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#maybe this is nothing but sometimes you just gotta yearn
midniteluv · 3 months
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summary : your daughter speaks her first words, you and spencer couldn't be much happier or your daughter is a daddy's girl.
content tags : husband!spencer, wife!reader, dad!spence, a little mention of delivery complications, alot of fluff, a touch of angst.
word count : 1.3k
It's the middle of the night. Luke, JJ, Emily, and everybody else on the jet is sound asleep, except Matt, who, tucked in a corner seat, is clearly busy with Kristy on the phone. That just leaves Spencer all on his own.
Forlorn and yearning, Spencer looks outside the window, darkness all over the sky intensifying the feeling. He thinks about calling you, but it's too late for you to be awake. He's missing you and Rebecca so much that the journey back to D.C. feels like an impasse.
He just wants to be home and hold his precious girls in his arms. But since he can't, sinking further into the seat, he finds himself scrolling through the pictures you've sent him throughout the year.
He smiles looking at the photo of Beckie's tiny hand on yours, so small, so delicate, his heart does this weird fluttery thing despite having seen it so many times already. Then, the photo of her first birthday featuring Spencer's back turned to the camera while he's holding his princess, snoozing, with her head on his shoulder. He giggles to himself, remembering how you guys had to cut the cake yourself because she was sleepy.
A picture of you in that sundress he got you, your eyes squeezed shut, a big smile on your face while Rebecca's pout is smushed into your cheek. He can hear your laugh, loud and lovely. It makes him miss you both even more.
And like some telepathic connection, your display picture flashes on the phone screen. He's never picked a video call that fast ever before.
“Hey honey, gotta show you something.” you wave as you say, without giving him any chance to speak.
Good thing, because he didn't have anything to say anyway, he just wanted to see you or atleast listen to your voice. Lucky for him he got both. You're in your PJ's, smiling at him droopy eyed, and yet managing to look pretty as a picture. oh god, he wants to be home soon.
“So you're ready?” you say, smiling, your voice delirious with love as you switch to the back camera of your phone, your two year old sitting between the pile of her toys in the centre of the bed.
“baby, look,” you say, she looks at the camera and then you're showing her a photo, “who's this?”
She says nothing but squeals making grabby hands for the picture and Spencer laughs. He knows you're gonna be pouty about it. Beckie does that everytime you try to show him something new she did.
“Yeah, yeah, real funny, laugh at me.” you say, mocking affront. You lie next to Rebecca who gets busy with her Elephant stuffy (Penelope's gift for her first birthday.)
“She likes embarrassing me. Bet she'd have listened if it were you.” you mutter a ‘daddy's girl’ glaring at her.
“I'm not laughing at you.” Spencer says, “and it's not like that, she listens to you, sometimes.” he's only half patronising you, laughing still as you roll your eyes and that probably catches Beckie's attention.
“Dada” she mumbles, in her cute voice, her brown eyes twinkling as yet again she makes grabby hands, this time for the phone. He freezes. Did She just— she just called him dada!
Evidently you perk up too. “See!” you say, all lovelorn and excited. “That's what I was gonna show you.”
“Say it again, Becca” you say. And to his delight she listens.
“dada!” she says, smiling, perhaps realising that it made Spencer happy.
Maybe you're right, she really is a daddy's girl. It's awful how much he wants to pepper her chubby cheeks with kisses.
His nose stings, eyes warming with tears, and before he can stop himself, a tear trickles down his eye and then from the other.
“She just-she called me dada-” he sniffs, rubbing the tear off with the heel of his hand.Spencer doesn't think he needs anything in his life anymore. It's the fourth happiest moment of his life. [ The day you met him, the day you both got married and Beckie's birth, being the three prior happiest moments. ]
“I know,” you say, looking at him lovesick as ever, “I knew you're gonna tear up.”
“I wish I was there.” he says, wistfully. “I hate that I can't be there,”
a sigh escapes his lips. “it's-I'm missing out on everything.”
“baby.” you say softly. He knows there's nothing you can say or do in this, he's missing out because of himself. “Well, if it helps, I have the video of when she said it in the morning, I'll send it to you, so you can watch it as many times as you want.”
“You don't hate me for not being there, do you?” he asks, because he really does feel like it. He's never there on time when you both need him.
The days after your delivery, for instance, doctors had strictly advised him to take care of you, you were weak and you needed him the most and yet he was in Minnesota for the case. And the time Beckie fell ill, he wasn't there as well. It's fair if you've grown to hate him. It reminds him of Hotch and how torned he used to be between this job and family and later how it turned out be for him.
“Come on, Spence. Why'd I ever hate you?” you say, shifting on the bed, your attention elsewhere.
“hold on a sec, she's sleeping.” you tell him, placing the camera on the side table. He watches as you manoeuvre Rebecca up on the pillows and swaddle her with the blankets, when you're done you hold the phone in your hand, frame blurring for a while as you settle under the blankets next to Rebecca, sitting with your back against the headboard.
“It's not like you're out there running from your responsibilities. Now is it?” he purses his lips, heart swelling with love. It's lovely when you scold him. “You're doing your job and I understand that and I'm really proud of you,”
“and if Beckie understood anything, she'd be proud of you, too. okay?”
He nods, lips pulling to one side, not entirely sure if he deserves your forgiveness but considering, while also falling in love with you again for a millionth time.
“Thank you for always being so understanding.” he tells you. Words often dilute the intensity of one's feelings, yet he hopes you'll get how grateful he is. To have you, to love and be loved by you, to come home to you.
“Thank you for being a good human, and my best friend and world's best husband.” you say it so effortlessly, like you don't even have to think, mirth buoying in your eyes as you say, “Besides you're gonna make it up to us when you're back, isn't it?”
“Yeah exactly!” he cracks into a laugh despite the mood. He notices when you scrunch your eyes close, lips pressed together as you hide a yawn and it occurs to him that you're tired, exhausted even, and you definitely should sleep.
“You might wanna have some shut eye, before she wakes up again.” he says, he wants to talk some more but he's gonna let you rest.
“Oh no I'm good—” you try but he stops you.
“None of that angel, please.” He knows you like the back of his hand, you don't wanna hang up just yet and he wants that too but it's about your health and besides it's just a few more hours and he'll be there. He reasons to himself.
“okay,” you concede. “Good night, baby. I love you.”
“I love you, good night.” he tells you, before ending the call. Albeit, half heartedly.
Putting the phone inside the pocket of his suit jacket, he rests his head against the window, your words and Beckie's 'dada' ringing in his ears.
Spencer doesn't even realise he's smiling when sleep finds him, unaware of Matt capturing the moment just for keeps.
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highdramas · 1 year
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a house in nebraska | j.m.
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
warnings: language, canon typical sadness, canon typical violence, age gap but it’s not really mentioned, sweet sweet yearning, sexual situations but not explicit (yet hehe)
word count: 4704
summary: by joel’s side, you make your way to the midwest, and find yourself inching closer to a house in nebraska you once called home. you and joel have always been okay keeping your pasts to yourselves, focusing on the now. but a roadtrip stirs up feelings, ones that even you cannot deny any longer.
notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. this is part of the creature comforts series but can be read on its own! house in nebraska in particular is a two part story. this is set 12 years after the outbreak began. joel is 48 and reader is 31.
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you still thought about that house.
in most ways, it was rather unassuming. it wasn’t rundown, nor was it like the house that nancy mcnamara had on the other side of town. you remember that first time you had gone to nancy’s house for a birthday party. it was strange to imagine that people lived that way.
no, your house was simple, if not slightly dated. your parents never got around to modernizing it, and you didn’t want them to. it was beautiful in it’s dated nature. it was your home. more than a house. it was a home.
it’s days like today when you think about that house. sometimes you wonder if it’s still standing. oh, what you wouldn’t give to walk up those steps, to run your hand along the railing of the porch. it was a luxury to have these fantasies. that you knew more than anything.
you run your plate over the lukewarm water and you feel joel’s eyes on your back. sometimes, you wonder if he can read your mind. you wonder if maybe he’s harboring this secret power from you that allows him to know your deepest secrets, the history that you hold near and dear to your heart. you don’t know why it is. why it is you don’t tell him. it would be easy to lay all of it down at his feet, to come apart and know that he wasn’t going to judge you or hurt you for it. feelings are a weakness. longing is a weakness. but joel was never going to stab that soft underbelly. you were confident in that.
but you keep it bottled up anyway. you keep him placated with your smiles and the murmurs that everything’s okay, just tired and you know that he sees right through you but you both know that he’s not going to push it. that’s one thing, of many, that you love about joel. he doesn’t push. and in return, neither do you. not hard, anyway.
you dry your hands off and you settle on the couch beside him. you can tell that there’s something on his mind– his eyes don’t give anything away, and maybe he thinks that you’re the mind reader out of the two of them. “talk to me,” you say with that smile of yours that you pull out of the closet only for him, wear it like it’s your finest gown.
he sighs and leans forward, muscled arms against strong knees. he doesn’t meet your gaze. you wish that he would. “i don’t want to tell you because i know exactly what you’re going to say.”
“well, then at least you won’t be hit with any surprises.”
joel looks at you and you already have a wry smile on your face, and he has to fight the urge to match it. “you’re such a shit, you know that?” his humor dies off and he goes back to examining his hands. “gotta head out west.”
you straighten at that. “oh.” confusion riddles you– what is he not saying? “well, where?”
the looks says everything and you’re opening your mouth but he cuts you off before you can get a word out. “no. no. you’re not comin’.”
“if you’re going to nebraska,” you say, your voice perfectly level. “you’re going to have to chain me to the bed in order to get me to stay put.” you rise from your spot and walk towards your bedroom, rustling around to find your backpack. you don’t even know when he’s leaving and you’re preparing yourself.
he knows next to nothing about where you come from. what your story is. it’s not all that special, all things considered– for someone to be alive means that they have had to endure unthinkable hardship to get to that point. but he knows two things: you’re from nebraska, and you never knew what happened to your family.
“joel,” you say, folding a t shirt and laying it flat in your bag. “i’m coming.” when you look at him, there’s something in your eyes that he doesn’t recognize. a whole different you. “you don’t know the things i did to get to boston. so don’t fight me on this. i won’t be a nuisance.”
“i didn’t think you would be,” he steps closer. “i just don’t want you getting your hopes up. that’s all.”
you swallow and you look at him. there’s no fight on his face– you think he probably gave up this fight the second he decided he was going to tell you. after all, he could’ve up and left with a note and nothing more. hell, he didn’t even owe you a note. you weren’t anything. you were friends. you shared something. but beyond that, there was no reason for him to tell you shit. “joel,” you whisper and you step closer to him and you watch the way his throat bobs, the way his lip twitches. “you of all people know that my hope’s gonna have to be pried from my cold, dead hands.”
“i know,” he says quietly. you turn back to your backpack and then he’s behind you and his hands are on your shoulders. things have never been said so explicitly– what you are and what you aren’t, where the lines are drawn. all you know is sometimes he does this; he touches you and it lights you up with a warmth from the inside out. sometimes, you lie in bed beside one another and your foot draws up his calf and his hand smoothes over your waist and tugs you closer to him. sometimes he gives you his ration cards despite your protests. you will wake and he’s long gone but they rest on the dining table. the dining table where his belongings, meager as they are, mingle with yours.
joel cares. joel cares and he knows you more than anyone else could ever fathom it.
you show your care in different ways. once, on an abandoned vehicle in the qz, you found a texas sticker. you had taken dutiful care in the way you peeled it off. you found an old book and ripped a page from the back and laid the sticker down onto it. when you presented it to joel on september 26th, you could see the emotions pass over his face. sorrow and longing and then something else. a sidelong look at you, one that was mostly curious.
“it’s okay to miss it,” you had said then. “that life.”
you’d seen his reactions when others had made mere references of his life before. they were shut down. they were stopped, right then and there. and while you didn’t like to poke the bear… you wanted him to know. wanted to bestow this one thing. there was nothing else to say in that moment, all there was was you and joel and his arm slowly wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you in closer. there was his lips against your temple and your fist gripping his flannel shirt. and that was all you needed.
but in this moment with him just behind you, hands beginning to rub into your shoulders, you feel it. that deep chasm of need deep within you, the one that you’ve been ignoring. your hand goes and covers his and you wrap his arm around your chest, kissing the skin of his forearm. strong, steady joel. protective joel. while you’ve laid awake and wondered what it is he felt for you, you never had to question if he would protect you. if he would save you when it all boiled down to it. you squeeze his arm and he squeezes you back, a heavy, reassuring weight. “just let me have some hope, joel.”
and he would.
you stop at bill and frank’s to do some trading. you’d heard the stories of their compound, but had never experienced it yourself, and there was a twinge in your heart. what was stopping you? what stopped you from moving in next door, earning your keep, being of service in some way? what stopped you and joel from settling? sitting around the table, music playing and eating a meal that was more than jerky and dried fruits, it was hard to remember your reasoning. why you two played by the rulebook that you did.
you’re admiring the house when frank found you. he gives you a smile and gets in the wine cabinet, pulling another fresh bottle. “astounding, isn’t it?”
turning to him, you remember that he was so warm. warm in a different way than joel. not better or worse. just different. “it’s amazing,” you admit. “almost hard to believe that there was a time where we all lived like this. took it for granted.”
he steps into the spot beside you, following your gaze. “i’m lucky. bill and i– we’re lucky.” he looks at you for a long time. you could feel the imprint of his gaze on your cheek. “how long have you been with joel?”
smiling to yourself, you say, “three years.” you pause, examining a painting on the wall. “feels like it’s been forever. he’s aging me. stealing my youth.” it’s a joke, and you give a crooked grin. “no, he’s… he’s made everything easier. much easier.”
frank hums at that. “i don’t want to pry,” he begins slowly, giving you a sidelong look. “but are you…”
feeling your cheeks grow warm, all you can do is shrug. “i’m not sure,” you admit. “but i don’t need to be sure. he’s my best friend.”
he nods his head, as if this answer makes more sense than anything else that you could’ve said. “well, for what it’s worth–” you both look out the window of the house where joel and bill stand, practically mirroring one another. hands on their hips. staring out at the fence. “bill’s my best friend, too.”
frank touches your shoulder and you smile at him. for some reason, his words are reassuring.
you end up staying the night. there’s a guest bedroom with an adjoining bathroom and frank says you’re welcome to anything you need while bill scowls. you shower before joel does– and, to be honest, he doesn’t give you an option in that regard. he puts his hands on your shoulders and he walks you into the bathroom, pushing the fluffy towel into your chest with a smile. “you stink,” he says and he does something that’s almost a wink that makes your heart sing.
so you do. you shower and you lather yourself in all of the fine soaps that frank had prepared for you. you think that joel must’ve told him about your dry skin– lotions of every scent line the counters, and you lather yourself in them post-shower. when you come out smelling like lavender and vanilla, joel’s head shoots up from his book. he stares at you for a long, long time. you shiver under his gaze, shifting in the clothes that frank had given you.
for a moment, you feel like you’re playing house.
joel clears his throat and he stands up, approaching you. his big hand goes to the side of your face and his thumb runs over your cheekbone, drags down to your lip. when you shiver this time, it’s much more noticeable, and you can see something flash behind joel’s eyes.
there are things that the two of you have done together. but never this. close– but never this. you’ve dreamed about what it might be like for his lips to brush yours, but you’ve never had the luxury to linger on it too long. you were both fighting, tooth and nail, for your own survival. the survival of each other, for tess, for tommy. a makeshift family if you’ve ever heard of one. but in this house, where the walls have art and the linens are clean, and you feel fresher and more clear headed than you ever have…
“go. shower.” you squeeze his wrist. “you stink.”
he scoffs out a laugh and shakes his head at you. but when he casts his gaze upon you again, when he nods his head and moves into the bathroom, you feel anticipation like you’ve never felt before.
joel takes less time in the shower than you did. but when he emerges, all wet hair and glistening skin, you have to physically stop yourself from standing. he doesn’t wear a shirt but sweatpants hang low on his hips, and every thought has to be written all over your face. he walks up to you slowly and your grip the duvet, but when he stands before you and nudges your legs apart to stand between them, your grip slackens, he takes your hands and he puts them up on his shoulders where you glide them across his tanned skin, lace them behind his neck.
“i’m going to say this once, because i don’t want to waste our time with it,” joel begins. “and i know– i know i’m not good with my words. i don’t know if i ever will be. and i know i’ve got walls up, i know i’m fucked up–” you open your mouth but he shakes his head. “let me finish. i know i’m fucked up. and i don’t know if i can give you everything that the man twelve years ago would’ve. but i am a selfish man, and i want what i can give to be enough. and i want to try and give you more.” he brushes a piece of your hair back. “if that’s what you want.”
“you’re more than i could ask for,” you reassure. your hands go to his face and your thumbs stroke against his cheeks. “so let’s stop wasting our time with talking about what we both know.”
joel pushes you down against the mattress and you pull yourself up the bed, towards the pillows, and he hovers above you. “can’t remember the last time i was in a bed this nice,” he murmurs, and he’s so handsome above you, you don’t know how you managed without it. you’ve slept side by side, limbs tangled, but this…
“me neither,” your needy hands reach out for him and then his brown eyes are level with yours, a hand splayed beside your head, holding himself up. “i don’t want to waste it. do you?”
the smile he wears would’ve belonged to the joel from before. mischievous, almost, a smile that reaches his eyes. “what ideas did you have?”
you open your mouth but then his lips are closing over your pulse point and it’s been so long, it’s been forever, it’s been a lifetime ago since you’ve had such true and real intimacy. you start to shake and you stammer to try and reply and he pulls away, shaking his head, running his hand through your hair. “i’m gonna take care of you,” he says seriously. “you gonna let me take care of you, nebraska?”
with a shaky laugh you nod your head, but that’s not enough for him. “words. give me your words.”
“yes,” you breathe. “please.”
and joel, your unsung hero, stays good to his word. he’s a passionate person, deep in there, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that he would be a good and passionate lover– but it did. it made you giddy, every touch, every drag of his tongue. but nothing was better than the first kiss.
joel makes sure to take care in tipping your face up to him. there were candlesticks lit around the quaint bedroom, illuminating you in a golden glow, and you’d never felt like an angel before– not even before this world had made you a killer. but under his eyes and in this room, you feel the closest you ever have. “so damn pretty,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. “you know that? how pretty you are?”
your foot runs up his leg. “don’t spend much time looking in mirrors anymore.”
“you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he answers for you. one hand goes to the side of your neck and his thumb brushes your pulse and it’s like every single thing in this broken world finally clicks into place with him. and that’s when he does it. that’s when he lowers himself and his lips find yours.
it’s slow. it’s like for the first time since 2003 he has allowed himself to enjoy. he savors you like he savored the meal that bill and frank served you that evening. he drinks you in like their delicious wine, the taste of you better than the heavy red had been on his tongue. a hand slips under your head and caresses, holds you, kisses you like there’s nothing else left to do.
your hands become explorative. across his chest, his stomach, down his spine. he shivers when you hit that sensitive spot just above his tailbone, and it makes you smile against his lips. “like that, huh?” he asks with a laugh. he falls down onto the bed beside you and he tugs you closer, his lips still attached to your jaw. “like knowin’ what you do to me?”
you’re helpless, nodding your head, mind foggy with pleasure. “oh, poor thing,” he coos with another cheeky grin, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “i’ll stop bein’ mean.”
“you’re evil,” you say but there’s no bark behind your bite, not when his lips start to move southward, down your chest, pushing up your shirt. your hips begin to raise involuntarily and everything is better than you could ever expect–
the door bursts open. “bill–” joel bellows, rearing back to look at him. you’re not even naked but joel is effortlessly protective, shielding you from his view. but you peek past his arm anyway, and what you see astounds you. bill’s scared. he’s trying to fight it, but you can smell fear like a bloodhound.
“raiders,” bill says and it’s the simplest thing he could’ve said, but it makes you move.
joel is on his feet and you’re tossing him a shirt and he’s tossing you your jacket, you’re moving around each other like you know the exact move the other will make next. and maybe you do. maybe you have memorized the way that he uses his body as a weapon and as a shield.
with guns drawn you help take down raiders. it’s not a fair fight, not with the set up that bill has built and not with you and joel by his side. joel has never had to see you fight. not really, anyway– he’s known of the knife that you keep on you at all times, but bill had tossed you a gun and you knew your way around it and while joel didn’t have time to watch, you could sense it. could feel his eyes lingering for just a moment too long, long enough to risk survival.
and then your gun lowers and your eyes lock and there’s something that passes there, between you.
you don’t know if love is the right way to describe what you feel towards joel. but if it is, then maybe you had just fallen a bit more in love with one another.
any mood that existed prior has been shot by the time that you get back into the guest room. with a long, heaving sigh, you start shucking your clothes off. there’s nothing wrong with them– no blood on them, no dirt, no grime, but the mere act of wearing them while you have killed someone makes your skin crawl.
joel exits the room but he returns with two new sets of clothes. he passes one set off to you before he starts changing himself, eyes heavy on one another.
and when you’re both in fresh clothes you inch towards one another and you collapse onto the bed together, and there’s nothing hesitant in the way that he pulls you to him, tugs your body close to his and wrap you up in his dutiful hold until you both drift off into a sleep, one not fueled by pills or booze, but by the safety of one another.
bill and frank send you with food (bill begrudgingly, frank happily) and a truck. your end stop is the omaha QZ, outside of which you’ll be meeting with a smuggler who joel has been in contact with since you knew him. but you were a long ways away from nebraska, and it would be many days on the road.
it’s two days in when you find the tape, rustling around through the truck. it was a forgotten thing beneath the passenger seat, and your entire face lights up when you see it. joel glances over at you with a furrowed brow and you lift jeff buckley’s grace. in tandem, you and joel say, “yes.”
mojo pin starts from the top and you find yourself gazing out the window. you prepare yourself for the northeastern beauty to turn into the plains of the midwest, reminding you of a life of before. 
you’re crossing into ohio when he asks, “you like this album?”
slowly, you nod your head. “it was all i would listen to,” you say, remembering who you were before. “maybe jeff buckley’s lucky. to have died before all of this started.”
joel stares at you for a long time. “do you really mean that?”
swallowing, you meet his gaze. do you mean it? “no,” you finally say softly. “there are things that i miss. people i miss. but i don’t think i’d be luckier dead.” you huff a laugh and look back out the window. “if i felt that way, it would be a bit silly to live the way i do.”
“and how do you mean?”
“we fight to live,” you say easily. “we fight to survive. we’re not people who want to give up, even if we pretend we are. being alive is having some hope, contrary to what you may believe.”
“never said i didn’t have hope,” joel begins, his voice all gruff.
“joel, please.” you look over at him and you smirk. “i know you. you may fool other people, but you’re not gonna fool me.”
the two of you fall into an easy silence at that point. there’s nothing pointed about what you said to him, and he doesn’t have any fight in him. he doesn’t want to fight with you, he never does. and, besides– despite what he says, he knows that you’re right.
at some point you fall asleep. you wake up to joel’s hand in your hair, his voice slowly coaxing you awake. you wake with a start, snapping up and looking around. “sorry,” you mumble, the last bits of sleep still clinging onto you for dear life. “didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“s’alright,” he mumbles back to you. “would probably good to stop for the night. we can take turns keeping watch.” he smirks. “it’s your turn first.”
you roll your eyes but he turns the car off and reclines his seat and you can’t help but stare at him. how does anyone expect you to be diligent and alert when you get an opportunity to stare at him uninterrupted? when he opens one eye to look at you you lean back and smile at him, shaking your head. “don’t do that,” you murmur, reaching your hand out and touching his hair, somehow soft still despite everything. “get some sleep.”
joel hums. “keep doin’ that,” he says while your hand is working through his hair. “feels good.”
you’re not going to deny joel what feels good. not for one moment.
the days pass faster than you were expecting them to. it’s just you and joel and the open road. occasionally you roll down the window and you stick your head out and let the wind rustle your hair, let jeff buckley fill your ears with his beautiful melodies and you pretend like you and joel are two normal people on a normal road trip together. the one thing that you will never be, you pretend you are.
an ominous quiet grows over you when you pass over the nebraska border. when you see that sign.
joel senses it in you instantly. and for a man who says he’s cold, who says he’s fucked up, who says that he doesn’t know if he can be what you need– you don’t feel that when he lays his big hand on your thigh and squeezes. and he doesn’t make a hasty exit with it, either. no, it lingers there. it stays there until your hand goes and lays on top of his, and only then does his hand turn over and he grasps your fingers. laces them with his own, and his thumb draws across the back of your wrist.
when you look over at him, you don’t see a man who’s fucked up. you see a man who’s fighting an eternal, internal battle with himself, to love and let himself be loved. you’ve been there. hell, you’re there now, fighting your own similar battle. but perhaps your armor is weaker, because this touch has melted you down to the bone and made you forget why you wanted to fight in the first place.
the words beg to release from your mouth. i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you so much i’m willing to risk the safety of not loving another soul.
“we’ll go wherever you need,” he speaks up. “and then we’ll go to omaha.”
with a curt nod of your head, you pull the map out of the glove compartment and you scour it. you see your teeny tiny hometown, and you circle it, passing it back to joel.
instantly, you recognize the way that he takes a turn, towards your home. towards your old life.
it’s in the stirred silence that you say, “they call seward the fourth of july city,” you smile a little bit at the memories. memories of fireworks and the smell of a grill and celebrating a patriotism and nationalism that you would resent every day after september 26th, 2003. “my friends and i used to joke about that city part. seward was barely a town, let alone a city.”
joel watches you intently. you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “i lost my virginity on the fourth of july.” there’s something glassy behind your eyes. “one year before the outbreak. i was eighteen– all my friends joked that i was a late bloomer, but i didn’t care. my dad was a preacher and i always got teased because i was the cliche. the rebellious, preacher’s daughter. but that night…” your words drift and you suck in a big breath, watching as dusk overtakes the night ahead of you, casting joel in pretty purple hues. “he wasn’t a bad boy. he was kind. and he took care of me.”
“he was in my senior year english class. i was taking ap lit– didn’t even take the ap test. anyway– he had kind brown eyes, and it was his first time, too. we went into one of the cornfields in his truck after a big fire party. there were always the biggest parties on fourth of july, but i just wanted to be with him.” you pause and look out the windshield and his thumb is still a warm feeling over the pulse of your wrist. “we kept seeing each other that summer. but then i went to college and so did he and… well, the rest happened. i don’t know what happened to him. but i like to believe that he’s somewhere out there and when he starts getting nostalgic, he tells his…” you look at joel. “whoever his you is, and he smiles a little. i just hope that.”
he squeezes your wrist, once more, before he lets go to put both hands on the wheel. he pulls off and you recognize that he’s pulling into the parking lot of a boarded up church, and god if that isn’t hilariously ironic. “thank you,” he says after you’re parked, looking right into your eyes. “i hope that, too.”
hope. what a funny thing.
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vmlnrz · 11 months
Note
Hello how are you
I hope you're doing well
May i request Sae with prompt 6. miserably touch starved boyfriend and his girlfriend who hates physical affection
Like Black cat gf
Thank you!
the last time sae fought with you was long back. just like every couple. it happens, as it sometimes does, nothing surprising, nothing unhealthy. this afternoon stood different, however. as he halted himself mid way, incase the passive-aggressive tones would escalate into yellings or more or worse.
now as he was zoned out at the grocery store. the elderly cashier, who was intently scanning items at her register, she likely wouldn't pass judgement on him. it was late, after all, and the store was relatively quiet. with this moment of quiet, he allowed himself to ponder the fight that occurred. and he realises that he did the right to halt his words midway. he's glad he shut his mouth. he knows he should do it often.
despite the painful awkward silence that lingered in the afternoon—all due to his mistake—he considers himself lucky. as you, still accepted a kiss on the cheek before he stepped out, and this memory quickly pushed away the recollection of the fight from his mind. his thoughts now dwelled on this brief, tender moment with you, and he yearned for more. he wanted to kiss you more. everywhere his lips desired.
as if someone slapped him to consciousness, he shakes his head, adjusting the cap on properly. like any typical boyfriend, he grabs the snacks you like. some new ones in stock he assumes you would like. and the condoms he had been starting at subconsciously for the past few minutes. if maybe not an apology or snacks, there's gotta be a third way or more to woo you.
your initial response after seeing the bag with snacks was to reach out and grab them. your attempt to do so prevented by sae who swiftly moved the bag out of your reach. telling you to at least let him in first and that the bag may or may not be heavy for you to carry. gently giving your head a little bonk—which you initially got annoyed at, not knowing it was a little excuse for him to have your undivided attention—before taking his shoes off and stepping in.
he places the bags on the kitchen table, you immediately grabbing onto the snacks you desired. sae questioned you if you're heading to bed, noticing you wearing comfy clothes, not forgetting to notice them looking undeniably cozy, just perfect for snuggling. and you told him you, were indeed heading to bed, as you set your desired snacks aside and helped placing the other once in their respective places. placing the energy drinks in the fridge, completely ignoring when sae nagged at you about you skipping dinner.
it was his time to ignore you when you kept telling him not to order food. his phone snatched right after he dialed three digits. it was his turn to get annoyed as well, grabbing onto your wrist tightly and pulling you closer. his mind diving into the gutter deeper if possible. just a little closer and he'd have the kiss he yearned. and you waited for it too, half out of anxiety and half out of—cause maybe you yearned to give him the affection that he craved for so long. but instead, he simply snatches his phone back, keeping in mind to not cross the boundaries. but he's a bit selfish too. still holding onto your wrist and keeping you closer. until distraction in the form of the pack of condoms fall from the bag.
you're not looking at him, he's doesn't really have more courage to keep staring at you. but he already assumed what you might be thinking. he assumed you were thinking of his audacity to...
you shove him away. grabbing onto the two chocolate bars as you head to the bedroom while sae reminds he's still gonna order food. and he lets out the most heart-wrenching sigh any living creature has ever made.
sae sees you eating the chocolate bars while being in the bed. considering if he should nag at you or make a lame joke about getting ants in the bed. he decides to shut up instead. thinking that yeah, that's probably the better thing to do.
you're already lying on your side when sae plops on the bed beside you. putting an arm around your waist as he pulls you in closer, he apologizes. yes. itoshi sae says sorry. you let out a deep breath, him feeling you resisting the urge to push his hand away.
he makes you turn to face him. his voice seeming much bold and stricter only for him to go dead silent when you do so. eyes shamlessly falling onto your lips. and oh how he wanted to have those handsy make-out sessions. which were pretty rare, only making his mind wander even more with other naughty possibilities.
he takes your hand in his instead. kissing on the cold knuckles as says sorry again. placing more kisses on your fingertips while repeatedly apologizing.
and the soft features you had on while looking at him soon turned into annoyed once. yet again. as you scold him. pointing all the mistakes he made. which he only agrees with, repeating that he knows. he knows.
"i know. and im sorry. can i kiss you now?"
and you give in. telling him yes but man the time wasn't on his side. and the doorbell with the awaiting delicious meal never sounded more frustrating.
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vendetta-if · 1 year
Text
Chapter 4 Sneak Peek!
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Hey guys 👋 I come bearing the sneak peek that I promised yesterday. This time, we'll take a look at a part of the long conversation that MC will have with Yvette.
Because there are so many different variations of paragraphs depending on a lot of variables, for this snippet, I'm going to assume MC chose to hate her after that comic book incident, and for their current feeling for her now, I would showcase the love-hate one 😁
The sneak peek will be quite long, so I'll put it under the cut!
She doesn't look that much different from the last time you saw her a decade ago. Sure there are some wrinkles starting to form at the corners of her pretty light brown eyes. But other than that, her ${mc_skin} skin is still as radiant and unblemished as ever. The magic of an expensive skincare routine, you guess. Hell, not even a strand of white can be seen in the midnight black of her thick and long ${mc_hair_texture} hair.
She wrings her dainty hands nervously. "Um… Hi, $!{name}," she says nervously.
*if (Friendly >= 50) "Please get out before I call the guards," you say calmly, but the tone of your voice is firm as you gesture at the front door.
*if (Friendly < 50) "Get the fuck out before I call the guards," you snap at her, pointing at the front door.
"$!{name}… Please, just hear me out—"
"No. Get out now." You are halfway toward the front door when she grabs your arm.
"I know you hate me, but please, just hear me out for a few minutes. It's about the murders and your father's killer," she pleads, her voice laced with desperation.
You already know that there's a big chance that the voice last night is the same person as the person who murdered your dad ten years ago. If not, then at least they are connected. But maybe… there's no downside to hearing what she has to say, in case she has some more information from the Agency's private investigation—Well, no downside except for having to sit down and have a talk with your estranged mother, if you can even call her that.
"Fine," you sigh, tugging your arm out of her grip. "Go ahead and take a seat. I gotta make my ${drink}." You return to the kitchen, grab a mug, and insert a ${drink} pod into the machine.
You turn around and lean on the counter as you wait for the drink to finish brewing. Your eyes snap to your mother who is sitting primly on one of the plush, leather sofas, staring wistfully out of the big panoramic window to her left. You take this time to recover from the surprise and reorganize your thoughts and feelings properly; she is probably doing a similar thing right now.
The last time you saw her was during your dad's funeral. At that time, you were still steeped in your hate for her. The wound from what she did in the comic book store that day was still raw, especially after the death of your dad on that very same day.
Nowadays, though… What do you mostly feel about her?
#Still hate.
#Pity.
#Indifference.
#A strange and complicated mix of hate and…yearning?
You used to hate her a lot, and you think you still do. But it's not that simple; you don't think anything ever is. Sometimes, you find yourself yearning for her affection and the connection, and mourning what could've been. This, in turn, feeds more fuel to your anger and hatred towards her. And so on it cycles repeatedly like an emotionally torturous merry-go-round.
When the voice did an exposé on your mother live on broadcast and threatened her, you feel a strange mix of anger and…protectiveness? Sure, you hate your mother for everything she has done, but seeing an outsider, especially the one who took your father from you, trying to butt in and criticize how she treated you just made you seethe.
Only you and your family can do that, genuinely hating and criticizing her. The hatred and criticism that the voice and the Nemesis Project conveyed that night was nothing more but a performance to gain the sympathy and approval of the public.
Beep-beep…
The sound of the coffee machine beeping brings you out of your reverie. Grabbing your mug of freshly brewed ${drink}, you take a sip while sauntering over to the living room where your mother is waiting. You plop down onto the big armchair to her left, the view of Elysium's downtown becoming your backdrop.
"So, talk. What do you want from me?" you ask straight to the point.
She squirms uncomfortably under your gaze. "$!{name}… I'm not going to lie, I desperately need your help," she says, her brown eyes meeting your ${mc_eyes}.
IF MC IS SARCASTIC
*if (Emotional >= 50) You stare at her, before bursting out laughing, stabilizing the mug in one hand to make sure your ${drink} doesn't spill. Your laughter dies down and you see that she's frowning in a mix of sadness and confusion. "You're serious?" you ask her.
*if (Emotional < 50) You stare at her before you start chuckling, quietly at first and getting louder until it is only a notch from full-on laughter. Your chuckles die down and you see that she's frowning in a mix of sadness and confusion. "You're serious?" you ask her.
"Unfortunately, yes…" she sighs, hanging her head in shame.
You scoff, "What's wrong? The ECPD not working hard enough? Surely, a company as big as the Constellation Agency has enough influence and connections to make sure the ECPD is solely focused on this case. You don't need my help." You can't help but spit the last sentence.
IF MC IS GENUINE
*if (Emotional >= 50) "Why?" you ask. A mix of anger, confusion, and incredulousness is packed into the single word. "You do realize that you have the biggest company in the city and the ECPD backing you and focusing on the case, right? You don't need my help." You can't help but spit the last sentence.
*if (Emotional < 50) "Why?" You try to keep your voice even and cool, but still, hints of anger, confusion, and incredulousness mar it. "You have the biggest company in the city and the ECPD backing you and focusing on the case. You don't need my help." You can't help but spit the last sentence.
Does she really think that you'll be open and willing to help her? Well, actually… maybe you will. Sure you hate her, but you also feel a strange and illogical sense of loyalty and attachment to her that makes you want to protect her from the killer who has also taken your father from you before.
Why? You should not even care this much about her. Is it because she gave birth to you and is supposed to be your mother? Or maybe she's one of the few family members you have left and you can't help but cling on to each of them greedily, even if it sometimes hurt you, like holding on to stalks of wild roses.
She shakes her head. "They tried… They really tried. The Agency even hired a bunch of private investigators on the side, but one of them was killed and two of them went missing and haven't been heard from ever since. The remaining quickly backed out."
"How about the ECPD?" you ask, setting down your ${drink} on the coffee table before you.
"Nothing either; they haven't been able to grasp something solid enough to follow. The pressure from the Agency and the fact that this is a still-ongoing serial killing of high-profile figures that a lot of the citizens look up to are the only reasons it has not become a cold case," she sighs. "Whoever or whatever group is doing this knows what they're doing and how to cover their tracks."
You remember how your dad's killer covered their tracks cleanly and carefully, even to the point of getting rid of all the other surviving grunts so there was nothing for your family to go on from. And then there's also what happened to Aunt Cara… You wonder whether she was coming too close to finding out the truth. Or maybe she had found out.
*if (Emotional >= 50) "And this is my problem how?" you sneer, crossing your arms. "I couldn't give less of a fuck about the Constellation Agency's superhero mess."
*if (Emotional < 50) You shrug. "Sounds like their problem… and yours," you say coldly, staring her down. "I couldn't give less of a fuck about the Constellation Agency's superhero mess."
"I know, $!{name}… Don't worry, I don't really want you to put yourself in danger. I just need you to use your family's web of connections to help find this killer. Please, it's not really a matter of the Agency needing your help. I need your help, desperately. I feel like I'm living on borrowed time…" Her beautiful and smooth face is marred by the hard frown on her face as she shifts restlessly on the sofa, clearly agitated and anxious. She wrings her empty hands nervously before forcing them back onto her lap.
"Oh, now you come to me and acknowledge me because your life is in danger and you need access to my family's resources." You can't help but snarl as all the hatred, anger, and most importantly, the pain you've had all these years bubble up to the surface.
How many times have you pictured what your reunion with your mother would be like? But as time went by with not a visit or even a word from her, those pictures began to sour more and more until you were pretty sure it wouldn't ever happen anyway.
But never have you imagined your reunion to go this way.
"I know we'll have to talk openly about… all of this," she mumbles quietly. Of course, the two of you need to have a discussion about it! Did she really think she can just sweep it under the rug and you'll agree to help her? "Ask me about anything you want to know and I'll try my best to answer all of them."
There are so many things you want to ask her that you're not sure where to start.
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unrequitedloveletter · 7 months
Text
The Axiom of Equality- T.S x gn! reader
all right! I don't know if there's much of an audience for tommy shelby fics here but I'm going to write this anyway because I've been daydreaming about it virtually daily since the idea first came up and if I don't get this out of my head I might just cry a little bit
Fic type- this is post-war hurt/comfort!!
Warnings- the war and being drafted into it are mentioned a fair amount
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Dear Tommy,
This letter won't be the best thing to return to after the war, but it's what I need to do and I need in turn for you understand that. I know that you probably won't but I am asking you to and I have to believe that such is enough.
I probably won't be in Birmingham upon your return. You've been gone for six months now, and I miss you everyday, Tommy, but I just can't stay here.
Every time I walk through Birmingham, it feels as though you are all I am capable of seeing. It is inescapable and I am in dire need of an escape plan.
I love you, Tommy, and I have stood by your side throughout the course of our entire lives, but I just cannot do this anymore. Find me when you're home--Ada will know an address, but so too will Polly, and I guarantee I will want your company at some point. Even now, I yearn for your presence.
All the love in the world and the deepest apologies to accompany that,
Y/N
-
Tommy had read and reread the letter since Ada had given it to him when he returned from the war. He'd not yet asked her for the address, even a year after his return because all he could do was mull it over.
He kept thinking about you and about the fact that you'd left, how much he'd missed you and the reluctancy with which he approached the acknowledgement of that.
There was to be no denying it, though. He couldn't deny he'd missed you simply because he had. At the mention of your name, the remembrance of any singular part of you, Thomas Shelbys heart shattered, and he was left scrambling to put it back together and remain composed for the sake of keeping his family from shattering as he had.
Eventually, sometime in autumn of 1920, he found himself searching for Ada. He'd heard from Arthur that she was at the Garrison with Freddie Thorne and when he found her, she met his gaze and she grinned like she knew why he'd come looking, let alone at eight on a random weeknight.
"Let me guess," she said. "You want an address? Particularly to a neat little flat just a thirty minute walk away from the Eiffel Tower?"
Tommy gave a rather impatient nod in spite of himself--so much time had passed since he'd left for the war and you'd left Birmingham to escape him. All he'd been able to think about since he returned had been you, and he doubted you'd found yourself in a similar predicament, but he still hoped.
"I am indeed," Tommy said. Ada laughed.
"You two were together how long, exactly? Five years, six?"
"Eight," Tommy said. "From October 31st, 1906 to the day I left for the war."
"And you love them wholeheartedly?"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," Tommy said, running a hand through his hair. "Give me the address, Ada. Please--I've started to worry I'll go mad if you don't."
Ada grinned. "Yeah. Freddies got it on a slip of paper in his wallet."
Freddie took the slip of paper out of his wallet and passed it to Tommy, giving him a grin.
"They might be gone," Ada cautioned. "Maybe they remembered 'oh, yes! I fell in love with a criminal and left him in 1914. Don't want that life, so I'll leave him behind, move somewhere nice like...Canada, perhaps.'"
"I know," Tommy said. Ada could've been right, and you could've been gone, and Tommy could never have hoped to see you again, but the twenty-four year old who had helplessly loved you and couldn't wait to see you upon his return from the war had taken hold of his heart, and it was reaching out to yours, and there was nothing to be done other than to go. "But you've gotta understand, Ada. You, of all people."
"I do," she said. "Now, I'm sure you can buy a train ticket and make it to Paris in time to see them. Go."
And, in spite of himself and with the address from Freddie tucked into his palm, Tommy Shelby ran out of the Garrison like the eighteen year old boy who had spotted you approaching from the window and had felt his heart set itself alight with the joy he oh-so-rarely experienced.
Thomas Shelby was thirty, though. He was not the eighteen year old he had once been and you were not the eighteen year old who you had once been. Things had changed, and no matter for the giddy feeling in his heart that made Tommy feel like the boy he had once been, he was not that boy anymore. If you wanted to be left to your own, Tommy would respect that of you. If you had moved on, Tommy would respect that. He was not the person he had been before the war, and you weren't, either.
But still, Tommy went home. He packed as efficiently as possible, kissed Pollys cheek in goodbye and told Arthur to keep himself in check as he headed for the train station, his feet, his heart, and his mind dragging him on an impulsive trip to France.
-
The trip from Birmingham to Paris was a lot less difficult than Tommy had expected. Seven and a half hours on the train where Tommy read and made sure that his French sounded even slightly passable, and Tommy was at the train station in the heart of Paris for half past three in the morning.
The next hour was spent trying to locate a decent hotel to stay in for the week or so he'd planned to stay, and when he found one it was nearing five in the morning. He collapsed onto what turned out to be a bed that was almost decent but still a little off, and woke up at noon.
He showered to avoid smelling like cigarettes even though the smell of tobacco had never really bothered you and he knew he'd end up smoking one anyway, and then he was off to the address he'd been given at just after two.
What he found was not a flat. It was nothing of the sort--it was a quaint home by lakeside and one that was definitely a bit longer than a 30 minute walk away from the ever so infamous Eiffel Tower.
It was exactly the kind of home you'd described wanting to live in before Tommy left, exactly the kind of thing that you would've felt the most at home in from the outside. The acknowledgement of such made Tommys heart swell.
He was a very, very different person in 1920 than he had been before leaving for the war in 1914. He couldn't help but wonder just how much of a difference it would've made to you, the person who had once vowed to love him for the rest of your life, for the rest of his.
It gave him pause, made him hesitate as he walked up the front steps to your home and stopped him before he could knock on your front door.
What if you had remained unchanged and Tommy had done a full 180? What if you hated the person he'd become? There were too many variables, and, had he thought over it for more than approximately eleven seconds, Tommy would've done it all so differently.
He never lead with his impulse.
He never made rash decisions, not when it came to you.
But he supposed he could allow himself one rash decision a decade, and deciding to go to France on nothing more than a written address and a whim was definitely rash and impulsive enough to last him through to the 30s.
He approached your door. Knocked once, twice, a third and final time for the sake of politeness.
"Esmeralda? Is that you?" Your voice called. "I wasn't expecting you with the tea leaves until Sunday! Come in!"
Tommy didn't respond, only rested a hand on the doorknob, a rare surge of fear grabbing hold of his chest. It had been two years since he'd gone back to Birmingham. Six years since you'd last seen each other, with not a moment of contact through letter writing to bridge that gap. How much would you want to see him, really, if you wanted to see him at all?
"I'm going back to Birmingham this week! Esmeralda, darling, if thats you, please bring the tea in! Polly wrote that she wanted some and I figure I'll see her before I find Tommy. She'll be furious with me if I don't have them after I've promised to bring them along."
Tommy opened the door just a bit. It was unlocked--had you been expecting visitors?
"Esmeralda?" You asked for a third time. "Esmeralda Monroe, I don't care that you're in your eighties now, if you're playing a trick on me--" Tommy stepped into the house, tried to find even the slightest hint you were there outside of your voice.
The house was nice. It opened from a foyer into a lounge, one with a seemingly comfortable couch and a working fireplace. Through a small doorway, he caught your frame in what must've been the kitchen.
"My name isn't Esmeralda Monroe, but I would pity her if she were here," Tommy said. "What's this mess about you comin' down to Birmingham?"
"Come into the kitchen," you said. "I am unwilling to abandon my bread to see your face. Perfecting this recipe has taken Esmeralda and I weeks. She's eighty-six, so that time is precious time indeed."
Tommy gave a low laugh as he took off his coat and his hat, hanging them both on the coat rack to the right of the door. He walked through the lounge and into the kitchen, grinning the moment he saw your face.
"Hello," Tommy said. "Been a bit, hasn't it?"
You glanced up from the dough that had held your focus. "Quite a long time. I'm sorry I didn't go to Birmingham sooner--I wanted to the moment Ada wrote and said you were still alive, but I didn't. I couldn't get the time away from work, though I nearly did quit on the spot when I was refused."
"You would've come back sooner?" Tommy asked. "I came down here to tell you I'm sorry that you had to leave at all."
"It wasn't your fault," you said. "I was yearning terribly and I made a cataclysmic mistake. I would do it over if I could. I would've gone round to the Shelby home and asked Pol to talk a bit of sense into me."
Tommy laughed. "I'm apt to think she would've told you to go," he said. "Always did say I didn't deserve you or your love for french pastry."
You laughed, flouring the clean countertop in front of you and laying your dough on it so that it could be kneaded. "She might've, but I dunno that I would've listened. If I'd stayed, we could've resumed things. There wouldn't be a six year gap between our departure and our reunion."
"We wouldn't've become different people," Tommy said.
"The war would've changed you, Tommy. Seems like it did as is," you said. "But I don't fault you for that. Fighting in the war changes people--I've gotten to know a couple of people who were nurses. They don't seem right either."
"And you don't--the fact that I may have changed leaves you undeterred?"
"There's an axiom that Esmeralda introduced me to," you said. "The axiom of equality. It's a mathematical principle but I like it better as a statement."
"What is it?" Tommy asked. He'd not been much of a math person, and while he had no doubt that someone like Polly would've known what it was, he hadn't a clue. "I've been too busy legitimizing stuff back home to read up on mathematical principles and ideas."
"The axiom of equality states that x=x," you said. Tommy, in a bit of a mood to help, located a cabinet with a bread pan as you talked. "It states that x must always equal x. Esmeralda told me that the principle of the principle, when applied to people, is that the person you were in the past will always be the person you are in the present."
"Are you insulting me?" Tommy asked, grabbing the crisco shortening from the spot you kept it in the pantry. "I'm feeling rather insulted."
"That is, in fact, not my goal," you said. "If I were insulting you, I would doing so with an air of flirt in the hopes of winning a kiss. You still probably taste like tobacco, but I've never minded that."
Tommy greased the bread pan, shaking his head. If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask.
"The point of bringing up the axiom was just to tell you that it doesn't apply to everyone," you said. "We're human, Tommy. We're not a variable in mathematics, and as such, I'm pretty sure I would be able to learn how to love you if you came back someone completely and utterly changed."
"I have," Tommy said. "I am not the person I was in 1914."
"I'm not the person I was then, either," you said. "I've changed, even if it doesn't look it. I know I still look twenty four."
"Twenty six, at best."
"Thomas Shelby!" You shouted, placing the bread into the bread pan and grabbing a kitchen towel. Tommy dodged it as you thwacked it at him, laughing at the whole ordeal of the thing.
"I look a minimum of thirty-one, so you're better off than I," Tommy said. "And even as such, you're still the looker I fell in love with."
"Oh, if Ada were here, she'd have taken your head!" You laughed, and Tommy laughed, and oh, Tommy had never thought he'd have gotten so lucky as to heard the sound of your laugh again. "I would've watched--you are a real prick, Tommy!"
"A prick with whom you were once deeply in love," Tommy said. "One who you once kissed under a willow tree, and drank with, and sang with, and--"
You laughed, pressed your forehead against his shoulder. "I've missed you, Tommy."
"I've missed you more," Tommy said.
"How long are you to stay?" You asked.
"A week," Tommy said. "We can travel back to Birmingham together, if that sounds like an idea you fancy?"
You lifted your forehead from his shoulder. "That sounds wonderful," you said. "I'd really, really like that."
"Would you ever consider moving back?" Tommy asked. "I'm not asking you to if you don't want to, but if you'd consider..."
"If I were proposed to by a certain Birmingham native, I might consider it," you said. "Of course, this Birmingham native would have to fit six years of flirtations and kisses and casual signs of affection into just a week if such was his goal."
Tommy laughed. "I think he could manage that," he said. "Especially considering that he has a ring already--he bought it six months before he was drafted."
Your mouth opened in shock. "You were going to propose?"
"The plan was to do so the week I was drafted--sunset, perfect look out spot, everything was going to be amazing--but then I was drafted and proposing seemed to null itself out a little."
"You were going to propose and I left you in the dust? I am the worlds worst partner."
Tommy shook his head. "There are worse people," he said. "People who cheat on their spouses, namely. You only left because you missed me and it was so intense you couldn't handle the pain."
"When you put it that way, it sounds rather romantic," you said. "Less like one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made."
Tommy laughed, and he took your hand, and all he could think was that he was glad for the impulsiveness in his heart that'd dragged him onto a train for seven and a half hours, a shoddy hotel room for seven hours, and an additional hour spent trying to get rid of the scent of tobacco, chewing mint gum to rid it from his breath.
Tommy leaned in, and your arms found his shoulders as his found your waist. You closed the gap, and Tommy was kissing you for the first time in six years. He was kissing you for the first time in two thousand days.
He kissed you like a man starved and when you pulled away, wanted to kiss you again but managed to refrain.
"Missed that," you said.
Tommy gave a breathy laugh. "Ditto," he said.
Though the two of you were not the people you'd been before the war, you found it incredibly easy to love one another still.
"Well," Tommy said. "I would think I've got two weeks to cram six years worth of affection in to get you to come home, which means you'll probably grow sick of being kissed like that within the next bit."
You shook your head. "I would never," you said.
Tommy just laughed, pulled you in for another kiss and found his heart floating away from him, overtaken by love and joy and content, the rarely experienced emotions that always came into full effect whenever you were so much as in the same room as he was.
"I'll take your word for it, then," he said against your lips, laughing as you pulled him even closer, the both of you starved for one anothers touches.
And he would do as he said, let himself get lost in how you felt because the feeling of your touch was borderline intoxicating.
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igottayellsomewhere · 1 month
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From Episode 5
"sometimes when I try to look ahead, all I see is back"
back where sanji
like, you could think about this line on a surface-ish level and say back to germa and all that angst ect, sure, but then what is back? what could there possibly be to go back to that he'd want to go to?? and that begs the question, what is forward?
so, at this point in opla they show that he's getting increasingly frustrated with zeff and that is the conflict thats set up to be a push forward, but it also really feels like the characters could have been at this crossroads before. Like, this is a repeating pattern but it always ends the same, sanji is frustrated then zeff let's him back into the kitchen then creativity and the need to be Free strikes and theyre at it again. And because sanji has decided to dedicate himself to zeff and repaying a kindness he could never imagine *there's nothing to look back or forward to*. This is the best scenario. He needs to fulfill zeffs dream before he can think about his own and There's No Other Option. So what is back?
Back is repaying zeff. A debt he can *never* repay
And though they do share the same dream and sanji still wants, yearns, for the All Blue, he can never give himself permission to do so. So forward is Here, at the Baratie, and he daren't dream because it's impossible to wrap his head around why zeff would do anything for a person like sanji, scratch that *just* sanji.
And then you gotta take into account that zeff is purposely squashing sanjis potential at the Baratie cause zeff wants sanji to realize that that's Not the path for sanji. If zeff gave sanji the responsibility he craves that would be like zeff putting the final blow on both their dreams. Zeff is begging sanji to want more but for sanji thats unfathomable; again, This is the Best Case Scenario and he can't bring himself to believe there's more.
So thinking forward or backward is just a moot point, which is why it's so jarring for Luffy to come in and say both that he doesn't do regrets or 'complicated' cause that's what sanji's dream is. When presented with the idea that it could be so simple, when Luffy says join us, there's a long pause. The idea has sprouted but the roots must be crushed. Like always.
I guess here would be a good time to compare the live action and the anime, like, zoro's dream having a big part in the anime/manga, ect. It's true that the only interaction opla zoro had with opla sanji before joining the crew officially was the dinner scene but I don't think the influence of zoros dream on sanji is as lost as some might say.
Opla sanji sees the aftermath of The Fight clearly, sees how many lengths Zoro would go to. He sees Luffy defend Zoro's dream vehemently, when Nami asks why Luffy didn't stop Zoro. In this moment it's reiterated that a person's dreams are Important and that Zoro was *right* to go after them, was *right* to be selfish and try to take something he wanted. Nami's was the dialogue sanji has been telling himself all his life, keep those you care for safe no matter what, no matter if it hurts to do it. Luffy's was a dialogue of I will not keep people from doing what they want, no matter what. No matter how much is "owed" to someone, a dream is Worthy, even if it makes those you're close to disappointed and sad. Which. Is one of many things sanji has been trying desperately to avoid. There's the tiniest crack of light trying to shine through, that maybe one can follow their dreams and have people care about you.
If this moment between the crew had not happened I'm not sure opla sanji would have joined the straw hats.
In this moment, sanji sees someone (zoro) who is willing to go forward, no matter what, and witnessing there are still people that care for that person even in that decision (Luffy, Nami, Ussop). The last time sanji Left there was a severance and no one to help him. He was on his own. Mustering up that courage Again would be... well, it'd be impossibly difficult. Seeing that there were people *for* the fool who followed their dreams was just as important as seeing someone follow their dreams, but Zoro needed to have a dream in the first place. Not one that could be squashed down, but one he was willing to and nearly died for. Someone could do anything for a dream and still be, well, worthy.
So he sees this crew, sees a chance, sees a worldview he's never dared hope for. And it's kind of the perfect opportunity but he darent hope quite yet. All he can do for now is feed and take care of these incredibly kind people and appreciate who they are while theyre here. So he does.
And then the Fishman show up. Sanji is Needed and he Can't abandon his home he needs to be there, end of story. Then Luffy offers to help and the world shifts. Again, sanji is facing a kindness he can't fathom deserving and the guy offers it enthusiastically, without hesitation. Sanji allows this kindness cause maybe its a way to be even, to allow someone to be kind is a kindness kinda thing. But either way he's gotta Go so let's not think on this too much and help zeff.
In the restaurant, sanji keeps his promise. He fights for zeff without hesitation. But then he gets thrown into a table (ouch) and can barely move. What now??? It's probably Panic City but then Luffy is there. Luffy is *defending zeff's dream*. Sanji takes a moment to recover and then we don't see him until he dives into the water after Luffy. But can you imagine????
This random boy is going head to head for zeff's dream. The thing Sanji *has* to protect. The other two fishmen are standing watch at the baratie entrance but as soon as they're gone sanjis out there, and what is out there? This random boy getting thrown to his death. And this random boy has a dream. And if he can save this random boy's dream, maybe sanji can have a dream too. But not now, later. Now we gotta help zeff rebuild.
And so sanji faces a final Forward. Zeff can see how much sanji cares and knows he has to break this boy's heart. There's no other way. We don't explicitly see zeff hearing that luffy offered sanji a place on his crew but a bit ago luffy got right in zeffs face and defended sanji, told him outright sanji is the type of person zeff hoped he would be. If this is gonna be the final push zeff can push him to somewhere he knows sanji will be valued. So he does, in the only way he knows sanji can accept.
This makes their final farewell even more heartbreaking. We can see there's a moment where both parties consider not saying anything. Theres Too Much but also Not Enough. And then they do, they say "take care", sanji says thank you, "thank you for putting up with my shit" and "I owe you my life". There's a thank you for the Past and a thank you for the Forward. Thank you for what is about to be.
"sometimes when I try to look ahead, all I see is back"
And now there's Both. A past to fondly remember and grow from and a future to look forward to.
back where sanji? What is back now?? Forward. Ahead. Back to a life of adventure on his terms.
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kaikamahine · 8 months
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@quensty​ did this meme and is v. v. good at making all her memes v. compelling, so I came onto Tumblr dot com and entered Text into the Text box like a person who does Posts on Tumblr.
Put your spotify ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle and list the first ten songs. I use spotify only under extreme duress, so you’re getting my all-purpose phone music library, bc i'm a caveman who still youtube-to-mp3s all her songs one-by-one.
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🎙unholy (ft. kim petras) by sam smith. still waiting for someone to cover this song with the pronouns changed. i just think it’d be a more interesting song if it was daddy left at home with the kids while mommy got up to morally dubious alchemical shenanigans with kim petras in the body shop. the beat fucks too hard to be wasted on some man.
🎙watch me by the pom poms. there was a long stretch of 2022 when my phone playlist was nothing but jinx song after jinx song. a few have become True Loves with rent free residence. see also: headshot and she’s got a gun.
🎙vacation by vitamin c. maybe u just need to listen to vitamin c’s vacation from the critically acclaimed movie pokemon (the first movie) (1999) and then you’ll calm down.
🎙freaks (ft. savage) by timmy trumpet. complete and unironic banger. no i will not elaborate. yes you’ve heard it before.
🎙mafia by kelis. jilco rewrote my brain chemistry and now i’m a cooler, sexier person, that’s all ✌️
🎙undergang by heldom & danheim. while stuck doing warehousing a few years ago, i got SUPER into the shamanic proto-viking category on spotify, a love affair that came to a screeching halt when spotify’s next trick was to pull a neo-nazi podcast out of its algorithmical hat, but not before i got some good beats to take home like a boyfriend hoodie. yikes.
🎙run boy run by woodkid. yo! still!! fucking!!! slaps!!!!
🎙reload by m.i.a. not a break-up song but it’s a break-up song to ME, you feel. you got some nerve / talking shit about me! / well that’s okay / your shit’s tired anyway 👋
🎙what a man gotta do by the jonas brothers. what? sometimes a lesbian yearns. mind ur business.
🎙the blue whale by steven price. the single best piece of auditory artwork ever composed, and i do say this having listened to hans zimmer’s ‘coward.’ steven price did not have to put his whole ass prussy into a 2015 bbc nature documentary about predation tactics in wildlife, but he did it for me specifically, knowing i would listen to it and be transported five inches to the left of my body every time. wild.
.
You’re supposed to tag people, etc, etc, but those of you who like doing these memes know who you are and should consider yourselves tagged! go forth!! 💚💚
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glaivenoct · 1 year
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May I request NyxNoct with — “you’re the only one i want.”?
The outburst stops Nyx in his tracks. He turns back to face the anxious, frustrated Prince standing veiled from the moonlight beneath the garden's cherry blossom tree. Nyx's own curious gaze appears to make Noctis lose confidence in his own words as he presses his lips together and frowns. His attention falls down to the grass and he starts to fiddle with the straps of his royal raiment that overlay his waist.
Surely should they stay here any longer, the guests at the ball will start to question where the Prince is. Nyx can't deny him the chance to speak his mind, though. No matter how much he started to question what he and Noct were starting to become, he can't say no to that face.
"I..." Noctis looks up at him again. "I know we said we were going to keep it casual. No strings and all that. "
"Think we miscalculated a little on both those fronts, Noct."
What was supposed to be nothing more than a mutual friends with benefits agreement turned into more than Nyx could've imagined.
No strings. Casual. That's funny. Nyx wouldn't have felt as much of an envious fire in his belly tonight if they were just casual. The amount of people that approached Noct tonight to ask for his hand in a dance, making clear advances and pitches of themselves. It's been one of the more infuriating posts Nyx has been assigned.
It got him thinking, though. Thinking of all those other times in his life he was told to know his place. Even as a revered member of the Kingsglaive, he'd lost count at how many times Crownsguard members would taunt him on gate watch with those words. Or how many times the very citizens he fought to protect out in the battlefield would glance at him, subtle or unsubtle, with the same sentiment. Hell, even Drautos said those words to him once or twice.
All his life, Nyx apparently reached for things beyond his station. To fall hard for the Prince of Lucis is no exception.
Who is he to be jealous? Who is he to think he deserves a shot with someone like Noctis in the first place? Who is he to match up to anyone else that asked Noct to dance tonight?
He is no one. Though, the way Noctis looks at him now, hopeful and yearning, makes him second guess.
"I don't regret any of it." Noctis mutters under his breath, moving from underneath the tree to close the distance between them. "You know all I've been thinking about tonight is you? Every time someone comes up to ask for a dance or shoot their shot with Prince Noctis... all I can think about is how they're not you."
"You could have anyone in the world, Noct." Nyx says with the subtle shake of his head and a disbelieving look on his face. "Anyone in the palm of your hand."
Noctis scoffs and takes one more step until the tip of his dress shoes and Nyx's boots are toe to toe.
"You know for a smug asshole, you could do with thinking a little higher of yourself. You ever consider that maybe I'm already in the palm of yours?"
Nyx blinks, hardly able to think much further on it as he lets Noctis tug him down by the chain on his uniform. All he can think about is that consuming spark inside when their lips crash, Nyx can't help but cup Noct's face in his hands. His thumb caresses along the smooth edge of his jaw as Noct tilts his head, pulling away briefly only to steal a deeper kiss.
Who was Nyx to think, even for a moment, that he could resist this? That he could go on in life without ever feeling Noctis' stunned exhale on his own lips when they next part. Those bright, starry eyes searching his for an anchoring. A soft hand seeking his.
"Thought I was supposed to be the sweet talker here," Nyx says breathlessly.
"Gotta keep you on your toes sometimes, Hero." Noctis grins. "So I was thinking... if you feel the same way I do... might I have this next dance?"
"Here?" Nyx raises a brow, glancing around to the pristine kept flower beds and bushes, the grass littered with cherry blossom petals. "Where there's no music?"
Save for the chirp of crickets, the perpetual hoos and hoots of the nocturnal birds, and the distant croak of frogs from the nearby ponds. Besides all that, there's no eyes either. Not a soul to pluck Noctis right from his arms and attempt sweep him off his feet.
"Since when do you play by the rules?"
"Only when I feel like it," Nyx smirks and concedes to his point. Truthfully, this is what he's wanted all night. "I'm starting to think there's not a thing about us that plays by the rules."
"As long as you're okay with that..."
"More than okay." Nyx places his free hand on Noct's waist and lifts their joined hands. "Dance with me, little king."
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lonelymountainmonkey · 5 months
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How am i doing (socially)
Well things have started getting better id say atleast compared to previous years (since moving to uni). I think the root of the issue was starting uni during covid, the study hall had a limited amount of spots(not that i went there either way) and lectures were digital so didnt really meet anyone, in the second year i went to the study hall maybe once or twice and talked to a guy id met in the first week. He's there most days and has gotten to know most of the people who go there. I talk a bit with some of them but nothing big. Now in the third year ive spent some more time in the study ahll and again realize everyone has formed social groups that ill never be a part of since i didnt spend time around when tehy formed. Dont get me wrong theyre nice people who ill talk to when we meet, but then it goes into discussion amongst them of whether theyre going out tonight or to a specific party that weekend and hte realization that i probably know all the people at the party yet wont get invited hits. If i had been a bit less weak when it came to getting out of the fucking bed and just showing up and talking to people i couldve had a functioning social life. I have however started to fix things thru volunteer work. I started working at a studnet bar and the people there are nice. I get along with most of them and have gotten quite drunk with a lot of the as well (thats gotta count for something socially), but i still find a lot of things missing thru those interactions as well. Mainly the whole non-party social things. They talk about meeting with friends for dinners or celebrating birthdays and i can remember the last time I did either of those. Most days the only interaction I'll have with a person is a phone call with my mom and the cashier asking if I need a bag for my groceries (if I even go to the store). I have gone days without speaking to anyone several times and normally I'm content with my own company, but there is still a yearning for something more. Last semester I participated in the biweekly pub-quizes at my faculty's bar alone. I did get a second place once but I can't even get anyone to come do a pub quiz. Now I'll get into a part which I rarely discuss although it always gets brought up at family meetings, how is dating going? Simple answer, it's not. I have never in my life been to something that could qualify as a date. Its been over three years since last I had sex or kissed someone. I've tried tinder, I've tried bumble it doesn't fucking work. There is nothing. Maybe there is something to the whole arranged marriage (there isnt, but you gotta let a man joke in his ramblings). I'm no Ryan gosling (even tho he is literally me), but I don't think I'm ugly either. I like to think that I'm at least sorta funny, and sometimes I know things. I realize that none of those last two really come thru in online dating, but I can't just show up to a bar alone and start hitting on all the girls there (still a bit of self respect left, also a bit socially anxious). Which means that I'll either hope something magically appears from my non-existent normal social interactions or that they set me up with a friend or that it doesn't change...
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Ghosties part 1
(the title is a placeholder pls bear w me)
“Mabel, I… I’m scared,” Dipper whispered into his phone. He stood on a busy street corner. Bikes and cars rushed ahead of him, pedestrians squeezed past behind him. Dipper wasn’t quite sure that “busy” was really the right word– this was nothing compared to some cities in California, where he’d grown up– but at this point he was so used to small-town life in Gravity Falls that just a few cars on the road was traffic. The sun beat down on him, hard. Dipper was worried he might sweat through his shirt, or get a sunburn, even. He needed his sister to tell him everything was gonna be alright.
“Aw,” Mabel replied, in very much a not-whisper. “Baby brother, what am I going to do with you?”
“You could come–”
“No,” Mabel sang, and Dipper could practically hear the grin in her voice. “This is your adventure, Dipper. A Mystery Twin spinoff. It’s you against the world now. I’m busy. But call me if anything happens. Or if you meet any cute guys. The cute guys in Gravity Falls do not exist and I am yearning for somebody to love.”
“...Okay. Will do.” The faintest of smiles graced his lips. Even in trying to irritate him, she still managed to cheer him up. Dipper had been all on his own for almost a week now. In that time, he had put himself up in a cheap hotel, gotten himself a job so he could eat and keep a roof over his head (albeit a leaky, somewhat moldy one), and learned exactly enough of the city layout as he needed to get from his current living quarters to said job.
“I gotta go, Dip Dop, but good luck. And please try to talk to people. Please. A bookstore is the perfect place for nerds to bond.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dipper said, rolling his eyes. “Bye Mabes.”
“Bye Dippy!” A sharp beep came quickly after. Jeez, what was Mabel doing in Gravity Falls that was so important? How was it that Dipper had up and moved to an actual city (small as it was) to solve a supernatural mystery, and Mabel was still living it up better than him in Gravity Falls? He supposed it really came down to sociability afterall.
Dipper sighed, pocketing his phone. It was too hot for getting lost. Today’s adventure was decidedly over. Dipper turned to retrace his steps, hoping his brain wasn’t so fried he couldn’t remember his way back. A boiling 20 minutes later, he was back at his hotel room, sweating, starving, and so tired. He flopped down onto the bed and huffed into the sheets. This was rough. Dipper had definitely not expected this mystery to be so difficult to solve. In Gravity Falls, he and Mabel were always able to figure it out.
...He and Mabel. Well, now it was just him. It was a good decision to make. He needed to get out in the world. Do his own thing. He’d found a problem that needed solving, and he knew he had the expertise to solve it. He just hadn’t expected it to be so… hard. And time-consuming. Usually this kind of thing was one and done. Maybe the Mystery Twins would get an email, asking for help with a paranormal problem, and they could solve it in a day or two. Sometimes Dipper even went solo! Out in the woods, helping to sort out territorial disputes between impossible creatures, hunting down nuisances, generally just keeping the peace while getting into the occasional life-threatening scuffle.
This was not like that. First of all, Mabel. She wasn’t there. Second, Dipper kept getting reports of strange paranormal activity in different areas around town, and though he had spent every waking hour trying to solve the problem, he was coming up with absolutely nothing. Nada. Null. Zilch. Fuck.
Dipper rolled over onto his back and began to wiggle out of his clothes. This was nothing a nice cold shower couldn’t fix. Dipper loved cold showers. Well, no, he hated them, but they were important to him. Sometimes he needed a good jolt to the system. Sometimes he needed to get clean without getting lost in his thoughts. Sometimes he needed to prove to himself that he could do hard things. Today he was just sweaty and sad. Definitely fixable. Dipper dragged himself off the bed and turned on the shower, the temperature dial turned all the way to the left. He left his clothes in a pile on the floor, stepped into the mildew-infested shower, and tried not to scream.
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destroyvowels · 4 years
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september fourteenth. twenty twenty. zero twenty four am.
i have school tomorrow. proper, physical school. kinda sucks, honestly. waking up at seven am again. spending the first class in a dreamlike haze. kinda miss it at the same time though. doodling in the margins of my textbooks. walking home through the cold. skipping class and spending hours in supermarkets and fast food joints. 
my outlook on academia has changed a lot recently. i genuinely feel like im gonna improve this year. not promising anything, but shit, gotta gut feeling, yknow? dont know how my classmates and teachers are gonna react to my dyed mullet, but if needed im good at talking back and making whiny excuses. only shit im good at, really.
yearning is such a bitch sometimes. you plan and plot in your head on what youre gonna say, what youre gonna do, then when the time comes its all one like a pair of fingers to a candle flame. coward is a strong word, but i cant count how many times ive spit it out at my own face in the mirror. the face of a stranger and a wretched, buzzing memory in your head at the same time. the bleary, dead eyes and the ones so full of fire, blazing like the ninth circle of hell. when’d this become improv poetry? fucks, sake, juno, your inner writer is stretching his talons today, isnt he? write a fuckin eulogy then, cuz the sit youre gonna pull this year makes it sound like youre gonna need one. no, wait, thats a lobotomy. 
i feel deluded, is she actually doing it to mimic me? or am i just insane? am i just so far up my own ass i think its all and always about me? maybe shes actually growing into her own person. took her long enough.
i hate you. i hate you with the force of a thousand burning suns and the rage of a hot summer’s day. i hate you like a dog hates its chain. you make me want to rip my hair out. to scream. to cry, sob into the sky and quietly into my bed. but you also make me violent. you make me oh, so violent. paired with the murderous literature, the idea of facing you makes me want to burn a building down. switch my lighter on in the wrong place at the wrong time and sit there and laugh, go hysterical as someone’s everything and another’s nothing turns to ash. so much makes me go hysterical recently. makes me wanna scratch at my neck until it bleeds. my wrists ache as i type this. for a multitude of reasons.
i’d be delighted to deck you in the face.
- juno
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keefwho · 11 months
Text
April 27 - 2023
2:00 PM
Today is supposed to be self exploration day so I’ll be doing some reading and maybe a few exercises for it. I do understand that all my problems are from within. I have a lot of beautiful things going for me if only I can recognize them. I think a big problem I’ve always had is needing constant re-assurance that my loved ones still love me because I’m so afraid of losing them. I know I tend to lose sight of what commitment actually means and how people are committed to me in the same ways I am committed to them. The solution is never to appease that need for re-assurance. The solution would be me learning to trust the other person and believe that they intend on sticking around no matter what. Gaining that belief would free me up to wholeheartedly pursue other endeavors with much less difficulty. I think the core need of any human is knowing you have loved ones to rely on. 
And this issue traces back to my view of myself. It’s hard to think that anyone else would want to commit to me when I wouldn’t even want to if I were someone else. And thats because I know everything I think and feel. I think and feel bad things sometimes, but so does everyone. Nothing terribly EVIL, things like uncalled for jealousy or anger, or ways to get what I want via selfish means. Even if I never act on them, I know they are there and it makes me struggle to love myself knowing these things. But if I could get in the head of literally anyone else, I’d almost certainly find things that would push me away. It’s just how people are. 
So then the solution to that is recognizing that thoughts and feelings aren’t what matter in a person, it’s only their actions. People can’t control what they feel, only what they do with it. I’m way too caught up judging my uncontrollable feelings and would benefit viewing myself from an outside perspective more often. If I could view myself from someone else, I’m sure I’m not a very bad person. Good even. Thats why people tend to like me, or at least not hate me. Maybe I could try to keep in mind that whenever I’m judging my feelings, it’s similar to listening to a troll try to insult me. It means nothing. 
If my self worth were calculated based on scores given by internal and external factors, it would be low primarily because of those negative feelings. But if the negativity of those feelings carries little to no weight then I’m sure this fictional score would shoot up immensely. 
This all ties back to the idea of thought defusion. I thought it was something I had down but apparently not. Recognize and ignore unhelpful thoughts, and use the helpful ones to my advantage. It’s an active and difficult process but it pays off if only I can stick to it. 
2:33 PM
I’m meant to be reading a fanfic right now but I downloaded this astrology app to help give me some direction when I don’t know what to explore. This month’s guidance REALLY put how I’ve been feeling.
“Your emotions are strung between a craving for independence and a yearning for all-consuming relationships. The ideal is a delicate balance.” 
I can’t say it better than this. I almost forgot I could want both at the same time. I want to become independent and strong so I can hold myself up and give my energy to others, but I also want to become fully involved with someone else and make them one of my daily priorities. I never really put thought into how both of these things could be achieved at the same time. Committing to someone else does not automatically negate my own independence. 
4:53 PM
Since I surprisingly took care of myself 3 times yesterday and once earlier today, I feel much more clear. I didn’t like to think that being pent up should matter so much to my thoughts and emotions but it really does. I gotta let this stuff out. Now I’m almost embarrassed for obsessing over it so much but damn how could I not of? It was BAD. 
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Note
Hi may I also have a a channeled message from my counterpart? It’s okay if not :)
Sure! Let’s see what comes up.
Hiya darlin’,
How’re ya doin’ (I get southern American accent vibes, cowboy). Not much going on around these parts, just wake up every day and go about my life, living, laughing, loving, all that stuff. Have a nice cold beer. It’s the simple things that bring the most joy. I love sitting outside, sometimes for hours, just in silence. Sometimes it’s fishing and sometimes I’m just under a big tree, admiring the view (there is some lake they like to go to, open with a big like weeping willow or oak, I’m seeing browning grass, wearing flannel and jeans and boots, chillier there). I’m a simple man with a plan, but I know there’s more. But where I’m from, they just don’t encourage independence and uniqueness. Conformity and congeniality are king. I don’t like to stir no drama so I sort of keep to myself, play nice, be polite like mama raised me. But I see so deeply how it holds people back. I hope you don’t feel held back in life. Sometimes I do. But I remind myself I chose this. But sometimes I wonder if I should take the risk. I’ve always wanted to go west, get some land, start a ranch, do the cowboy thing forreal. But it’s a helluva time commitment and money, but there’s this thing in me that yearns to roam. But I don’t wanna leave my mama. She’s aging and daddy’s not always so good to her. He yells and isn’t patient like he should be. I gotta protect her. But I also want to live my life. That’s why I get away from it all and sip a beer by the water and relax, I’m trapping myself and I know it. How’re you trapping yourself? Maybe the more you free yourself the more you can help me get the balls to pursue what’s been calling to me. Shoot maybe I bring mama too. She’ll never leave daddy. I need to go spread my wings (wide open spaces by The Chicks coming up) I gotta work through the guilt. It’s just my brother died and there’s only me now. It falls on me now. Sorry to unload, I just, I’m a man, I don’t really talk about this stuff, sometimes with my buddies but nothing deep like the conversations I see us having. Envisioning you and a future of freedom together, well that fantasy gets me through a lot of days when I need more than this small day to day to feel something. Nothing makes me feel like nature does. It’s peaceful. I hope you have a spot you like. If you ever came here, I’d show you my lake. I grew up around it, it’s treasured place for me. My own slice of heaven. I love you and you know it but well, life ya know. Who knows what the future holds (looks off to the distance and takes a sip of beer, closed back off and in thought again).
What goddess does your person see you as/encourages you to embody?
This card immediately came out and I’ve never had it come out before!
Sulis— body of water “spend time near water, such as a lake, river, or the ocean, to recharge your batteries”
Lol. Well if that’s not confirmation. And so cute! Go find a lake nonnie and talk to your person while you enjoy nature. They want to connect with you and lakes seem to be important for them. It may be easier to connect to them there. Maybe send them some strength and healing.
You can envision sending them power. Think of a rock and send the energy of the rock to them, you can even hold rocks in your hands while you do this.
Channeled Song:
Maybe listen to some country music when you wanna feel closer to them.
Would love to know if this resonates, and hope it helps! Mwah 😘
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traumatixx · 2 years
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lol at me seeing angel numbers everywhere on all my tumblr notifs & opening tumblr to a random notif and it immediately reminds me of my little angel girl always telling me every detail to the entire show even though we’ve been watching it together from the beginning but she always would research every single thing about the show way far into it like usually allll the way to the end of the show and of course she has to watch ahead sometimes aha & I’d still be early in the show not knowing what’s going to happen & then she tells me literally everything that happens and “spoils” the ending! But even with all of her give aways of our shows like 90 day fiancé before the 90 days or You or avatar, i still always enjoyed everything about watching them, if not i enjoyed it more with all of her juicy details & tidbits of extra knowledge sprinkled in and of course allll of her opinions about every character and every detail. like she always noticed details about *everything* in life that most are oblivious to. through her i was able to view life through fresh eyes.. Watching tv was never *just* watching tv with my sugar plum gal pal. It was so much more. It was gal pal gurly gossip time. It was snug bug time. It was snowflake kisses<3 it was let’s smoke a blunt and maybe a bowl it was let’s have a snack turned into im actually pretty hungry let’s cook dinner(: It was chitter chatter about about whatever was happening in the show turned into hours long in depth conversations going deeper than anything found on any silly tv show. everything with her was so much deeper than anything mundane. deeper let’s go deeper and deeper until we are lost souls floating through time of time is even real. let me pick ur brain while you get lost in my eyes & play with my hair. all of a sudden it’s the middle of the night it felt like it was only an hour ago that we lay down to put 90 day finance:p on yeah let’s draw a bath pretty gurl(: let’s light the candles and get the bubbles all bubbley for you. gotta make sure the water is hotter than hot basically sculding hot like I’m trying to boil u alive and then still not hot enough just a little bit hotter. after our bath let me dry you off and dress you in jammies. only for you to get into bed and strip down. ugh i miss u. i hope u like it in heaven. I hope u have a blanket made of stars, soft and fluffy like the milkyway. maybe even the northern lights as ur colorful night light(,: i don’t think u can switch the color of that night light with the flick of a lost remote tho hah i hope u feel all my love from way up there. I I love u every second of every day I love u in the those life long lasting moments between seconds those are times we spent falling in love we spent hot sticky summer nights falling in love under the stars in the back of Cinderella. and the golf course under the full moon. and the long walks around loops in my neighborhood. and of course in the woods. under the trees laying in tall thick grass. laying on blankets or yoga mats by the fire. fire flies dancing around doing a tango with the sparks from the fire. bugs and big spiders that would normally scare both of us enough to leave and never come back but none of that was enough to scatter us. we were stuck together. a parasite latched on to its host, in the most magnetic way. but instead it was both of us latched for life. u clung to me and i wrapped myself in and around you. we both needed each other in a way that nothing mattered if we didn’t have each other. & now i am stuck here on this silly revolving sphere and absolutely nothing has any meaning, not that feels fulfilling at least. my world is empty without u my dear. everything is black and white now. the world is grey. it’s so very dull without your luminous laughter radiating throughout. & your sparky sass and soft kisses. & your yearning to learn & live to the fullest in every moment. & your divine passion for life.
I hope u feel my love for u sweet angel girl. I love u with every breath I take, every beat of my tired tattered heart still beats for u. i miss u tremendously my dear angel girl. sleep tight princess<3 i know i feel your love in every breathtaking sunset, in all the extra bright like I’ve never seen before shooting stars that I’ve seen only since u’ve been gone, in the sweeping wind brushing through my hair just like when u would run ur long fingers through my blonde untamed hair…. i miss u more every day my dear angel girl. sleep tight pretty girl I love you<3
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captain-aurinko · 4 years
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Some thoughts from The Penumbra Podcast on regrets and asking for help too late.
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kallikrein · 2 years
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[ 10:01 ] — this is a fem!reader timestamp.
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The Black Dragons founding members were famous people throughout the region all right. 
But be that as it may, they were still foolish teens who occasionally go to school, joke around, and laugh at each other’s expenses at the end of the day.
They ride their bikes sometimes at the wee hours of the night, racing and pitting themselves against each other on the streets. How the first person to arrive at their favorite spot, which was the Kantou’s secluded riverside, would be the last one to play on their ridiculous made-up game, and how the slowest founder of the night would be the poor, very much bullied man that would confess his love worries out in the open.
And it utterly makes no sense how Shinichiro would always be the winner of their mini competition. When in fact, he has the most annoying troubles when it comes to romance. How Takeomi would be the next one, followed by their soft giant Benkei, and last but definitely not the slowest, the infamous White Leopard, Wakasa.
He didn’t talk at all the first time he lost, of course. Just opted for a glare to his so-called friends, and offered them a light-handed brawl instead of ranting about the yearnings of his rather cold heart.
And it just so happened that this time around, he finally overtook Shinichiro’s winning place. He parked his beloved bike half a mile away from his leader just because he could, and he would really like to gloat on his vexed face that he had to chill somewhere with how crappy slow he was compared to him.
Until there’s a sudden ringing in his pants’ pocket.
He grabbed his phone, carelessly opened the new message, but he didn’t expect it would come from the main source of his more than platonic concerns, freezing him up and warming his cheeks all at the same time.
Waka, I already washed your handkerchief! Thanks again (^_^)
He read your text over and over, letting himself be immersed with this tingly feeling that only you could bring about before castigating himself, knowing you must be awaiting for his nonsensical reply.
Now, his problem was exactly just that.
He didn’t know what to say.
To you.
On text.
At all.
And the sole reason why he agreed to this shit-eating contest that his friends had somehow come up with was to discover what he was supposed to say to a girl he likes.
“Can’t wait to hear you whining about love, Waka-chan!” He heard Shinichiro yell as he zoomed past his parked spot.
Damn it.
Now he’s just going to aim for second place. He’s sure that the others would also be nearing them, and he didn’t exactly want to end up at the last place again. He knew that these guys wouldn’t put up with his evasiveness about this certain topic.
Not again. Not tonight. Not ever.
Yet there was a following text, and Wakasa was ultimately done.
Wakaaa~ (^o^)/
He sent a quick ‘what’, berating himself again for such boorishness of a response. And he ought to type, say he was currently busy and would come back to you later on. Maybe even beg for your forgiveness for his uncouth attitude until the sounds of roaring engines sped past him.
Two motorbike engines just sped past him.
He hurried to rev up his own bike, almost throwing his phone away before he realized he had nothing else to contact you with. It frustrated him so much how he’s suddenly in last place. And while he tried to catch up to his laughing gang mates, his mind rapidly browsed through lame and strained as hell excuses as a feeble attempt to hide his adoration of you in case he lost this time again.
“Stupid girl. Stupid boy. Stupid love,” was all he could mutter.
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not proofread. i just find the idea really cute. gotta love these boys. hehe. and i dedicate this to @mochi-coffee for being such a wakasa brainrot enabler hahahahaha <3
taglist. @baji-san, @gwynsapphire, @eriskaitto and @manjiroarchiviste.
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