] You should cut yourself a break. Everyone messes up sometimes, or in my case, all the times [...] That shouldn't have mattered; I had a job to do")—is like... relatable for a Lot of people even when they don't also have symptoms of PTSD/depression/passive suicidal ideation.

Like Rayla was not safe or happy when she was away, and it would not surprise me at all if, while I don't think canon will necessarily touch on any of this as intensely as I have, I do think we'll get something of her having a hard time of her talking about how she suffered in favour of wanting to talk about how she made Callum suffer, for obvious reasons. Which is exactly why she left in the first place (s4 my beloved)

With all that out of the way I wanted to set up her breakdown accordingly:

You have the chapter title which is a reference to the literal tunnel they exit, and an Orpheus and Eurydice reference, while also very much being about Rayla finding the light at the end of her tunnel regarding her mental health

"I was a coward. I was weak." ("My parents aren't really dead, but I wish they were! They're cowards" / "It was the same problem every time. Hesitation, sympathy, distraction… all just weakness in a different mask.")

And then we see Callum shift to the heart of it, which is that her letter and mission was basically suicide and she knew it, and still won't really acknowledge it out loud or why it was Okay for her to do that but not for Callum to come with her, because she feels Inherently Unworthy and that there's something fundamentally broken with her, which has been pretty clear in canon for a while tbh.

With that in mind, I wanted to take Callum's viewpoint and affirmation a step further. I always say that the first step in therapy is learning to assume that no one is mad or annoyed with you at all times. The second step is learning that it's Okay even if someone is mad or upset with you. I think Rayla fears being a burden or more trouble than she's worth so much, and I think Callum at this point (in fic / canon, 5x01 you beautiful episode) has progressed to the point of like...

Rayla's not going to believe that she's not a burden, and sometimes people are burdens, shit happens, life is hard. What's most affirming for her to hear is that he wants her and loves her even if/when she IS a burden. It cuts right through all the bullshit and fear to the "you think you're terrible and awful and unworthy" and go "so what if you are? I still want you" and there's just not a lot of places for self loathing to go after that point. Like it's still there, but it can't grow to be as intensive, I find.

It's also written in mind from Callum's perspective because I've said this before, but Rayla is not an Easy person to love. Like feeling love for her is easy — she's warm and funny and kind — but she's not easy to love in terms of getting her to accept and rely on love. She's incredibly secretive and has a lot of hyper-independence as a result of her trauma and survivor's guilt, and Callum — especially post-s4 / 4x09 — has fully accepted all of this. Even if Rayla doesn't change, he's there. He knows this is not going to be an easy climb for either of them, but it's worth it to him, because it's her.

At the same time, Callum in canon has always been good at not making Rayla dependent on him ("You're too good to feel this bad about yourself. I know that, and you should know that" / "But it's your choice. No one else's" / "No, I meant what I said. You don't have to justify or explain anything to me") and emphasizing that she can and should want to get better and treat herself better for herself. So I really wanted to capture that vibe here. Rayla feels unworthy of his love, to an extent, yes, but it's also far more about her life and how routinely she puts what she wants on the back-burner... like, Rayla is a character who's always gone looking for redemption, and often times rightfully so! But I am very excited for her to realize there's nothing she has to Redeem herself for, there's nothing she has to earn or pay a price or suffer for in order to get to be Happy on the other end or put herself first for once. She deserves to just get to exist and live and be happy about that, y'know?

And I think Rayla also fundamentally wants those things, as she states at the beginning of the chapter, “I want to see the sun again first" before she'll let Callum heal her. Because you can only save someone who wants to be saved, and you can only save them so far if they want to save themselves, too, and that starts with you, that you have to want it. You have to want to live and love yourself.

Cause everyone deserves to. They really, really do.

And I just have a lot of feelings about fics / things / anything where Rayla goes "I don't want to be broken. Maybe I never was. And I want to live" because like. Yeah

#tdp rayla #fic: teach me how to name the bigger light #thanks for asking #mental health #m4rs-ex3 #long post #there's a reason i refer to rayla as 'guilt complex since birth' to my friends tbh

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tenebriskukris · 2 months

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Oshi No Ko Chapter 144 – My Thoughts/Analysis

We're thrown a bit of a curveball for this chapter, but it's certainly an enjoyable chapter nonetheless. Spoilers for Oshi No Ko Ch144 below.

A timeskip??? After the absolute banger we got in the last chapter we’re served up a timeskip?? Considering how the last chapter ended I fully expected things to focus on everyone else’s reactions to the kiss scene as well as Aqua and Ruby’s new dynamic but shifting the spotlight to the movie’s hospital scene in Miyazaki is a massive departure from where we were in the last chapter. The pacing issues of the arc are starting to become more and more evident.

Traditionally movie productions take months if not years to get to a stage where they can actually film the movie. Even setting aside that most of the people involved are basically newcomers to the big leagues of stardom, the production shouldn’t run this fast towards the finish line. And now the manga’s telling me that there’s nothing that would be relevant in between the bureaucratic mess that would actually be making a movie of this scale? I can believe reincarnation exists, but certainly not paperwork and bureaucracy running as fast as it has throughout the arc.

The manga does infodump some cursory knowledge on how actual productions are supposed to work—thankfully enough. But the fact that it has this basic knowledge and it hasn’t seen fit to add in other, smaller interactions between the cast members who already lack sufficient screentime—and by proxy Aqua and Ruby—is a grating offense. Perhaps it would have been better to split this entire movie arc into two, perhaps three arcs in total while juggling more character focused chapters? I’ll make sure to give my thoughts on this arc as a whole as soon as it finishes.

With all the hubbub of Aqua as Hikaru and Ruby as Ai, I’ve almost forgotten that Melt wiggled his way into production. Why is he here again as a B-list actor? I know Kaburagi likely pulled some strings to get him in, but his acting ability isn’t really something to harp on. Then again Goro would basically be a B-list character in a story about Ai so I get why they didn’t try very hard to find someone good in acting.

Ruby’s face as she glares at Melt is perfect. Her roasting Melt is fucking hilarious, especially since she’s not even wrong in her criticisms. Of course that girl is going to have opinions on someone that’s trying to portray her sensei. If it was some role that wasn’t Goro I’m sure she wouldn’t have cared as much as she has about how he acts.

The little little princess shirt in Ruby is a treasure. This girl needs to be protected.

Melt knowing that his acting skills are only decent is a great moment of self awareness from a character we don’t seem to see much of. Other actors coughKanacough would have egos too large than to admit that they were doing anything wrong without some sort of outside intervention.

We’re basically in the final stage of the movie??? This arc’s pacing has been all over the place, so I can believe we’re approaching its conclusion, but there’s still too many plot points left unresolved.

It’s refreshing to see Melt admit his deficiencies to Ruby and doing what he can to shore up his weaknesses. It shows that not everyone is not to the level of Akane or Kana or even Aqua—Melt may just be the least experienced actor among the cast. And while Ruby’s acting ability may be less refined in comparison to Akane or Melt, I don’t think it’s a leap to say that she performs the role of Ai better than Akane or Frill simply because she can understand Ai’s heart better than what’s written on the script. Her impromptu scene after Kana’s outburst was proof enough of that—I doubt that either of them would’ve let their emotions run free and gave us a peek at what Ai was really feeling.

Ruby saying that Himekawa would’ve been a better fit for the role of Goro is multi-layered. On one hand of course she wants a good actor to play her sensei. But on the other hand Himekawa is also her half-brother.

Melt saying that he’s putting more effort to understand the characters than anyone else is somewhat ironic considering Akane’s very existence. Ditto for Aqua and Ruby when they’re playing their parents. Perhaps Melt has also been affected by Kana’s insensitivity with how those words can be interpreted very badly.

Oh. Some of Ai’s merch in Melt’s pocket. I’m starting to see where this is going. Also I know that guy who sold Ai’s merch! Funny how he keeps popping up.

Melt’s analysis of Goro…even if he’s not on the level of Akane or the rest of the cast, I think he’s managed to grasp the man’s heart well to make these kinds of statements. I have to give Melt props for it and I have to dock the manga points for basically infodumping this to Ruby and the average reader. It’s a typical case of the manga telling us rather than showing us Goro’s character. Really, would it be difficult for us to see another Ruby flashback of what her thoughts are of Goro?

Ruby’s face as Melt explains his reasoning for his portrayal of Goro’s character…And the way the panel is drawn—hiding Ruby’s star eye from the reader—that’s good paneling. Also, “A symbol for his feelings for that child.”? I’d say that the manga was trying to bash in the fact that Goro and Sarina had a very unique relationship even further but the fact that I can still see people screaming about this exact subject even almost 150 chapters into the manga so I can forgive them for it.

Ruby gushing about Melt’s portrayal immediately after dissing him is also funny. Melt’s proved he can understand Goro, so she has a greater respect for him after that. I’d also wonder if Akane would have similar thoughts about Goro from the script…

Crow Girl???? Finally you’ve reappeared. I was wondering what the payoff for her being in the arc would actually be.

Oh man Ruby…with how 143 ended I think this tells us that Aqua didn’t break Ruby’s heart after that kiss scene. If he did—which would be very much out of character with how AquaGoro holds RubySarina in his heart—it would definitely be shown to us immediately afterward. Letting what happened after that scene linger in the background still doesn’t sit right with me with the arc’s already bloated pacing, but I understand why it’d have to be offscreened—doesn’t mean I can’t critique the hell out of it.

Crow Girl lore???????? Crying and shaking and throwing up right now what the fuck does she mean by that. The implications are all running into each other because with how Crow Girl described how the reincarnators could be considered gods it’s looking more and more likely that Aqua and Ruby are in a position to eventually become gods. Comparing that with how Miyako in the flashforwards was talking about how Aqua and Ruby were given favored treatments and trials in equal measures alongside divine guidance…it paints a picture of how the potential supernatural aspect is going to pan out.

I am also pretty sure that some of the gods Crow Girl refer to are Aka and Mengo themselves, the actual writer and artist of Oshi No Ko. Especially with that whole “you guys often receive help from god without knowing it” bit. That smells very much like narrative relevance and protagonism. If the manga decides to go meta now I wouldn’t really mind that, but I’d hoped it would be foreshadowed better beforehand. A small comment about how “god-like” Aqua and Ruby would be would’ve really helped.

And of course we end off on Crow Girl being a gag. For a very powerful supernatural entity she seems to be easily handled by Aqua and Ruby. You’d think she would put the fear of god more into them, really, but if Aqua and Ruby actually do become gods I can see why she’s being pushed around by them like this.

What the actual fuck was this chapter. We don’t get to see if Aqua has white star eyes after the kiss but we do see Crow Girl and her massive lore drops written between the lines. Ever since she’s been introduced in this arc I’d been wondering what the followup would be to her whole thing but having even more evidence that Aqua and Ruby are on the path to godhood was not on my bingo card for this chapter.

I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have the cultural knowledge on the Japanese versions of gods—the kami—so I can’t put the pieces together on some of the more subtle things that Crow Girl might be referring to, but casting off mortality for the divine isn’t something that most people can aspire toward on a whim. In my mind you’d ideally need at least two things for it. Belief and freedom.

The former for people to believe in you in a certain manner—of which both Aqua and Ruby are already there with the movie releasing—and the latter through some sort of catalyst that makes a person more than flesh and blood. For a manga without much of a magic system at all, the only thing I can think of at the top of my head is dying.

Of course this assumes that both Aqua and Ruby will choose to become gods in the first place. Perhaps to reincarnate Ai again? But with how the manga is pushing this narrative of godhood and the supernatural it’s still in the cards for them. Something to consider as the arc unfolds.

#oshi no ko #onk #oshi no ko analysis #onk analysis #my analysis #oshi no ko spoilers #onk spoilers #onk 144 #not late to the party this time!

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hiwofumi · 2 years

Text

ARE WE TOO YOUNG FOR THIS?

18+ ⭒ mdni ⭒ 1.5k words

starring ⭒ ex-boyfriend shuji hanma ⭒ afab reader

tags ⭒ light angst and smut ⭒ reader is aloof but not uncompassionate ⭒ hanma has feelings and he doesn’t know how to cope other than by being himself

note ⭒ posting this on a rainy night; thank u sky for dressing for the occasion ⭒ softcore is a banger and i thought it kinda suited our boy in this one!

network ⭒ @tokyometronetwork

Hanma was not born of stars and galaxies. He was a believer of chaos, a bringer of hurt, and he did all his dirty deeds with a devil sneer.

There was only so much of that you could endure before you decided to walk away from him. It was as mundane as walking away could be—you met his eyes, told him it was over, and turned on your heel. Your relationship never involved screaming or thrashing; you knew that would entertain him, and you did not want to grant him the pleasure of experiencing that. You were silent whenever he cut you open, bleeding without a sound. And you ended it just as calmly.

What you failed to consider was that he would follow you regardless of the name tag you put on yourselves.

He stands on your doorstep—unprompted as per usual. A downpour rages behind him, and from the looks of it, he forgot to bring an umbrella.

His white tee functions as less of a tee and more of a transparent layer over his torso. You can see the shape of him underneath, the grooves and lines that define his chest and abdomen.

His hair is wilted, the blonde chunk of it resting on his nose bridge, the dark majority strewn over his eyes. His eyes, they flicker something different from their usual trustless light—they don’t show the intent to harm nor the desire to chase a rush. They’re somewhat sad as they take you in. They’ve been this way since he started making his post-breakup visits.

When he eyes you like this and keeps his mouth closed, you tend to forget you ever wanted to avoid him. It’s difficult to recall that you had the last word—and you’ve known for some time that “last” was void of meaning for him and you.

He lunges face-first into your threshold, connecting your lips and bodies, his wet clothes soaking the front of yours as he hefts your thighs. He knows the next steps to this song all too well; he can navigate the spaces of your home with his eyes closed.

“You’re wet,” are your useless words once he sets you down on the couch. Your head is leaning against the armrest, and he looms above you with his knees sinking into the cushion. You take turns peeling each other’s clothes off—his shirt, your shorts, his pants. A heat rises in your stomach, but you don’t want to say anything that would give you away. Instead, your thrill seeps through your actions.

“You will be, too,” he snickers as he pulls your underwear down to your ankles. He’s the devil himself.

He marks you with his fingers, presses your pubic mound with his gathered four digits and reserves his thumb for your clit. His other hand brings another sensation by running along your slit, then slipping past your entrance, burying a single digit before he adds another. As they curl deep inside your cunt, against the spot he knows you’re aching to be touched, you submit to his control, your breath erratic and your mouth hanging open. His eyes move from the slickness he’s produced as promised, catching sight of your half-shut eyelids. “You look funny,”

His character is strange, really; his quip comes out forced and unnatural. But it doesn’t irritate you any less.

“Shut up, Shuji,” you hiss back. He’s brutal even in words, unafraid of expressing his truth. But when he called you “funny,” he was only trying to mask his hurt. The kind of hurt that comes from looking at a sweet face and knowing it once belonged to him.

He hopes it still does. After he’s visited you like this more than a couple of times, he wants to believe he’s still someone to you besides a warm body.

And you’re missing all of his signs. But in your defense, they’re hard to notice when the bold ink on his hands stretch taut around your hips, gripping you firmly before his cock thrusts into you with suddenness, pulling a loud whine from your lips as you try to take in the stretch. You’re sure it was your words that caused the aggression.

Then, with his own shadow cast over your body, he moves slowly so that you can soak him in, pushing your legs up on his shoulders to take himself further. Then he hastens, thrusting the way he knows you want: tight up your sweet spot, hitting every nerve at once. You’re intoxicated, throwing your arm over your eyes and stretching countless moans out of your lips.

“Say it again,” his pace is manic, rubbing against the tightness that has you both unable to feel anything other than rapture. His features strain as he moves with force. “My name. I want you to say it.”

His hands find the armrest the back of your head is against, and he bends forward, shrouding you in his lean figure. His face is parallel to yours, his breath a heat fanning your cheek. Something propels you to hold him there, to cradle his face in your hands and press your thumb on his bottom lip while it hangs parted under heavy breaths. His body has warmed up, but his face is still cold from the rain.

“Shuji,” it’s a moan and a whisper, a scandalous secret. It drives him to the edge of you, where his balls collide with your skin drenched in honey. You swallow the waves of pleasure and kiss him, tasting the mix of tobacco and mint in his mouth. His arms fall to your sides, and he lowers himself as his lips trail down to the curve of your neck, to the protrusion of your collarbones. You’re chest to chest and your arms lace around his neck; you can’t be any closer than this.

Cold drops from his hair land on your hot skin, competing with the heat of his lips on your body and that between your legs. “Shuji,” you gasp, driven by the weight of him pressing onto your ribs. You can feel his heart pounding; it’s beating as fast as the pace he’s going, the climax approaching, the throbbing that sends you both to the edge and makes you fall to pieces.

As you both breathe heavily, his fluid warms you on the inside, and yours thickens around his dick just the same.

He lays on top of you with his face buried in the crook of your neck, where his breath moistens your skin. His lips brush against the dip of your collarbone, and you wonder if these touches hold any meaning—if they carry a lethal weight. You don’t ask for them, but they come to you anyway.

“I don’t understand why you left me,” he says flatly. You think for a moment, reciprocating with quiet.

“I was getting hurt,” you answer.

“I thought you liked that.”

Your palms glide over his shoulder blades, feeling smoothness and warmth. “Not that kind of hurt.”

“You never said anything,”

“I thought you liked that.”

“I did,” he said, “to a point.”

Maybe all of this is a result of flawed communication. You presumed he didn’t care, and he presumed you didn’t, either. It’s a dangerous, tragically common error.

When you feel the beat of his heart settle, your arms loosen from his back and push him away gently. You leave him on the couch, walk to your turntable placed next to your TV to play a record already sitting on the platter.

Song fills the room. It’s mellifluous to you, but you know very well that it’s just noise to him.

He chuckles the moment he hears it. “You still listen to that lame song?”

You want it to tick you off to the point of making him leave, but you just appreciate that he paid attention in the short span of your relationship. He knows your songs, including the ones he cringes at; he knows you.

He feeds on the sight of you still naked from the waist down as you walk around. You pick up his drenched clothes from the floor and wag them in front of him. He’s still lying on his stomach, his long earring dangling faintly as he tips his head at you.

The pitter-patter on your rooftop indicates the pouring hasn’t stopped. What kind of a host would you be if you kicked your visitor out right now and let him waltz into the rain again? But calling him a visitor sounds too unfamiliar, too distant. Even with the way things are, you know he still means more to you than that.

“I’ll put your clothes in the dryer,” you say. “And when they’re dry, it’s time for you to leave.”

He grins at your hospitality, at the opportunity to stick with you longer. “You got it, boss,”

The deciding factor for you to leave him was his departures. In the past, when he came and went as he pleased, you always felt that he was failing you as a partner. Now that you have no expectations for him, he has nothing to bruise. Your chest is light.

This extended stay is a bizarre first. He will leave again eventually, but for now, he’s yours.

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