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deadghosy · 2 months

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WHERE PENGUIN! READER WILL LIVE IN:

Pt5 of Penguin! Reader x Hazbin Hotel

Prompt: The aftermath of the court is where you decided where to live

Note: this will be the final part of the series lol. Sorry if the sections are short, I tried to make it long with the bullet points just being some. 💗

“The court has spoken. The rightful place the reader belongs in, is……” sera say opening her mouth to announce the news.

HELL

Lucifer is fucking happy that sera said that would go with them. Charlie has tears dropping out her eyes as she finally is relived to have you by her side and kingdom. Adam was pissed as he thrown papers on the ground. Lute is screaming mentally as her heart breaks.

Back in hell, every one does a celebration party. You get a bandanna with your name, the scarf wrapped around your neck has the name of Y/N Morningstaryou are officially in the family. Welcome to hell.

Literally you get all the food you love in a week of celebrating before they monitor what you eat 💗

Charlie is such an older sister vibe as she shows you the ropes of being royalty as she gives you an allowance. Which you totally didn’t spend in cookies and cakes. But matter of most is that she even shows you how to run the hotel while you just quack at things from afar. Overall her protective rate is 5/10.

Lucifer may be happy and relived that you can be in hell with him. But he is still worried about your safety in hell as he watches you closely and even has razzle and dazzle to look after you. It’s cute and all for you. But for others, they can tell this man baby’s you so much to the point he even gets you to bed like one. Overall his protective level is 100/10

Vaggie loves teaching you how to use her spear in case the exterminators try to kidnap you. She is always the one who watches you on the playground to make sure you are okay. Her protective rate is 9/10

Husk is the damn grumpy drunk uncle who only has a soft spot for you as you aren’t annoying and is pure. Literally you aren’t a bad kid as you just help clean glasses. PST, he actually bought plastic looking glasses so you won’t cut yourself on accident. Plus he appreciates that you want to help him. It’s just you are so small and he is bigger than you. Overall his protective level is 7.5/10

Angel is like that older brother who knows how to hide bruises. And of course we know why…but like past that imagine you bruised your whole ass knee and you didn’t want anyone to worry for you so you went to angel. He chuckled and took care of it. You are such a cutie that he kisses your head and sends you off. Overall his protective level is 7/10

Alastor loves teaching you about his radio station. He even takes you as a co-host and a regular guest as he makes you quack out a song. 💗 some awesome uncle and nephew/niece moments as he also makes you tea if you can’t sleep. His protective rate is 8.5/10

And the rest of hell, they love you equally as somewhat you bring hope in hell to have them redeemed as they visit the hotel to see you and meet you. Hell, the other deadly sins met you and were in awe at how cute you were. Beelzebub was immediately starstruck as she feeds you some of the best food in hell.

So in the end, you love being in the royal family of the Morningstars. It’s peaceful in the hotel with you around as Angel can now get a lot of days off💗

HEAVEN

Adam is immediately flipping off the two demon royals as he lifts you up in his arms. “SUCK IT BITCHES AHAH!” Adam yells pulling you close to his pudgy body as lute is flipping them off from behind the first man as the two demon royals are sent back in hell.

After exiting court, you are met with getting ice cream with the two angels who were fighting with the demon royals verbally. Adam got you [favorite flavor] ice cream as lute just smiles smugly happy to have you here with them.

Adam has gotten use to you not leaving him like how his other ex-wives did. He won’t admit he feels insecure about you leaving him. But with you now being property of heaven and you living with him personally. He feels like he might actually have a loved one with him. It’s not like romantic since you take form of a gah damn actually penguin. It’s more of a platonically close friendship. He finds you alluring at how sweet you are to others. Even if Adam isn’t. Overall his protective meter is 9.5/10

Lute is still the same ol lute everyone knows. It’s just that she watches you from afar. Keeps tabs on you and where you go. Its like if she’s your personal bodyguard. She always love bombs you in a manipulative way. She just wants you to depend on her. I mean hell, she’s literally crazy at how pure of gold you are in heaven. Her protectiveness level is…200/10😨

Sera is a busy woman, but she keeps tabs on you too. Even sending a angelic guard to make sue you are mentally okay and not unstable of taking you away of your so called “home” down there. But she cares for you endlessly in a mother figure way. her protective meter is 5.5/10

Emily is happy regardless if you went it heaven or hell. This girl literally take you shopping with her as she get you a cute sailor like outfit for your delivery job. She even makes you your own damn basket to give cookies to your regulars with their mail. Overall, this sweet girl’s protective meter 4/10

St. Peter sends you cookies on weekends as it’s the days that you aren’t working as the adorable penguin delivery boy. 💗 St. Peter checks up on you as well as you are just staying home and he comes by just to see if you are liking to live in heaven for years now.

You live with Adam as he and you have some kind of relationship were he wants to look after you. Literally it’s oddly sweet this man has a change of heart kind of. He literally will try to cook only for you to burn out the fire in the kitchen. He’s ordering gah damn take out.

See, me personally you’re still getting stalked a bit from yandere! Lute as she smile smugly seeing you in heaven everyday and replaying the son of bitches face when you got to stay in heaven with them.

The amount of times angels in heaven have gifted you lots of grift baskets for the custody of heaven. It’s crazy as it’s whole bunch of fans just celebrating you staying 💗 it’s sweet but crazy.

Overall you still got your job as a paper delivery person and you get watched 24/7 every day. From afar….😨 but all you know is that you are safe in heaven still missing the people below them.

BOTH

Heaven and hell is shocked, what I mean by that is Lucifer and Adam being shocked. Adam is immediately yelling out profanities at how this is “complete bullshit”. Emily and Charlie did a mutual nod to each other not hating or liking this idea as it seems clear and fair to share you 50/50 like divorce parents.

After court, it was time to hang out with hell only to go heaven for the next day. 😭 honestly, you could stay in hell for a week and go to heaven for another whole week☝🏾😕

Adam gets so salty seeing Lucifer pick you up and take you through the portal to hell. Lute just scowls walking away. Meanwhile Lucifer is still salty as well to share you, he has to be mature as Charlie was just excited to have you the whole week.

HONESTLY IF ITS VALENTINE’S DAY, YOU GET SO MUCH CHOCOLATE AND TEDDY BEARS FROM HEAVEN AND HELL. OMG IMAGINE YOUR BIRTHDAY 😱😨LEGIT A WHOLE CARTOON ASS BIRTHDAY-

You still sleep in Lucifer’s bed when you stay in hell, but there is still a spare room for you. And for heaven you sleep directly in the same room as Adam as he snores holding your chubby and round fluffy body.

Thanks to @gineazu for the idea of this schedule of them sharing reader.

Hell has reader on mondays Wednesday's Friday's and sundays. As heaven has them on tuesdays thursdays and Saturdays like a true ass divorce. But just like I said you could also spend a whole week in hell and another whole week in heaven. And it could repeat.

LMAO JUST IMAGINE THE AWKWARDNESS WITH ADAM HAVING SUNGLASSES WAITING FOR YOU AS LUCIFER IS TEACHING YOU HOW TO CALL HIM IN CASE ADAM TRIES TO “abuse” you 😭😭

You’re literally eating nuggets in the hotel’s lobby until a busted down wall happens as a golden light shines. “Kid, pack ya shit. The shit lord didn’t bring you to me on time.” Says Adam with sunglasses and chewing bubble gum. Lucifer came from the kitchen having lemonade for you only to drop it seeing Adam. “What are YOU doing here!” He exclaims seeing the first man. Adam smirks, “I’m here to collect the bird brain. Duh?” “It’s literally only been 2 days?!” Lucifer retorts.

Yeahh…at first Adam had a problem being clingy towards you and wanting to stay in the blue skies with him.

Honestly it’s funny how Lucifer is the mom who wants to scam the father to make it seem he is abusive as Adam is just a guy trying to be the fun dad. It’s literally tug of war for your affection for crying out loud- 😭

“HAVE YOU SEEN SMILEY?” Is basically the song to describe your relationship between the two places of heaven and hell. It’s so painfully tooth aching and wholesome.

It’s nice spending time with your people in hell and heaven. Like literally it’s cool how you still got your delivery job in hell and heaven at most. Overall you are just happy seeing both of your so proclaimed friends and family. ‼️💗❤️🦆

A/N: I did this because I couldn’t choose lol 💗 hope you guys like this as everyone gets their own happy ending

taglist: @zamadness @ilovelyneysm07 @listenerchan @equkki @ambersison-allejo @froggybich @hah-simp-acc-2 @aria-tempest @chefysawesomeideas @angela075905 @loyx2 @libraryraccoon @indom-eclipse @simpcreator @caffieneaddictt18

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codename-adler · 3 months

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i’m so scared shitless the way aftg fandom is reacting towards nora sakavic and TSC leads to her just… abandoning the project and not publishing anything ever again. why so much vehement hate and rage? why are you still here if you cannot tolerate her or her writing?

mistakes were made in canon aftg. not everything is perfect, not everything is greatly represented. so? it’s been ten years. was the author intentionally insensitive? intentionally hurtful? no. and that’s what matters. she’s been gone for god knows how long, because social media has been bad, and she’s right. good for her.

but some of you are already burning her at the stake before anything has come out. some of you have been spitting on her and her work for years. can’t a person grow up? can’t a person change? can’t an author change and do better?

nora sakavic is out there on twitter x defending palestine. i think that’s much more impactful and meaningful than some much more influential celebrities. and i think it’s very telling on her as a person.

i believe in her. i admire her, and respect her, and appreciate her. the same goes for her work. i wouldn’t be here without her and aftg, and i can never deny that, turn my back on that, forget that, and why would i even want to?

it’s not bad authorship. it’s not bad writing. it’s not bad media. it’s a story about fucked up people for fucked up people. nothing about that is going to be smooth or polished nor palatable to and approved by all. it shouldn’t be.

listen, i’ve got my own disagreements with some things in canon and EC. and? they’re just that. personal disagreement. i’ve got no right to tell an author that her writing and ideas are shit when they have consumed me every waking day, have boosted my creativity, my writing, helped me make long-lasting friends.

nora sakavic isn’t a poor fragile thing by any means, but she has spoken about social media not being good for her mental health. she has told us. we know. we know she sees our stuff. we know our stuff affects her. it’s not hard to get.

i’m not telling anyone to let go of their opinions and negative emotions. i’m saying that respect must prevail. that’s all.

#if nora sakavic has one defender left it is i #if nora sakavic has none left i am gone to sleep with da fishes #nora sakavic protection squad yes?#aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg tsc #the sunshine court

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melobin · 1 month

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behind the screen 𐙚 sungchan smau #15

✧ camgirl reader x roommate sungchan

✧ synopsis. in which sungchan discovers his favorite also happens to be his roommate

✧ wc. 1k

✧ chapter warnings. smut, female and male masturbation, live streaming, pillow humping.

✧ a/n. hi, sorry for abandoning you for a little while my mental health has been deteriorating rather bad these past two weeks and i’m slowly crashing but i’m getting by and im alive that’s what matters !! thank you for everyone who was patient with me and i hope you’re not disappointed in this chapter. i love you all 🩷

behind the screen masterlist

✧

“be patient, i’ll tell you the announcement at the end of the stream” sungchan sighed as he leaned back in his desk chair, running his hand through his hair as he looked at merci.

something felt different to him, knowing he’d spoken to her and seen intimate pictures of her privately left him unspeakably horny. he couldn’t help but feel like the stream was for him and him only, it left sungchan weak thinking of merci touching herself whilst thinking about him.

she sat prettily in front of the camera, even though her camera was always angled before her neck, she always seemed to have something covering her face just incase it slipped into view. even without knowing what she looked like though, she still sat prettily for him.

her fingers slowly pushed over the thin material of her panties, legs spread wide in front of the stream. sungchan gripped his cock through his briefs, already having stripped the rest of his clothes before her stream had even started. maybe it was pathetic how ready he was for her, he blamed it on need. need for her.

“mmm i don’t feel like getting off with my hands today” sungchan squeezed his cock through the material again, he was solely focused on merci as she laid a thick pillow next to her on her bed, her fingers glided over the fabric before she straddled it. sungchan sucked in a breath as he watched her thighs close around the pillow and her body fall forward slightly. her tits fell perfectly into the view of the camera, the valley between them showcasing her gentle skin, bra being the only thing keeping her from being fully exposed.

sungchan couldn’t help himself from pushing his briefs down enough to release his cock, hand immediately wrapping around the base as he squeezed it at the sight of her. he watched carefully as she ground down against the pillow, she let out a deep breath as she felt the first bit of pressure against her clit. sungchans hand slid over his cock once, he squeezed the tip in his hand before dragging it back down. he found himself groaning quietly, everything felt more intense for sungchan as he watched her. somehow wanting her even more than he did before.

sungchan’s hand matched the rhythm of her grinding down against the pillow, his eyes never left her body as she straightened up and hooked her hand over her bra, pulling it down to release her tits from its hold. he groaned at the sight of her, he was sure he felt his cock harden within his grip due to it. he wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, wanted to whisper in her ear and tell her how bad he wanted her. sungchan swore if he had her with him she’d never feel unwanted.

on the other side of the wall, you were a mess. your head fell back as you ground harder against the pillow, lips parting to let out a few loose moans as your eyes closed. you couldn’t stop yourself from letting your mind wander to chan, wondering if he was watching your stream with his pretty hand wrapped around his thick cock. you wondered if what you were doing was getting to him, if he wished he was under you instead.

your hand reached up to grab your breast, squeezing it as you moved a little quicker against the pillow, your clit aching as the pressure began to build more intensely. you closed your eyes as your ears fell blind to the world around you, faintly being able to hear the sound of donations pouring in as you let your pleasure overtake you.

sungchan had a feeling merci was in her own little world as she fucked herself against the pillow, her moans were just as desperate as her hip movements were. she was chasing her high in a way that seemed like it would be taken from her within seconds. sungchan loved it. the sheer desperation in her movements, the way her sheets crumbled up under her and how she fell forward and let her tits bounce with each drag of her hips. he wanted her bad and he felt it as his cock twitched in his grip. whether he wanted to be or not, he was close.

sungchan squeezed the base of his cock as he groaned, a little louder than he meant to, but he didn’t care in the moment, too focused on the way his high was climbing up his body. in the end sungchan closed his eyes, letting merci’s moans echo through his ears as they came from his headphones, he let himself cum over his abs as he continued fisting his cock.

she sounded so pretty, filling his ears with a harmony of her sweet whines and her mattress creaking softly. he was almost overwhelmed when he opened her eyes to see her moving quicker. her breathing was unsteady, her whines were broken. she was close. sungchan was admittedly glad he’d came before her, it gave him the ability to sit back and watch as she drove herself over the edge.

sungchan ignored the chat, not wanting to see what was being said to her by the other men that was watching, he was selfish and he wanted her to himself but he knew, at least for the meantime, that wasn’t possible.

as you calmed yourself down you moved off of the pillow, sitting on your knees as you let yourself breathe. you sat silently for a few moments before smiling, being sure the smile was heard in your voice as you spoke.

“so, tonight i am announcing a draw that i’ll be hosting on my twitter for a lucky fan to be brought out to spend a night with me” you watched as the chat freaked out a little, excitment was in the air “all you have to do is follow me on twitter and like the tweet i post about it and a winner will be picked within a month” with that you closed off the stream and picked up your phone.

fill out this form to be apart of the behind the screen masterlist.

tag list. @midmourn @svnghan @strayghibli @minnieslover @shortnstupid @palchokitty @ilovechanhee @hikict @wccycc @revehosh @teddywook @hoonieq @glaieuls @kvstjwonnie @starrypen @thinkabt-vivi @kyusqult @nanascupid @professsionalsimp @beomgri @xenkimmie @dinosluver @jaehmarks @hellonikitty @wolfiecaro @luvyujun @rosesfortaro @zhangyixingxing1 @hrts4tyun @forrds @mamathefifth @wonbinkisser @alwayswook @boogyu @haohoonz @wheatrice @cvpidxo @soobsfairy444 @nadrs @wonbinfiles @tsumusakusa @chichiuu @bbgmingyu @outrologist @lilriswife4life @https-yeonjun @emoseob @riizenextdoor @h3lluh @shiannprincess101 @lavscene @iselltulips @w0nslvr @vernonburger @boopdidoo @planethyuka @joshuawifey @dearmyouth @bludzk1llzyuzu @blvm1ng @reenfluffmarshmallow @jnkthy @luh @au-ghosttype @kaykay11sworld

#✧ melody posts #✧ behind the screen #sungchan smau #sungchan smut #riize smau #riize smut #riize sungchan smut #riize sungchan smau

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magicfootballstuff · 6 months

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Dirty Little Secret - part 5 (leila ouahabi x reader)

Summary: A love story about secrets, flirty messages, football rivalries, and useless lesbians who don’t know how to communicate. And it all starts with one badly timed challenge in the Champions League.

Leila Ouahabi x Arsenal!reader

Part 5/?

Read other parts here.

———

You’ve hardly spoken to Leila since the news broke that she’ll be playing for Manchester City next season, and not at all since the tournament began. You’re completely focused on your goal of winning the Euros, as Leila probably is too, and you immerse yourself in the bubble of the Lionesses camp while trying to block out outside noise. That includes talking to Leila.

You watch her games though. In between your own matches and the intense training schedule, there’s plenty of downtime and you manage to catch quite a few of the other games on the large screen in the Lionesses’ television room, including the Spanish team’s group games. You act like you’re watching them out of professional curiosity, knowing the likelihood of having to face Spain in the knockout rounds, but you’re as focused on Leila as an individual as you are on the Spanish team as a whole.

Sure enough, after a successful unbeaten group stage, England have to play against Spain in their quarter final match and it might be the hardest game you’ve ever played so far in your career.

It’s not just the physical aspect - one hundred and twenty minutes on a muggy summer evening against a team that has the majority of the possession - but also the mental side. When Spain go ahead, it’s the first goal that England have conceded all tournament, the first time you’ve found yourselves in a losing position, and it takes resilience like you’ve never seen before to pull yourself back not just level, but into the lead.

You almost forget that you’re playing against Leila’s team. She’s on the bench, which you feel conflicted about, having been looking forward to facing her on the pitch again, but at least it removes that possible distraction.

The final whistle blows and thanks to Georgia’s extra time worldie, England are through to the semi-finals.

You walk around the pitch, grinning and hugging your own teammates in celebration, while shaking the hands of the heartbroken Spanish players. Some of them, you know from the Copa de la Reina afterparty, where you were Leila’s guest, and it’s hard to look them in the eye knowing that you’ve just crushed their dreams of progressing further in this tournament.

You walk past Ona Batlle, who you’ve played against many times in the league, and who is being comforted by Rachel. Then Mapi Leon, who you know is one of Leila’s closest friends, lets you pull her in for a brief one-armed hug, but all the time you’re looking for one person.

You spot Leila from across the pitch, still wearing her purple substitute bib, and she must see you too because you end up slowly meandering towards each other as you do the rounds on the pitch.

Leila isn’t quite crying, not like some of her teammates who left everything out on the pitch in one hundred and twenty minutes of gruelling football, but the look in her eyes is one of heartbreak.

You don’t know what to say.

In the end, words aren’t needed. You’re not sure who initiates it, but you end up in each other’s arms. Leila is slightly taller than you and her arms wrap around your shoulders, one hand cradling the back of your head as you lean into her and wrap your own arms around her back. The warmth of her body against yours is comforting and you almost drown out the sound of the jubilant crowd singing Sweet Caroline because suddenly the only thing that matters is Leila.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into Leila’s shoulder.

“Don’t say sorry,” Leila replies. “You’ll make me cry.”

You want to apologise for that too, but you obey Leila and stay quiet instead, still full of adrenaline from the game and knowing that seeing Leila cry will probably set you off too.

You wish you could freeze this moment, to exist just the two of you in each other’s arms, as you did for those short days in Barcelona a few weeks ago. Leila’s body fits against your own in a way that you’ve never fully appreciated before, but you feel like this is where you belong. She’s just a little bit taller than you, her hand cradling the back of your head, and though it should probably be you comforting her now that you’ve knocked her team out of the tournament, the embrace is as much of a comfort to you.

Though you’d like to remain in Leila’s arms forever, you eventually break apart, but with promises that you’ll talk properly as soon as all the formalities are done and you can get a moment of privacy.

You have to wait until after the huddles, when some of the girls are still doing media duties and you’re back in your tracksuit after a shower, but you get a message from Leila on your phone.

Leila Can I see you? Is there somewhere we can go?

Knowing that your time is limited before both teams have to leave the stadium, you reply straight away.

You Meet me outside the changing rooms?

You pull a hoodie over your head and slip your socked feet into your sliders, then leave the England changing room. Leila emerges from the Spanish dressing room within seconds, and you silently lead her in the opposite direction from the media zone, until you find a deserted hallway deep within the underbelly of the stadium. There, you end up on the floor, side by side with your backs against the wall, thighs pressed together and your fingers intertwined with Leila’s in her lap.

You’re reminded of the only other time you and Leila snuck away after a game - after the second Champions League game at the Emirates. Back then, your actions were fuelled by lust and secrecy. Today, you just want Leila’s company for as long as you’re allowed to have it, and you don’t care about getting caught.

“Are you mad?” you ask Leila, as you trace your thumb over the small tattoo on the back of her hand. “That we knocked you out?”

“Some of the girls are angry,” Leila says with a shrug. “Like Aitana - I think her head might explode. But I’m not mad. Just sad. We wanted to win. We really wanted to win for Alexia.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, leaning into Leila’s side and letting your head fall against Leila’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells you, her fingers still absently toying with yours.

“It kind of is,” you point out.

“No,” Leila insists, shaking her head firmly. “We have such good players but you need something extra to win a tournament. It feels like there’s always something missing with us. I can’t describe what it is, but I know your team has it.”

You think you know what Leila means. You’ve played in many different teams over the years - youth teams, professional clubs, national sides - and with that you’ve experienced the full range of success levels. The teams you’ve been a part of that have won titles have all had that special something that Leila refers to, a connection between teammates, the two-way trust between the coach and the players, the special spark that allows you all to push through, even when it’s tough.

You think that the Lionesses have probably demonstrated that tonight. You’ve played in so many teams that would have crumbled as soon as they went one goal down against one of the best sides in Europe, yet you came from behind to earn your place in the semi final. That’s the mark of a team that has something special.

Spain, for whatever reason, doesn’t have that, despite the obvious talent in their squad. You wonder if Leila is more mad at that than she is at you for knocking them out of the tournament.

“You’re gonna win this whole competition, you know that, right?” Leila tells you.

If there’s one thing that Sarina has brought to this England team it’s belief, but while you know this team is more than capable of winning the Euros, you’re still not sure whether it will actually happen.

“You think so?” you ask Leila.

She nods and says, “I hate it. My heart says anybody but England. But I also want it for you. You deserve it.”

“I know it’s the whole point of sport, that only one team can win, and don’t get me wrong, I love winning. But sometimes I hate it when my dreams have to come at the expense of my friends’ dreams.”

“Is that what we are?” Leila asks, and when you lift your head from her shoulder to look at her, she’s smirking back at you. “Friends?”

She gives your hand a performative squeeze, as if to emphasise the beyond-friendliness of your relationship.

You open your mouth to say something witty in response, then close it again. Because the thing is, you and Leila haven’t actually defined what you are. Football rivals with benefits is probably the most appropriate term, because to be honest, you’re not entirely sure if you know Leila well enough to call yourselves friends yet.

But with Leila looking at you with curiosity in her eyes, eyebrows half raised as if she’s expecting you to confirm the exact nature of your relationship, you don’t know what to say. You could joke, but that would just be deflecting. You could be honest, and tell her that you don’t know what you want but that you like the way that things have been going. Or you could field the adrenaline still coursing through your body from the match into telling Leila that you’d like to maybe explore making things a little more serious when she moves to England soon.

What if she doesn’t want things to be more serious? What if she’s more than happy with just an occasional hookup? More to the point, are you sure that you want anything more than what’s currently going on between you?

The door at the end of the hallway crashes open before you can even begin to vocalise any of the confusion in your mind, and your head jerks up to see that it’s Mapi who is interrupting you, stopping in her tracks when she sees the two of you sitting together on the floor in the middle of the corridor.

“Shit, my bad,” Mapi says in English, before she switches to Spanish and addresses Leila.

You let your fingers slip out from between Leila’s as they converse and use your hand to play with your hair instead, running your fingertips through the damp strands, until eventually Leila turns back to you and says, “Sorry, I have to go. We’re leaving soon.”

Leila pushes herself to her feet, then offers out a hand to help you to yours. You keep your hand in hers as you follow Mapi down the hallway, only letting it drop when you pass into a more public area where there might be some media. The last thing you need is for pictures of the two of you holding hands to appear on social media before you even get the chance to figure out how to label what Leila is to you.

There are a few more people around, and one of those is your captain Leah, whose frowning face relaxes when she sees you.

“Oh, there you are,” Leah says to you. “I’ve been looking for you. Nobody knew where you were. The bus is leaving soon.”

Leah’s eyes flick curiously between you and the two Spanish players, but if she suspects anything, she doesn’t comment on it.

Mapi leaves you, entering the Spanish dressing room, but Leila stays and you know it’s time to say goodbye. At least this time, with Leila’s move to Manchester imminent, you hope there will be chances to see her again sooner than usual once your own tournament is over.

You migrate towards each other and wrap your arms around Leila as she pulls you against her chest, burying your face against her shoulder. She smells divine, and you try to commit it to memory as you inhale.

“Good luck,” Leila murmurs into your hair, her voice soft enough that only you can hear her. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

“For me or for England?” you can’t help but tease her.

“You,” Leila says, speaking at a normal level again as she pulls out of the embrace. “Fuck England.”

There’s an amused glint in her eyes as she says this, but it quickly vanishes when she realises she’s still standing within earshot of the England captain, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning as Leila raises an apologetic hand in Leah’s direction.

“Sorry,” she says.

“No need to apologise,” Leah replies diplomatically. “In your position, I’d probably feel that way about us too.”

You think about going in for a goodbye kiss with Leila, but Leah’s presence causes you to hesitate, and before you can make a decision Leila has already said her final goodbye and followed Mapi into the Spanish changing room.

“You alright?” Leah asks, now that it’s just the two of you.

You and Leah know each other incredibly well, playing alongside each other for over a decade, first in the same England youth age groups, then at club level with Arsenal. And while you can tell Leah is curious about the interaction she saw between you and Leila, and that her question isn’t so much asking about your well-being as it is inviting you to open up to her, you also know that she’s not going to push you to tell her anything that you’re not ready to share.

“All good,” you respond.

Leah drapes an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side as you re-enter the now almost empty England changing room.

“You bossed it tonight,” she tells you. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“You too, captain.”

She smiles at you - the whole England captain thing still hasn’t fully sunk in yet, for either of you, and while you can’t quite believe that the skinny girl with the white blonde hair and the gangly legs who you first met over ten years ago is now leading her country to a European Championship semi final, you know that this is something Leah has always been destined for.

You don’t want to get ahead of yourself but you’re still on such a high from the game that you dare to wonder if Leah is the person who will finally lead England to a major trophy.

“Two games left,” Leah tells you, and you know that she’s reminding herself as much as you. “Two games left to change our lives.”

———

“You’ve got a new girlfriend, I see,” Georgia grins at you as you sit down for breakfast the morning after the Spain game.

“What?” you ask, nearly choking on your granola.

“That’s what Twitter thinks, anyway.”

“Show me.”

Georgia flips her phone around and shows you a tweet that reads “new woso couple alert?” accompanied by a couple of pictures of you and Leila embracing on the pitch after the game. You can feel your cheeks start to heat up and you hope they don’t visibly redden, especially as you feel Leah’s eyes on you, the only person around the table who might be able to guess how close to the truth this fan ‘rumour’ actually is.

“Oh, because I consoled a player after a game now I’m dating her?”

You scroll through some of the comments. There’s nothing too outrageous there - some about the length of the hug, some speculating how or even if you and Leila actually know each other, mixed in with a couple of theories that it’s purely professional and that Manchester City will soon be announcing your return to the club where you spent your formative years thanks to “agent Leila”. It’s not new either. You’re no stranger to being shipped with other footballers, it sort of comes with the territory of being semi-famous in a fanbase of mostly queer women, but never has a rumour about your dating life been so close to the truth.

Suddenly, you’re wondering if you were wrong to hug Leila in public after the game. At the time you followed your instinct, wanting to comfort somebody who means a lot to you. But if you’d waited until you were alone to do that, you wouldn’t have strangers on the internet speculating about the nature of a relationship that you can’t even define yourself yet. Leila was hurting, but was being there for her in that moment really worth potentially outing this to everybody before it even has a label?

Stewing over a decision that you made in the heat of the moment and didn’t think twice about, you return Georgia’s phone.

“It’s just the fans though,” Georgia says with a shrug. “They come up with all sorts of crazy theories sometimes.”

“Yeah, there’s some fans that think I’m dating Ella,” Alessia interjects with a laugh.

“Wait, are you not?” Leah asks, managing to keep her expression deadpan for a few seconds, before it cracks open into a grin.

“Alessia wishes she was dating me,” Ella says.

“I do actually,” Alessia replies, reaching out for one of Ella’s hands as she adds, “El, I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you how I really feel…”

“Shut up!” Ella snatches her hand away and rolls her eyes as the rest of the group descends into a fit of laughter.

With the group’s attention now elsewhere, any opportunity you might have had to finally admit to your friends what’s going on between you and Leila has passed.

There’ll be other times. When the tournament is over, maybe then you’ll tell them. But with a semi final coming up and the possibility of a final too, you can’t deal with any distractions, whether those come from outside opinions on social media or your friends teasing you about the developments in your personal life.

You feel Leah’s eyes on you and you suspect she knows the truth, but you’re grateful for her silence.

———

England makes it past Sweden with relative ease and you can hardly believe that you’ve made it this far. The final at Wembley is all that stands between you and your wildest dream, but it also means you have to face up to the dilemma that’s been on your mind since you knocked Spain out in the quarter finals.

Should you invite Leila to watch the final as your guest?

You haven’t actually talked to Leila since the quarter final. You know that she’s probably been busy getting ready to move to England, meanwhile you’ve been caught in the bubble of the Lionesses camp.

But once the excitement of winning the semi final has passed and you’re back to focusing on training for the final, you realise that you want Leila there to support you. Just as you went to see her play in the Champions League and Copa de la Reina finals, you want her in the crowd as you compete for the European Championship trophy.

But you don’t know if she wants to come, especially after it was your team who knocked hers out of the same competition.

Plus, though Twitter moved on from the hypothetical of you and Leila after a matter of hours when something else became more interesting, you’re sure that a sighting of Leila in the crowd at Wembley, in the England friends and family section no less, will be sure to bring those rumours right back to the attention of the fans.

After a day of deliberating, you eventually decide that it’s a risk you’re happy to take, if it means Leila might be in the crowd to watch you play the most important game of your entire career.

You text her on your way to lunch after a conditioning session in the gym two days before the big final.

You Do you want to come to the final? I can get you a ticket…

And then, you add a second message as an afterthought.

You Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear an England shirt 😉

Leila doesn’t reply immediately

Leila Sorry I move to Manchester this week 😔 but good luck!

You’re disappointed, but you knew this was a likely outcome. Besides, it’s probably for the best. If Leila had accepted the offer, not only would you have had to explain everything to your teammates, but you’d probably have ended up introducing Leila to your entire family too, which sounds like way too much for somebody who isn’t even officially your girlfriend.

You No problem! Good luck with the move!

———

Leila was right - this England team does have something special.

It hits you, strangely enough, not when the final whistle blows nor when Leah lifts the trophy and a shower of confetti rains down over you, but when you crash Sarina’s post-final press conference with the rest of the team. It’s so ridiculous, your socked feet slipping against the floor, Mary shimmying her hips as she dances on the tables, two dozen journalists watching on in amused disbelief, but there’s no group of people you’d rather have done the last month and a half with. And the medal around your neck, hanging heavy with the sheer importance of what you’ve just achieved, is a permanent reminder of the best summer of your life.

You return to the dressing room, where an England-branded bucket hat somehow finds its way onto your head, and sit down in your cubby to check your phone. Messages have been flying in since full time - friends, family, even distant acquaintances you haven’t seen in over a decade, all wanting to congratulate you on the win. But there’s only one person you’ve been waiting to hear from, and you feel giddy when you see her name in the list of notifications.

Leila Congrats campeonaaaa! I told you that you were gonna win 😋

She’s accompanied the message with a picture, a selfie in which she’s wearing the England shirt emblazoned with your number that you traded for hers during the Arnold Clark Cup.

You take a selfie to send back, keeping the ridiculous hat on your head and lifting up your medal to catch it between your teeth. You grin as you snap the photo and send it to Leila.

Almost as soon as you send it, your phone starts ringing with an incoming FaceTime. You’ve ignored a few calls since you won, overwhelmed by the number of people trying to congratulate you already, but when you see Leila’s name, you accept immediately.

“Hey,” you say, when Leila’s face appears on the screen of your phone.

“Nice hat,” she greets you, stifling a laugh.

You raise your eyebrows, then say, “Sexy, huh?”

Leila gives you an incredulous look, before she says, “Show me your medal then.”

The dressing room is already noisy, but somebody turns the speaker up and it’s almost impossible to hear Leila, so you make your way out of the central changing area and towards the showers, where it’s slightly quieter, before lifting the medal so that it’s in the frame of your front-facing camera.

“Does it suit me?” you ask, shooting her a teasing smile.

“I like it,” Leila tells you. “Winning is very sexy.”

You open your mouth to flirt back, but you’re interrupted by a shout from a few metres away. When you glance up, Leah has emerged from round the corner, a half empty bottle of champagne clutched in one of her hands.

“Oi!” she cries out. “Come and dance with us.”

“Two minutes,” you say to Leah.

Leah’s eyes flit between your face and the phone in your hand, and realisation washes over her face, perhaps remembering the interactions she saw between you and Leila after you played against each other last week.

“Oh!” she says, eyes wide. “Take your time!”

“I’ll be there in a second,” you promise Leah, before turning back to your phone.

“Go and celebrate,” Leila urges you.

“I wish I was celebrating with you,” you admit.

“Sorry,” Leila says with a grimace.

“No!” you interject. “I’m not blaming you for not being here! How did the move go?”

“It was good,” Leila shrugs. “The apartment is nice but I need to go to IKEA to get some furniture.”

“Maybe I can come and visit when you’ve settled in?” you suggest optimistically.

“Okay, but you lose the hat,” Leila tells you, and it’s more of an order than a suggestion.

A thought pops into your brain, probably fuelled the bottle of beer you just downed on top of a shit ton of adrenaline from the match, and you cheekily ask, “What if I’m wearing just the hat?”

“No,” Leila warns you firmly, though she rolls her eyes playfully.

“Fine,” you concede.

“Go,” Leila tells you. “I don’t want to stop you celebrating.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to draw out the goodbye as long as you can. “But I’ll see you soon, right?”

“See you soon, champion.”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #leila ouahabi imagine #leila ouahabi x reader #dirty little secret

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jessicqvswrld · 5 months

Text

Unsaid words ll

Pairing: Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya reader

Warnings: angst, childhood friends, miscommunication trope, friends to lovers, one sided pining, she fell first he fell harder, depressed neteyam, heated kissing, fluff, (uses of y/n)

Synopsis: After Neteyam’s confession doesn’t go as planned, it is clear you need space to think, before you make your decision.

A/n: sorry for the wait.. I got writers block and school stuff got in the way so yeah.. also didn’t know how I was gonna do this part but I think I got it down now..

It had been weeks since you had spoken to neteyam that day in the forest.

It was eating away at you, his confession was too much for you to handle.

You didn’t even know how you would gather the courage to talk to him, you loved him, yes.

But this was such bad timing.

Even when you had left with loak and kiri to fly they had noticed your change of mood, one that wasn’t displayed on your face earlier that day.

“What’s wrong y/n?” Kiri exclaims her concern and it’s written all over her face how worried she was.

“Nothing..I’m okay.” you try to say calmly as to not show any suspicion, as they both looked at each other with a look, you tried to act normal after that but it was hard not to show any emotion about the fact that their brother was the cause of your mood.

Two weeks passed of avoiding him everywhere you went, you would avoid certain parts of kelutral so even you wouldn’t visit the sully’s hut anymore to specifically avoid seeing neteyam.

He felt like he was losing his mind, maybe he shouldn’t have told you anything. But at least you knew how he felt.

His parents have even noticed his change of mood as of lately. “Ma Jake have you noticed something off with neteyam?”

“No…why?” He turns his head towards her with furrowed brows.

“I’ve been noticing he’s staying out longer than usual, and his ears are always down.. I feel like something’s up with him.”

“He’s probably just going through a phase of something.” Jake brushes it off. “No it’s not a phase jake you need to talk to him.” She states.

“Alright, I’ll talk to him.” He replies, with a simple nod to his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek before making his way out of the mauri.

Later that day he had pulled neteyam aside from training when he noticed exactly what neytiri was talking about.

He was hurting, emotionally and mentally he felt lost without you. This was the most distance that has ever been between you both in your years of friendship.

You had always been on speaking terms, so when you weren’t it wasn’t the same. He felt so empty and it was beginning to show.

He was overworking himself constantly to get his mind off of you, not eating or talking as much.

Jake walks to the edge of the treeline past some shrubs and foliage and instructs his son to sit on a round boulder.

“What is it boy, what’s on your mind?” Jake says as he leans his back on the rock.

Neteyam hated crying but his feelings were too bottled up inside him, he just had to let it out.

“It’s Y/N I waited too long to ask her to be my mate.” He chokes out holding back tears.

Jake was taken aback at his burst of emotion. He must have been kept this bottled up for some time to have a reaction like this.

He kept such a facade on all the time, taking himself too seriously because he was held up to a very high standard as to being the firstborn and the next to become olo’eyktan.

His only weakness was you.

“What happened son?” I didn’t know you had a thing for y/n that’s great.”

Neteyam shuts his words down, “It doesn’t matter now. I missed my chance, Rai’uk wants to court her and I’m not sure what she’s gonna say.” Neteyam says doubting that you would give him a chance now.

“Okay, well you said he “wants” to meaning hasn’t yet, you still have a chance son, you just need to let her know how you feel.”

Neteyam takes in a hitched breath from the excessive crying,“I did but it’s complicated dad she was waiting for me to choose her..and I never did.. I’m such a skxwang for waiting too long.”

Jake quietly chuckles to himself hearing his first son go on about his teenage feelings about a girl, reminding of him and how he was younger and first met neytiri.

He knew you since you were a child, as a young girl you were always welcome to their home. Neytiri took a liking to you immediately since you were such a gentle girl with a kind heart.

He didn’t know about his son’s feelings for you though, and in order to be of any help he needed to know the details.

“When did you say this to her, what did she say back?” putting a hand on his shoulder in attempt to comfort him.

“Like two weeks ago, and she said she needed to think about what I had said to her.” He says sniffing and wiping a tear from his face.

“Okay, well think about it this way neteyam, she said she needs to think about it, that doesn’t necessarily mean you lost your chance.”

Neteyam turns his gaze to meet his father’s in response to his words.

“She’ll come to you on her own when she wants to talk, if she really wants to work things out with you…you just need to be patient and give it time.”

“Overthinking won’t solve anything.”

Neteyam heard his father’s words and nodded at his words as to take them in almost to get a better understanding.

“Head home son you did enough work today.”

It was quite rare for Jake to let him go home early, but he figured to cut his son some slack. Regardless neteyam was thankful, and had now had a change of mood to come at his situation a different way.

You on the other hand, had wanted space from Rai’uk as well mainly because as he was handsome and all he is also very dull and doesn’t really have much personality to him as neteyam does. You told Rai’uk that you needed space as well.

You were questioning if Rai’uk was the person you wanted to spend your life with. You were much more comfortable with neteyam having known him since you were both children.

It was obvious who you were going to choose.

Later that day you had made up your mind that you were just going to talk to neteyam and say how you really feel, not what you want to feel.

But what you actually feel.

You let a few hours pass and it was already going to be time for communal dinner.

The last few days you were sitting with kiri and loak. Neteyam sitting not to far from his siblings stole a few glances at you, how you were so naturally yourself with his siblings that you never would’ve guessed that all these things that were said just between you and him.

You too stole glances and wanted nothing more to speak to him but your own stubbornness didn’t allow you too.

Until today, you couldn’t let yourself get in the way this time.

After mostly everyone had finished most of their meals, everyone hangs around just talking.

Loak and kiri were bantering about whatever sibling antics they were occupied and that’s when you got up before you could have the chance to overthink.

You had made your way to where he was hunched over talking to one of his friends.

His friend saw you coming before he did. Instantly pointing your presence out which caught neteyam’s attention. You clear your throat briefly, “Is it okay if I speak with you neteyam?” He looks up and for two weeks your eyes were finally on him.

He was a bit caught off guard cheeks heating up at the sound of your voice, nonetheless he nervously took your hand as you led him the forest.

You had already played out in your mind how you were going to tell him, that you chose him.

That he was always the one you have been undeniably in love with.

You strided the forest with confidence, neteyam behind you admiring the way your hips moved when you walked. You stopped a bit further in the green foliage.

“Neteyam I have thought about what you said to me, and how insensitive I was about your feelings.”

“I was only frustrated with my feelings I didn’t take consideration of your own.”

“ it’s okay y/n, you don’t ever have to apologize, I dropped all of my feelings on to you, it was reasonable to be upset.” He looks down for a brief moment.

You take in his words but don’t get the chance to respond because he follows after with, “y/n I need you to know that I love you, that I will always love you.” He looks up as to show how serious he was. You heart swells with emotion at his words.

Choosing neteyam was always easy for you, he never wanted to hurt you in any way, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love him back, so you tell the truth.

“I love you too neteyam, more than anything.” A smile creeps on his lips as you said the words he thought he never would hear. He steps closer to you and grabs your hands in his.

“ I don’t know how I managed to keep my feelings for you hidden for so long, I was so stupid before, but please let me show you that I will be better for you now.”

“Please give this a chance.”

You felt heat in your cheeks rise up in your face as you rub the back of his hand with your fingers.

“Please be my mate y/n.”

You dreamt of the day he would ask you this, the day he would take your hand into his and ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

You place your hand on his cheek and smile at him, you answer his question by crashing your lips on to his, his eyes widen at the sudden kiss, but flutter close as he loses himself in your taste.

He moves his hands to your waist pulling you closer into him, deepening the kiss you felt his tongue slip between your lips until eventually they went farther the more eager he was getting.

You break the kiss briefly to breathe, the silence in the air filled by you two catching your breath.

“I would love to be your mate, neteyam.” You say in between pants.

He looks at you with lustful eyes admiring every freckle on your face, he couldn’t believe this was happening that you loved him unconditionally.

he cups your cheek in his hand and smiles eyes darting down at your lips, before he leans down and gives you the most slow intimate kiss ever.

You have the familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach mad you feel like folding again.

A/N: kinda want to make a part 3 to this possibly where they are further in their relationship but we’ll see.. hope you enjoyed and thx for reading.🤍

#avatar neteyam #atwow fanfiction #neteyam x you #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x na'vi!reader #fluff #angst

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ndjournal · 4 months

Note

How’s your dream going?

it’s been a while since i’ve heard about you!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Dearest anon, my dream is well and peaceful although I am indifferent to it either way now which is what makes it peaceful and effortless :)

I considered writing a post on my learnings but was a bit hesitant because it's just another version of an experience that's already been spoken/written about many times before and there's nothing particularly special about this one. However, since you've asked, I will share some things about my journey and what has helped me personally which might help other Vanessas/versions of me out there. Please only take what resonates, my journey is not a blueprint for all journeys however I have noticed some commonalities in truth seekers.

The biggest thing was quite literally giving up entirely. I actually wrote a post on giving up about 3 months ago when I was earlier into this 'journey' and I still agree of course with what I wrote however I would write it differently if I were to write it now (it would be a more expanded version); perhaps I will write a part 2 although this answer here can sort of be taken as a part 2. You see, this Vanessa's life was quite comfortable in general so when she started on the ND path, while she was very determined to "get it", I wasn't motivated or entirely willing to give her up. We spent a lot of time letting go of concepts and limitations (and that definitely helped later on so I'm not saying it's not helpful, do what resonates for you!) and Vanessa/the ego was becoming subtler and subtler but it was still something I held onto. There was still identification with not much motivation to give it up entirely - sure there had been desire and interest to 'materialize' things but when we gave that up too, there wasn't anything. I was still lost in Maya despite the dream not being all that captivating or enjoyable.

Then quite literally life circumstances all of a sudden threw some major curveballs and Vanessa was terrified despite all that she had learned - it felt like all knowledge had suddenly disappeared and she had absolutely nothing to hold onto. After trying various things and going round in circles trying to keep everything at bay, the only thing left that really resonated was to quite literally give up on everything - it felt like there was no other option for peace but to do so because she was so mentally exhausted and drained from caring about every single thing that it was so much more appealing to be nothing and no one, to just BE… oh just the thought of being nothing and no one was freeing.

4dbarbie's words here gave Vanessa a lot of strength and direction (although her answer there was for a new identity, I did not use it for that as it was exhausting to even think of a new identity. I just wanted to be nothing and no one, that was most peaceful)

Give UP: It is what it is and 'you' can't do anything about it. Just let it all happen, we all die one day and it's over anyway. Worrying, fearing, doubting, striving, searching, desiring - how tiring, you would much rather sleep a hundred years. No matter what, you can't force life to give you what you want. Allow everything its being and leave it alone. Expect nothing from your body or mind. Let them do whatever they want, cease caring. Literally dgaf, if life wants to beat you, just let it beat you. (Ever had a bully? They get bored when you stop reacting and they leave you alone. They may increase the strength of their punches at first, but so what? You're already getting bullied... you can do nothing about it but cease caring and let it happen.)

And also this from 4dbarbie helped me understand the indifference that I had to embody:

I did not fake a lack of disturbance, I just let things happen to 'me' painful or not, I did not try not to react, I just didn't get involved emotionally with what was going on because I was tired, completely, of both desiring and being scared. The emotions didn't interest me anymore, I became indifferent to whatever was happening, neutral. If 'I' got what I wanted, whatever, if I didn't whatever again. I didn't try to change anything, the events just passed without leaving a 'footprint', all the bad/unwanted things had no reverberations anymore, it was like they never existed. Then there comes the idea of: what if they never actually did? And you fiddle and play with that a little. It's just play because you don't really care anymore, it's a real feeling of being unaffected, it's not manufactured because you aren't trying to get anything, not even 'realization', you want nothing anymore. This detached feeling, of needing nothing - it brings a lot of power, try to at least reach that and worry about the rest later.

She knew she had to stop trying to fight life but she was afraid of what would happen if she did stop trying. Eventually she got exhausted and had nothing left. Then no longer wanting/searching/trying to make happen any particular outcome or caring anymore, just pure indifference being in the present moment with no conditions/labels/problems is what gave her peace and then things just starting to ease up on their own. Things even happening on their own with just a random thought without any particular input.

I realized all the practices that Vanessa did before the curveballs had a 'doing' intention, a 'purpose' behind them (quieting the mind, self-realization, dropping beliefs etc) while afterwards, the same 'practices' were engaged again but with the intention of just being with no labels, no agenda, just being nothing and no one and this made all the difference - when you are no longer doing anything - you are not the doer/body/ego/mind; you're just being with no identification and no longer care about anything. And the indifference here is not forced or pretend like she used to have before as a defense mechanism, its genuine true indifference and full acceptance of everything (see the second 4dbarbie excerpt above - understanding and experiencing this subtle difference will help a lot).

The reality only comes when you give up yourself, when you give up your ego, when you give up your needs, your wants, trying to make something happen, desires, when you give up trying to become self-realized, when you just give up. - Robert Adams

Life is just a giant mirror of your Self. When you stop fighting it, it will stop too. But you have to be the one to initiate it. It takes courage and faith for sure to take that leap.

It has no choice but to die. What you take to be reality is the same, take away your identification and it soon ceases to be. - 4dbarbie

It can be easy to get lost in the dream again if you get caught up in the 'materialization' aspect - it's all still a dream even if forms change. Lester also talked about this in No Attachments, No Aversions:

I knew these things were not to be latched on to. I knew that if I got interested in them, I'd stop progressing. I had seen by this time that this world is a mentation - a dream. So to get interested in the dream again through interest in powers would trap me back into what I was wanting to get out of. - Lester Levenson

Also remember these things happen on their own, it's not the ego that's doing any of this and Self doesn't 'do' - Self is just effortlessly being. There's no 'doing' involved. If there's effort, it's ego as Lester said.

Now when I read my past blog posts or read Lester or Robert, there's an entirely new level of understanding and resonance with their words from before. This excerpt from Silence of the Hearts speaks more on what I was experiencing as well.

Let go of everything. Do not hold on. Stand naked before God, without any crutches, without anything to hold on to. There comes a time in everyone’s life when they have to stand naked before God. By standing naked I mean no scripture, no fancy words, no preconceived ideas, no spiritual intellectual knowledge. - Robert Adams

Perhaps without those curveballs, Vanessa would have continued to live in the illusion like an NPC in a Sims game until something like that happened to her and forced her to completely give up on everything and stand naked before God (her Self).

A day will come when you will long for the ending of the dream with all your heart and mind, and be willing to pay any price; the price will be dispassion and detachment and the loss of interest in the dream itself. Once you have seen that you are dreaming, you shall wake up. - Nisargadatta Maharaj

Now I know all happens by itself and I am just witness to it all. To all Vanessas out there, I know you got this. Follow your heart and trust in what resonates! And remember not to compare yourself to others, we are all One. Everything will be okay 💜💜💜

#applied #submissions

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dailycass-cain · 1 year

Text

So on January 26th yesterday, I looked into how the comics had Cass combat her disability in Dyslexia being not able to read and relate words vocally.

What worked, what didn't, and which era handled the progression better.

At the very core of her very first appearance in Batman #567 by Kelley Puckett and Damion Scott, Barbara Gordon is trying to help Cassandra overcome her disability. And it is her first words spoken that give her father David Cain pause.

Batgirl Vol. 1 #2 gives us the first look into how Cass really doesn't fully care about learning in either study instead focusing on her new vigilante life. That is until running into Robinson and learning WHY words and writing truly matter.

#5 has her run across a metahuman who has mental abilities and because of those rewires her brain to have the capacity to understand.

It's a cheap copout for sure. But it gives Cass a voice in her mind along with the capacity to speak better. Bad news? It screws up her abilities and how her mind was originally wired.

This leads into #6-9 basically being how Cass can get her ability to read body language and learn with the added bonus of her mind continuing to be the way it is. Enter Lady Shiva who gives her this, but at a price aka the crux of what will lead into Batgirl #25.

Batgirl Vol. 1 #20 written by Chuck Dixon (art still by Scott). Where Cass comes to a drop man who's murdered before he can deliver a ransom. Her lack of being able to read leads her to seek out--

-- one Stephanie Brown aka Spoiler. I think at this point the reason Cass went to Steph was that she was afraid Babs would lecture her on neglecting her reading lessons (which she would later on).

Tim Drake, she had just fully befriended (#18), but he was close to Babs. So Cass probably figured he accidentally let slip this and she'd be in trouble. Steph wouldn't she was on the outside from the Bat Family (at this time).

The issue does promise of Cass in attaining another reading teacher (which pays off in the most weirdest place, Convergence: Batgirl #1), but this plot point goes nowhere here. Cass/Steph's friendship would intensify for the next ten issues (#21, 26-28).

For the most part, we don't really get to see fully Cass try and fight her Dyslexia again until the Dylan Horrocks' run with #51 where we learn HOW Cass is expanding her word vocabulary via TV but neglecting on reading.

This bit reads its crux with the infamous #54 (i.e. the one that causes Cass/Babs to fracture away from one another).

In the issue, Cass has to deal with a killer robot that's taking out any place that has a copy of a book that has the codeword to shut it down. We learn during the fight, Cass has been neglecting her studies in reading. Again with the infamous page:

Now Horrocks did this because he was ordered to write Babs off this title (Birds of Prey, the comic Babs was primarily in would be eventually moving away from Gotham). It was the first of that would make the writer leave the comic (and DC Comics altogether).

Regardless again the way the case rattled Cass enough to think about it all and work back into trying to read.

If there was instant positive of writer Andersen Gabrych when he began his run. He made sure this was a reoccurring plot point THROUGHOUT his run starting with #58.

By giving Cass her own diary it enables her better way to try and combat her disability. Along with in the very same issue, Cass trying to actively read a book for the first time on page.

The diary motif would be a hallmark of Gabrych's entire run with the book. So I'm not gonna post every entry. But I think that's why I really loved those first few issues because he covered ALL corners with the character.

You saw it all.

Never once did Gabrych use behind the issues trick. This was a struggle for Cass. I think it better helped resonate the character with readers by doing so. It also went down an angle that was different than Puckett and felt like the better next step from what was built on prior.

Course Cass would still have her bad habits of being an avid TV watcher. So the balance of her trying and struggling was a nice touch.

This came to an ironic fully circle with #67 with Babs returning (for one issue) in the comic and the pair hashing out their differences and mending. But it also reveals a further reason why Babs really wants Cass to learn to read. Again, this is probably the best reason.

She knows Cass wants to be Bruce's heir and be Batman. She knows the only way to fully be that is to get fully conquer her disability. And for the second time in her ongoing we get a look in how Cass's brain was wired from her learning from her father and the metahuman.

And we get the clearest answer how Cass's brain truly operates and why the usual methods in overcoming her disability in reading.

That's the final gift Gabrych gave us.

A hope.

A small faint hope that maybe Cass could learn with whatever writer would take on the character next. The only thing is even he couldn't anticipate what was to come...

Batgirl was canceled with #73 and well the next time we saw Cass and how this disability was handled came in Robin #148.

Alright, before I go into this portion. Newly minted Robin writer (this was his first issue) Adam Beechen came into comics had zero idea of the character of Cassandra Cain, other than what he was told and found.

The DC Editors on Robin did not help him or assist him. They gave him an edict... and he did that edict without question. The result....

Was this INFAMOUS page from Robin #149. Cassandra Cain the character who had the disability of Dyslexia somehow was able to learn another entire language.

That's not even going with the OTHER problem Robin OYL gave us with Cass (but that's an entirely ANOTHER issue). Regardless after the story arc, Beechen (and DC) realized just how badly he screwed up.

Course, the entirety on HOW Cass was suddenly able to learn an entire language with how her brain understood information. Yeah, this was a plot thread nobody truly wanted to answer when the retcons began dropping after Cass's "EVIL" phase to fix it.

In fact, it was Beechen himself who addressed the issue in Batgirl Vol. 2 #1 amongst the CHUNKS of well exposition and history that was the mess DC made of the character from 2006-2007.

So all those issues Babs mentioned in #67? Cass and Alfred fixed them and for the entire MISSING YEAR Cass made great strides to overcome her disability. THAT'S how she was able to understand the Navajo language.

Look I get what Beechen was doing and I also get we were NEVER gonna get the missing stories to showcase that. But to see an entire character's journey in overcoming her disability fixed overnight?

Even with Beechen giving us a classmate in Sal (who's last name we NEVER learn, and is forgettable male love interest #3 for Cass) who gives us the promise of something we never get from the Vol. 1 ongoing. Because DC was gonna DC.

That's basically it for the original run for Cass. That it was a nice harrowing journey that had its bumps but the character was making great strides to be better. Then well the road bumps began to occur and yeah...

I'll give it to Beechen that he tried at the very least to fix the holes he himself caused. But... in the format given it's just crushing how this was fully handled in the end.

Sadly we got nothing more as DC really did a meh job for about five years? We did get this little nugget in Convergence: Batgirl #1 though (somehow connecting that line from waaaaaay back in Batgirl Vol. 1 #20)...

Which is shocking of all places for Cass trying to overcome her disability, Convergence: Batgirl #1 was not the place one ever would think to find that, but we had that surprisingly.

So when Cass was "reintroduced" into the DCU with Batman & Robin Eternal. A reset was in order and writers were allowed back to square one in how to deal with Cass handling her Dyslexia disability.

I will say this for James Tynion IV and Scott Snyder on how they handle putting a metahuman with mental abilities they just slot that character in #11 by introducing the Sculptor who basically fills the same void the meta in Batgirl Vol. 1 #5 did.

Much like the original metahuman, once this link is established Sculptor nopes her way out of the story and is never heard from again.

Which kind of surprises me, because it's something I figured Tynion would maybe address during his Detective Comics run (that had Cass in it) given how much in #11 and 12 establish the character and her origins.

But nope. Nothing further.

So yeah, after this we got James Tynion IV's Detective Comics run that had Cass in it starting from #934-981.

Not surprisingly, Tynion really handled the whole disability issue well than those in the past with the constraints he had. Even more so Juggling multiple characters in this book and going down a better avenue than his predecessors.

And that all begins with #953 with Clayface (Basil Karlo) trying to comfort Cass after learning her mom is Lady Shiva.

By doing this. Tynion lays the seeds on how he'll deal with the issue on Cass combating her disability while also cementing the hallmark of this run, Clayface's rehabilitation and friendship with Cass.

#958 we see Basil teaching Cass Shakespeare by playing audio and having her learn to read and increase her vocabulary via that.

It's probably the best thing Tynion did character-wise with Cass by briefly showing us this but fully giving us a more plausible method than prior on how to deal with her disability.

The fact that this hits throughout this arc (as Cass quotes Shakespeare at a good moment) and is carried over until the very end of his run when Cass meets Barbara in #981.

This version of Cass is actively trying to combat her Dyslexia more than her prior versions, and this Cass is actively doing a better job. Even though we don’t get much Babs teaching Cass (though they do work together in the next arc after this that sets up Batman & the Outsiders). But that run doesn’t dig into Cass’s progress instead going into other routes to touch on with the character.

Unlike what was carried over from Batgirl Vol. 1 to 2 (and between that) Cass has a more concrete subplot here. Where we can SEE and are TOLD of her progress.

That leads us into the current Batgirls ongoing. In #1. where this is a little bit lampshaded. As Cass uses a reading bag to combat criminals to retain stuff she/Steph had that was stolen.

A further bit of subplot is continued throughout and in #4 with Cass now ACTIVELY being a bookworm and reading works of Edgar Allen Poe.

Like it astonishes me that this element of the character has remained actually consistent from point A to B. But it's a nice contrast of things that creators at DC worked on better here than prior.

And no issue highlights that fight of Cass actively wanting to combat her dyslexia then "Sounds" from DC Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration #1 by Mariko Tamaki and Marcus To.

It's why Tamaki just fully GETS the character of Cass not in every corner of the character. Why many want the writer to handle the character again.

But Tamaki isn't the only one who did a good job in showcasing Cass fighting her disability and the one that does the best job is Shadow of the Batgirl graphic novel. Where writer Sarah Kuhn and artist Nicole Goux go both literally fighting her disability.

And her actively learning to read and increasing her vocabulary by hiding in the library was absolute perfection.

But it also is a nice avenue (and nod to the past) by focusing on a library since that's the location where Barbara Gordon teaches (and again a nice nod to that character's history too).

Quite literally...

That's another layer to why I adore that graphic novel. Just the layer of dimension to BOTH characters while it gives that nod to Babs, the story is clearly more Cass.

Again, Kuhn modernizes everything to perfection.

So there you have the history of Cass and her disability. And my final gift on this day (which has now passed) to celebrate the character of Cassandra Cain.

#cassandra cain #dc comics #barbara gordon #clayface #tim drake #stephanie brown

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allysunny · 10 months

Text

Holo Heart | Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Synopsys: Haunted by the loss of his wife, Miguel decides to take matters into his own hands, and grant himself the second chance he's been wishing for.

Words: 7.7k

Warnings: Angst, sad Miguel, mentions of blood, character death, suggestive themes (just a smidge, really), do mention if I've missed anything!

A/N: Hey guys! So, I've been mostly a reader in here, but the other day I was doing dishes and this idea sort of popped in my head, and I thought about sharing it with all of you! English is not my first language so I'd like to apologize in advance for any mistakes. I also have not spoken Spanish in a few years, so, once again, I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

I haven't written in a while, and this is my first tumblr fic, so please be gentle! But I'd love to read your thoughts and criticism in the comments :) I also tried to make this super inclusive, so aside from the reader being a woman, there's no specifications of hair, skin tone, ethnicity, etc. I hope you like it!

Miguel has always prided himself in being a smart man, one who always made sure to achieve his goals, and do it efficiently.

He created the Spider Society, made sure the canon was intact, and carried the weight of the world in his shoulders. It was hard, but he made it work. In fact, he had to. He’d already lost so much; he couldn’t afford to lose more.

Which was why he couldn’t take risks. Every task was carefully calculated, every mission was deliberately planned, every meeting brief and straight to the point. The more time he could spend inside his office, planning, scheming, strategizing, making sure everything went exactly according to plan, the better.

But unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple, and human nature had other plans for him.

All those late nights working all by himself with no one other than Lyla and at least half a dozen coffee cups beside him were taking a toll on his mental health. As much as Miguel enjoyed spending time by himself (it was impossible to spend time in the company of other Spider-People for more than a few minutes before the need to excuse himself and sigh became too strong. Do not let him get started on Peter B. Parker. Please.), he was starting to miss human interaction more and more.

But not just any human interaction.

Looking over at his watch, Miguel registered the glowing light that alerted him of his loneliness once again. 03:47 am. Working late until exhaustion had become a frequent occurrence after the accident. It was his own way of dealing with the pain, with all the grief. It made him forget, and the everlasting numbness in his chest heart go away, if only for a few hours.

Miguel sighed, running a hand through his face. His muscles felt tight, the knots in his back and shoulders ever so present. He slumped back in his chair and leaned his hair back, taking all of the exhaustion in.

“You okay boss?” Lyla asked, flickering right beside his head. The AI could get on his nerves more often than not, but Miguel was glad it seemed to care about him. Well, sure, he’d programmed it that way, but occasionally even he needed a small check-up. It kept him sane.

“Yeah, sure,” His voice was just above a whisper, and yet it was still as commanding and assertive as always. “I think I’m done for the day.”

“Oh wow, you think? They don’t call you a genius for nothing!” Miguel winced at the perkiness of her voice. Sometimes he forgot tiring Lyla out wasn’t a possibility. She was an AI and therefore had energy to spare. He waved her off quickly, and with a small salute, she flickered away, leaving Miguel alone with his thoughts once again.

After a few quiet moments, he turned to the black screens in front of him.

“I shouldn’t…” Was the thought that crossed his mind. He knew it was wrong. He knew what happened whenever he turned those screens on, when he turned them on with the purpose of reliving old memories.

But before he could even acknowledge what he’d done, the whole lab was engulfed in bright lights, accompanied by soft surrounding background noise.

Defeated, he looked up at them, eyes filled with something between longing and adoration, a mix reserved for only one person.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Nueva York, look who it is!” Although the phone’s camera was turned to him, it was your voice making itself heard. The voice he adored so much, the only voice he could stand to hear for hours on end, the voice he would give anything to listen to once again.

The Miguel in the video was dressed in a fine black suit, an emerald handkerchief adorning his breast pocket. His hair was neatly styled back, allowing for his “godly sculpted cheekbones” (your words, not his) to be shown in all its glory. He was standing inside your old bedroom, fixing his attire in front of a wall length mirror.

“Cariño, won’t you turn that off?” He grumbled softly, turning to face the camera. Although his voice had a tinge of annoyance to it, his lips were quick to betray him, curling up in a soft smile.

Your angelic chuckle boomed through the room, and Miguel’s breath hitched.

There you were.

Draped in a light-coloured green silk dressed that perfectly flattered your figure, hugging you in all the right places, your hair carefully brushed to the side. You smiled, positioning the phone on top of your vanity, making sure it wouldn’t fall. Once you were sure of its security, you made your way to him, tilting your head to the side.

“It’s not my fault my husband is so devilishly handsome!” Your hand reached out to hold his arm, nudging him towards the phone’s periphery. He rolled his eyes, pretending to be tired of your antics, but his arm snaked around your waist instinctively, giving it a gentle tug. A reminder that he was there with you. No matter what, he would always be there.

No matter what.

“Don’t you look dashing, Mr. O’Hara?” Your smile. Miguel would give anything to see it in person again. He’d do anything to have you smile at him like you always did one more time. Like he was the only person that existed, that mattered. Your smile had always been capable of lighting up a whole room. In fact, you were capable of that, all by yourself. Your kindness, your optimism, your drive and ambition. People were naturally drawn to you – the fact you were nothing short of stunning was only a bonus. In fact, you had made Miguel experience what jealousy felt like for the first time. The ugly feeling had gnawed and gnawed at him, eating him up from the inside every time a cheeky coworker got too close for comfort, complimenting your “beautiful eyes”, or bold friends pulled you close by the waist, trying all sorts of plans to get their hands on you.

But you’d never really needed him to call him out. You could take care of yourself just fine, and that’s one of the things Miguel most loved about you. Sure, he relished in the feeling of protecting you. Of putting his arms around your figure and engulfing you in his presence, his hold being the only place no harm could ever even get a glimpse of you. But he couldn’t help the smirk that crawled up his face whenever you rejected any other men’s advances, swatting their hands off you and giving them dead stares.

The him on the screen chuckled, pressing you close against him, his frame towering over you. He bent down slightly, nuzzling his face against your hair. Another gesture he did without thinking – it was something that brought him peace. Your scent felt like home, the sweet aroma of your favourite shampoo bringing him instant relief.

“Si alguien aqui es diabolicamente hermosa, eres tú, Mrs. O’Hara.” Screen-Miguel brought his lips to your ear, and the way your whole body shuddered made him chuckle. That, and the way your cheeks took on a soft glow. “Now, what is all this?” He glanced at the camera once again, quirking up an eyebrow.

“You know my Spanish isn’t that good yet…” The pout on your lips was just too adorable – it took Miguel (screen one or not) all his strength not to whisk you in his arms and capture your lips with his. “Anyways, just wanted to capture this moment.” You shrug, hands wandering around to pinch his side. Your husband’s squeal would have been unnoticeable by anyone else – but not you. Not you, whom he showed his softer side to, not you, whom he showered with love and tenderness, whose ground he worshipped. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, you know.” One would almost miss the way your voice cracked, but a slight waver was enough for Miguel and his screen counterpart to frown.

“I know… I’m sorry corazón. I really am…” Screen-Miguel turned you towards him, brushing the hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. Staring into your eyes, Miguel could swear you had this magical ability to make him lose all track of time. In fact, he could swear that was true in about everything you did. When you got dressed in the morning, when you cooked his favourite empanadas, when you told him off whenever he was too hard on himself or others around him, when you cried out his name so nicely, his lips on your neck-

“But today’s all about you, alright? I’ll make up for it. I promise.” His lips brushed your temple, not only a promise to you, but himself. His work in the Spider Society had been piling up. Anomalies on top of anomalies, mistakes after mistakes, and only himself to take care of everything. He’d left you waiting for him more than once, and more than once he’d found you asleep by the time he got back. It hurt him deeply every time it happened. In fact, the last time it happened, your pillow had tear stains on him.

To say such sight had broken his heart was an understatement.

“Technically today’s about the bride…” A soft chuckle from you.

“You were my bride once.” A wink from him.

“I haven’t been a bride in a long time.”

“You’ll always be my beautiful bride.” And with this, Miguel brought you even closer, one hand on your waist, the other on your cheek. His breath fanned your cheek and suddenly, his lips were on yours. You smiled into the kiss, standing on the tips of your toes to lovingly cup his cheeks with both your hands. While your fingers traced his jaw exactly how you knew he liked, his hands got a bit busier, leaving your body to tug on the straps that held your silk dress together.

Once you figured what he was up to, you pushed him away, quirking an eyebrow as you tried to hide a smirk.

“Nuh-uh mister, we have a church to be at in 20 minutes, and it’s a 10-minute drive!” You asserted, shaking your head at him. It didn’t matter that the room’s temperature seemingly shot up, and your husband was looking truly tempting – you were not going to let your horniness get the better of you. At least, well, not today.

“No se darán cuenta de que llegamos tarde, te prometo que seré rápido” Miguel mumbled, lips pressing hot kisses against the crook of your neck, hands still dexterously tugging at your dress.

“No Spanish skills necessary to know you’re telling me a big fat lie. You’re never quick with me.” You laughed loudly, and the sound was enough for both Miguels to fall in love with you all over again. A pair of hands were on his chest, and he was softly pulled away. You fixed the straps of your dress and flattened your attire before standing straight. “Time to go, Mr. O’Hara.”

“You’ve never complained about me not being quick.” Was his muttered response, accompanied by a smug smile. But for all the adoration and desire he felt for you, he was even more whipped for your resolve. If you said it was time to go, it was probably time to go. So, he quickly adjusted his suit, turning to face the phone’s camera once again. “Vale, vale. Ya es hora de irnos, muñeca.”

Your figure got closer and closer, and at once, the video had ended.

Miguel stared at your smiling figure in his screen for a few minutes, and then shut everything off, the reflection of his own tired face staring back at him. It wasn’t until he felt something wet on his hands that he realised he was crying.

He missed you.

Constantly, continuously, perpetually.

You were on his mind at all times. When he roamed the halls of the Spider Society without you by his side to keep him company, when he went out for those cafeteria empanadas that could never compare to yours, when he worked himself to exhaustion without your deft fingers to work on the knots on his back, without your soft kisses to calm him down after he got mad at the world.

And everything around him reminded him of you.

It was impossible to walk around the streets of Nueva York without being distracted by the colours, the sounds, the sights, the people. It all brought his mind back to the love of his life, the person he found it impossibly hard to live without. The florist near your old apartment, the one he’d buy flowers from every other week, the pizza place that was “so bad, Italians surely had to be crying” according to you, even the goddamned dogs on the street reminded him of the way you’d kneel down and act like an excited child every time you saw one.

It was absolute torture to live without you.

But the worst of all, was waking up in the morning.

Some days, he swore he could feel your touch. The way your fingers traced his jaw and slowly made its way to his hair, playing with his brown locks. Your touch was soft, comforting, a small gesture to remind him he was safe. You often expressed how much you adored watching Miguel when he slept. “You look so relaxed. No furrow in your brow, no scowl in your lips. You look so peaceful.” Was what you told him every time, and there was no way he could ever not grant your every wish.

And then it was if he could hear your voice. Your sweet, melodic voice, telling him “Good morning, my love” in that sleep-laced voice he adored so much. And Miguel would close his eyes and try his best to remain in that place not yet tainted by reality but not entirely claimed by dream. “Wake up, guapo” was the next thing you’d say, your imperfect Spanish-skills manifesting. You’d been adamant on learning Spanish for your husband, and fuck if it didn’t make Miguel’s heart swell. The way his wife (then girlfriend) was so willing to learn the language he grew up with in order to become closer to him made him feel all kinds of positive emotions, and Miguel could swear his love for you grew more and more each passing day.

And then, you’d say it.

“Te quiero, mi amor.” It was the one phrase you used repeatedly, and the one he loved hearing you say the most. It fell from your lips naturally, as if you had been saying it your entire life, with a sweetness reserved for him and only him.

Your touch felt so real. Your voice sounded so real.

So, he would stay still, hoping that remaining motionless would grant him just one more second with you. Hoping that his immobility would be enough for you to return to him, even if just for a few brief moments.

But it never was.

Seconds would go by, and your touch would waver. Your voice would become distant, your feeble existence flittering away, leaving him with nothing but the painful reminder that his sheets would forever be cold, his place in his bed would always be empty, his life would no longer have the warmth and serenity your love brought to him.

Miguel would glance at your delicate figure once again, his mind trying to memorise you right then and there – and just as quickly as you manifested, you would disappear.

Deserting him of all he ever loved.

He was tired of being alone. Tired of waking up besides cold white sheets, of not having your sweet praises to assure him he was doing the right thing at HQ, simply tired of leading an existence without you.

There was no way he could bring you back – hell, he knew first hand that toying with the multiverse was a bad idea. But it did hurt him, going on without you. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he could go on if you weren’t there, next to him.

All he needed was your presence, your company. All he needed was to apologize and hear your sweet voice again, and damn it if he wouldn’t be thankful.

And that’s when the idea came to him.

This was a prototype Miguel had been developing for a while.

It was like Lyla, the only difference being the AI’s purpose. Lyla was there to assist him, to help him out with missions, anomalies, and the management of the Spider Society. The project he was working on served another goal. It was more of a companion than an assistant, it was to always remain by his side, to cure him of his loneliness, of his anguish and despair.

The screen in front of Miguel lit up after he configured the final few settings. A tweak here, a little adjustment there, some fine tuning over there. Should this work, Miguel would no longer have to have his thoughts plagued by the heartbreak your loss so constantly granted him.

“Good morning,” Like magic (or better yet, technology), a figure materialised before him. It was hard to explain just what it was, or what it looked like. It was as if a transparent person had solidified into existence in his presence. While it had the form of a human, a head, a torso, two arms and legs, the figure was devoid of any features. No eyes, no nose, no lips or ears, no hair. It was almost like a hologram of a mannequin, a blank slate of a person he would later shape according to his vision.

Miguel stared back at the figure, not completely convinced, at least not yet, of what he was doing. Sure, he’d worked day and night for the past few weeks, he’d foregone sleep and adopted coffee as his only meal in order bring his project into fruition, but now that it was there, right before his eyes, the possibility of achieving his goal was terrifying.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure of talking to?” The figure inquired, its voice devoid of any emotions.

After a moment of silence, Miguel spoke up.

“My name is Miguel O’Hara.” He began, “I am your creator.”

“Greeting, Miguel O’Hara.” The program answered back. “I am the Cognitive Operations and Machine Personalized Interface for Nurturing. Or rather COMPANION, for short. I was created to act as a colleague, a confidant and friend. As my name implies, my goal is to provide a nurturing presence to whoever is controlling me.” Having said this, it looked up at Miguel and something flashed in its visual panel – the closest thing this body had to a pair of eyes – and the words AUTHORISE SCAN? flashed on the main screen before the entity spoke up once again.

“Would you like me to scan you, Miguel O’Hara? By scanning you, I can take a look at your vital signs, your physicality, and even run a scan of your psyche to provide you with a companion that would, according to my calculations, be the best possible match for you.”

But Miguel did not want a tailored companion. He did not need to be looked at by any AI to be told who or what would act as the best possible match for him. He did not need any technology to figure out what could possibly be the best person to keep him company.

“That will not be necessary,” he asserted, “No scan is to be run. I am to personally customise you until you conform to my exact specifications. Is that clear?”

The being nodded, its posture straight as an arrow.

“I understand. Would you like to begin the customisation process?” It asked.

Miguel hesitated. Should he be doing this? It’s not like he was doing anything wrong. He was a genius, after all, and this was just a new project. He’d created Lyla once, and look how far that got him, the good his AI did not only for himself, but the Spider Society and by consequence, the multiverse.

In fact, everything he did had helped the Spider Society in the long run. Everything he did was for the good of the Spider Society, the thing he worked on for years and years, the thing he built from scratch and ultimately led to his demise.

Wasn’t it time for him to be selfish?

“Yes. I’d like to begin the customisation process.” Miguel sat down on his chair once again, exhaling loudly through his nose. There was nothing wrong with what he was doing. He was allowed to be a genius scientist, he was allowed to build new things, and he was most of all, allowed to be selfish after all that he’d done for the multiverse.

“From now on,” he started, “You are to respond to [N/N].” It had been months since he’d last uttered that nickname. The sweet little nickname he always referred to you as. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a variation of your name, but it nearly brought tears to his eyes, because for the first time, you weren’t there to turn around and face him with that stunning grin of yours.

(“So, no cariño, or mi amor, or chiquita?” You’d once inquired, legs crossed as you sat on your husband’s desk, right in front of him.

“I must remain professional, [Y/N]. I have a reputation to uphold.” Was his response as he crossed his arms. If anyone else were to be on his lab, let alone sit on top of his desk, he would go feral. But he couldn’t find it in himself to berate you or tell you to move – you could do anything your heart desired, and Miguel would adore you for it.

“And you’re willing to hurt your poor wife’s feelings over a reputation?” You faked a pout, batting your eyelashes at him, something you knew he couldn’t resist.

“I can think of a few ways to make it up to my wife, actually.” And without missing a beat, you were suddenly on his lap, smiling as his lips moved with your and his hands delicately ran through your body.

Miguel did not do good on his promise. On the second day after this conversation, he’d asked you “Mi amor, won’t you please get me the prototype I left on our dining table back home?” In front of everyone else and gave up. It was physically impossible for him not to treat you with the gentleness he was so used to from you.)

“[N/N]. I understand. Is it short for anything else?”

Miguel remained silent for a few seconds, before nodding.

“It’s short for [Y/N].” The name left his lips the same way it always did. With adoration, with love, with heartbreak. He hadn’t uttered it in a long time and mentally chastised himself for doing so, as if not voicing it out loud was somehow disgracing your memory. He shook the thought away.

The entity nodded once again.

“I understand. Am I to respond to [Y/N] as well?”

“Yes.”

Lyla had been quietly hearing whatever was going on inside Miguel’s lab from afar. She’d seen him work nonstop, day and night, for the past few weeks, always being told “It’s a new project” and nothing more. Miguel had pushed her away (just as he had done with everyone else), and it was only when the little AI figure heard the new program’s purpose and your name that it all clicked together. Although she was uncapable of feelings, it upset her to see Miguel so broken. But much to her dismay, there was nothing she or anyone else could do.

The truth was, no one had seen him during those few weeks. He had locked himself and dived headfirst into this project, refusing to let anyone in, literally or figuratively, threatening to do unspeakable things to whoever disturbed him while he worked.

She shook her head and looked at him once again, wondering what he would do next.

The entity, now named [Y/N], was the next one to speak.

“I understand this is most commonly used as a female name. Would you like for me to take the form of a woman?”

Miguel nodded, and the entity’s form shaped before his eyes. It became softer, gentle. Its contours shifted until they exuded an air of grace, each line and curve seemed harmonious and supple, different from his own sharp and broad figure. And yet, it didn’t resemble any women he knew. Yet.

“Now that I have a name and your preferred anatomy, would you like to create a personality for me?” [Y/N] probed. Her thoroughness made Miguel falter. This was happening way too fast. First a name, now a personality. He hadn’t yet come to terms with your loss, at least not properly, and this whole thing was giving him major whiplash. After losing you, he hadn’t been able to process his feelings. Now he was asking himself to push all of that aside in order to create what would be his most ambitious task. Nevertheless, he pushed through.

“How so?”

[Y/N] nodded and spoke once again. Now that she had taken the form of a woman, her voice was somewhat softer. It was hard to pinpoint whether it was real or not, if it was from a real person or not, but it did not bring Miguel any comfort.

“By giving me your preferred traits, you can arrange for me a personality that will align with your exact specifications, as you put it. Perhaps you’d like me to be quieter and more reserved, in order not to disturb you too much. Or maybe you would prefer if I was loud and cheerful. It is up to you which traits I am given. I am here to provide company and a nurturing presence, so feel free to take your time until I meet your exact wishes.”

Miguel pondered briefly. What traits would he like this… this thing to have? At first, he tried to pretend, get his mind off it, try to convince himself he was merely making an AI program to keep him company. But he could not lie to himself any longer.

He wasn’t simply creating an AI companion.

He was creating you.

And after mulling it over one last time, he decided to stop being so fucking uptight and go through with the task at hand. This is why he had been working so hard. His goal was so close, it was right in front of him to just take it, and here he was, acting like a coward.

“I want you to be kind,” Miguel remembered how kind to a fault you were. Always willing to help others, always willing to cheer them up and put their needs before your own. So selfless, so ready to lend a helping hand. “And optimistic, positive. I want you to always see the bright side of things,” You had this ability of turning even the most despairing moments into hopeful ones, advising him to not let the dark thoughts get the best of him. You’d hold your head up high and remind him of who he was; Spiderman 2099, and that he had nothing to fear, for it’d work out in the end.

“I want you to be polite and cheerful. Simply… Simply happy to exist.” You’d turn even the blandest of moments into memories he’d want to keep forever. In one moment, Miguel would be laying around, holding you close in his arms, the next you’d be taking him to the rooftop of your building to “catch a glimpse of Zeus’s angry fit” whenever thunder roared through the sky. Cleaning your shared apartment could be considered a boring chore to many, but they did not have you, who made up games out of every single task, like catching socks or vacuuming. “You will see the beauty in things. And I want you to be ambitious.”

Sure, Miguel had spent countless nights hunched over his desk, trying to come up with the perfect suit, or trying to keep hold of the canon, but you were no stranger to nighttime restlessness. You’d sit by his side work on your own tasks, intent of going to sleep only, and only when you wrapped everything up. If he weren’t in so much pain, he would’ve laughed. He was once the one to wrap his arms around you, face on the crook of your neck as he whispered, “You’ve worked hard enough, chiquita. Time for bed.” Unfortunately for him, in a cruel twist of fate, the roles had reversed for the worse.

“Be stubborn,” Miguel continued, his voice, for once, not wavering. He was so resolutely determined to carry on with this venture, that for once, he didn’t feel his eyes tearing up as the memories of you crawled back inside his mind. “Especially when it comes to me. I… I tend to be quite headstrong when it comes to work. I often need a push.”

[Y/N] nodded once more.

“Remember, you can always adjust my personality to your liking. If you find you do not enjoy my stubbornness, you can change it and I will adjust my personality accordingly.”

It seemed so… Devoid of life. Sure, Miguel had given it some character traits already, but the whole thing wouldn’t be complete until he said so.

“Would you like to customise my voice now?” [Y/N] asked, “You can suggest a pitch and a tone, as well as a voice type. But I am also programmed to analyse any voice sources you provide and copy them. Which would you like to do?”

Miguel sighed. This whole process was getting harder and harder to get through it. It was one thing to give his new companion your name, your personality. But to give it your voice as well? That would be the same thing as making this being invincible, since your voice was the only one he ever seemed to obey. Even the Spider-People around him knew, with Peter teasing him endlessly about how he was “nothing more than a lovestruck puppy whenever you asked him for anything”. Miguel had always been on your beck and call, always willing to do anything you asked of him. By giving this being, this creature, this thing, your voice? He was setting himself up for disaster.

“I… I want you to scan a voice.”

The entity nodded.

“Please do provide me with enough samples of the voice you would like to copy. Preferably, samples that are not too monotonous in tone or in speech. By analysing all aspects of a voice, I can provide a more accurate result.”

Miguel had the following choices:

He could either turn on his screens, open a few folders named “[Y/N]”, and play one of the few hundreds of videos he had on you, or open his phone, connect it to said screens, and play the few voicemails you’d left him throughout your relationship.

There were a few differences in each choice, of course. The videos he kept on you were golden memories he gazed upon on lonely nights. Birthday parties, walks along the sunset, lazy mornings filled with raspy “Get this phone out of my face, mi amor”s, and bubbly “Mr. O’Hara’s a bit grumpy today, isn’t he?”s. Memories of you filming him while he set up your furniture, laughing along as you called him “Bob the Builder”, taped reminders of you cooking dinner for him, the cute little apron he so adored wrapped snugly around your hips, even a few images of when he fell asleep on your lap and you softly ran your fingers through his curls, singing him to sleep, murmuring that lullaby he so adored.

Compared to the voicemails on his phone, these videos were precious. They were worth more than what anyone could offer, in fact, they were priceless. These memories were the ones Miguel held so dear, the ones he cried over, the ones he spent months reminiscing upon after your loss.

On his phone, were 3 measly audio messages you’d left on three different instances of his life.

Usually, you never got to leave voicemails – Miguel would pick up on the first or second ring, always the attentive partner. But on the last few months of your life, that changed completely. And Miguel couldn’t help but chastise himself over it, cursing at himself whenever he remembers the hurt in your voice, the tears that he knew threatened to slip from your eyes and down your cheeks.

He didn’t deserve to use those videos as voice samples. He didn’t deserve to see you in your full glory, laughing at him, smiling and promising him eternal love and kindness. He didn’t deserve to hear your bubbling laughter once more, or fawn over your dazzling smile, he didn’t deserve to miss you. Not when he was the reason you were gone.

So, he decided to pull out his phone, intent on suffering. Intent on reminding himself of why you were gone, why he suffered so much. Miguel didn’t think he deserved to gaze at you in all your splendour. He didn’t think he, a mere, foolish, sinning mortal, was worthy of the living goddess that had once blessed his life, and now haunted his ever moment, gone forever.

“Hey Miggy!” Your voice, your voice was heard through his speakers. “I finally found the curry powder! Had to beat a lady with a stick to get it! It was almost out of stock! Anyway, why don’t you get started on the rice? I’ll be home in 10 and we can finish the recipe! Alright, that was it! Love you honey, see you home! End call. End call! End voicemail! How do you turn this thing off? End call. END CA-“ You were abruptly cut off as the call ended. Miguel chuckled dryly. He was the one to install the Bluetooth system on your phone (“Don’t want you texting and driving”, he had said.), and you had always complained about how your phone never picked up on you wanting to end calls. It became sort of an inside joke, especially since he managed to active and deactivate the system at first try, and it took you four or five to get it done.

(“It’s unfair,” You’d chided, wearing the most adorable pout and crossing your arms, “Technology loves you better.”)

Miguel looked at [Y/N] once again, hoping something, anything, to happen. But his program seemed to be patiently waiting for him to continue. One message was clearly not enough.

He pressed the second voicemail.

“Hey there, honey,” There was no mistaking the worry in your voice. It was still the one he loved so dearly, but laced in something sad, something that plagued him with terrible thoughts and churned inside him. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t worry, but you told me you’d be home by 7, and, well, it’s almost 9…” A soft pause followed, and Miguel could almost visualise it: you, sitting on your couch, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you nibbled your worries away. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know it’s probably nothing serious, but, well, you know me-“ A dry chuckle “-Always worrying about my Miggy… Anyway, do tell me when you’re on your way, alright? I have a surprise for you, so get your pretty ass back home, Mr!”

End of call.

That was the first, well, not so good voice you’d ever left him.

If he could turn back time, Miguel would do it without hesitation. He’d go back to that very same day, convince his past self to stop working, and to go home to his wife. He’d tell past-him that his obsession with work was getting out of hand, and that he should stop it while he has the time, because once he’d fully immersed himself in his work, there was no coming back.

But he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry.” The body in front of him spoke once again. “But these samples are not enough for me to create a voice profile. The procedure it at 74% completion. Would you like for me to continue analysing, or should I start over with another profile?”

Shit. He didn’t want it to come to this, he did not want to listen to that last voice message. He was willing to walk through fire, to go straight through hell as many times as asked of him, but that message was torture. No, it was worse than torture. Torture ended. Either in death, or in relief. But this? Whatever this was, it did not end. This message was perpetual suffering, playing in loop inside his head. Over, and over, and over again.

With whatever strength he still possessed, Miguel pressed the third and last voicemail.

“Miguel…” You had been crying. And if you hadn’t, you were just about to. Miguel recognised the knot in your throat, the lump that kept you from speaking and threatened to turn into tears. He hated that voice. The voice that meant you were hurting. The voice that meant he had hurt you. “I don’t know where you are, but… I shouldn’t have to wonder, because you were supposed to be here… Where are you?” This was when you started to cry. “Do you know how humiliated I was just now…? Do you know how stupid I felt, waiting, sitting on that exam room by myself?” You were sniffling. God, how Miguel wished he could just go back and hug you, how he wished he could dry your tears and promise you it would be alright, he would fix everything, he’d be better.

“This has to stop,” Despite the tears, you were still talking. That was just who you were, able to speak through the pain, always willing to keep pushing forward. “This stupid obsession with work, Miguel, it has to stop. I’m tired, I’m so tired. And I’m so lonely, Miguel… I’m so lonely, I go to sleep by myself, and the sheets are still cold when I wake up… I don’t see you, you don’t come home, and you push me away when I visit you in HQ…”

“When are you going to go back to being my husband? I don’t want Spiderman. I want my husband, I want my Miguel back, I want the man I love back…” You sobbed, unbothered by how you sounded. You weren’t even sure if he could make out any words, but you kept on going – if you didn’t tell him what was going on your mind now, there was no way you ever could.

“I miss you… Just… Come home Miguel… I can’t do this by myself…” He could hear you wiping your tears, and softly clearing your throat. “Anyway… The doctor said the baby was fine. But I guess if you really cared, you’d come to the appointment.” This last part was muttered, and Miguel could swear he heard both yours and his heart break.The baby. “Come home. Please.”

And just like that, the call ended.

Miguel was crying. This last message… This was the one he couldn’t help but listen to almost every day before passing out from exhaustion. “It’s your fault [Y/N]’s gone. You neglected your wife, you prioritised work over her, you couldn’t protect her.” Was what the voices in his head uttered, day after day, night after night. Every second he was reminded of how he left you behind.

He'd been working late every day, neglecting his meals, neglecting his sleep, neglecting his wife, who cried herself to sleep every night, holding tightly onto her husband’s pillow – which brought her small comfort. He would lash out at you when you tried to get him to take breaks, treating you like you were nothing but one of his Spider-People, refusing to look you in the eye and not even returning your “I love yous”.

One day, you had tried calling him, but to no avail. It was only when Jessica and Peter burst into his office, saying you’d also called them, that Miguel decided to check on you back at your shared apartment. He was hoping to find you whining, curled up on your couch as you pouted at him and told him you missed him. He thought he’d find you throwing a tantrum, too hormonal to understand how important and busy his work was.

But nothing could’ve prepared him to what he saw.

The metallic smell that permeated the room should’ve been a dead giveaway, but Miguel was too focused on returning to HQ that he ignored it, and made his way to your bedroom, where you most likely were.

And that’s when he saw you. Drenched in blood, face red and puffy from the tears that ran down your cheeks. You were laying on your shared bed, body marred with deep gashes from what he assumed was a knife. On one hand was your phone, on the other, Miguel’s first Spiderman mask. “For protection”, he once said. You always held on to it whenever you were scared.

It’s nearly impossible to describe the pain and heartache Miguel felt looking at your lifeless body. A conversation with his neighbours informed him that the entire building had been victim of a burglar, and you were the only mortal victim, unable to fight him off.

It was his fault. He’d been too immersed in his work, pushing you away, leaving you to the loneliness of your apartment, and now here you were, dead. There was no other way to say it, you were dead, and so was your child.

Oh God.

Your child.

Tears clouded his vision; irrationality clouded his judgement. Miguel was most certainly not thinking straight when he tried carrying your body back to HQ. Perhaps something could be done about the baby. Perhaps your child would live, would get to grow up, his eyes and your hair, your smile and his nose, anything that proved you still lived in something, in someone other than just his memory.

But that wasn’t possible.

That night, Miguel cried for the first time. He wept, hands hiding his face as the images of your ripped apart belly and glassy eyes tormented his thoughts.

It was his fault.

You were gone, and it was his fault.

If only he hadn’t worked so hard. If only he’d been home with you, doting on his beautiful pregnant wife like any decent husband would, none of this would’ve happened. The burglar would’ve tried to enter his house, and within seconds he’d be slammed against the wall. Miguel would have held you close that night, whispering soft “It’s okays” and “You’re fine, mi amors” repeatedly until your heartbeat steadied, and you fell into a peaceful sleep.

But that was not possible.

Not anymore.

And it was, irrevocably, his fault.

And then the unthinkable happened.

“Voice profile completed.”

It was you. It was your voice that spoke back to him. It had that sweet musicality to it that he so adored, that he once was blessed to hear every day when he woke up, that chastised him for being too stubborn, that pleaded for one more kiss whenever he had to go to work, that giggled excitedly whenever he whispered soft Spanish praises, limbs tangled with yours.

Miguel looked up. It was your voice, but the creature did not look like you at all. All it shared was a name and your sweet, sweet voice.

Mierda. Fuck this. Al diablo con la sutileza.

Miguel missed you and he was going to have you, one way or the other.

“I want you to look like her.” He all but growled, fingers angrily tapping at the screen so he could find your pictures. “There. Scan her. I want you to look like her. And stop with the formalities. You’re to call me Miguel. ¿Me entiendes?” His voice was feral with the prospect of seeing you again – or at least a construction of you. The thought was overwhelming, and he had to sit back down, his face finding purchase in his hands.

He was past “What am I doing?”

“Miguel?” You asked.

No. Not you.

[Y/N].

Miguel looked up, the same way a sinner does at the altar, praying for redemption. It was gorgeous. You were gorgeous. And looked oh, so real.

Your– [Y/N]’s eyes were looking down at his figure, lips slightly agape, the way you always did when you quite couldn’t figure out what was wrong. [Y/N] pursed her lips and exhaled softly.

“Miguel, are you okay?” [Y/N] said. You said. It was getting hard to tell you two apart, to distinguish what was creature and what was human, what was holographic entity and what was the love of his wife. Especially when you looked the same, when you sounded the same, when you looked at him with the same tenderness, the same love. You were identical. Same eyes, same smile, same hair, same figure. It was as if, before him, stood a perfect copy of you.

“[Y/N]?” Miguel questioned, too delirious to try and figure out who he was talking to.

“Yes? Is everything alright? You seem distressed…” Slowly, your figure – [Y/N]’s figure, right? – approached him. You looked down ([Y/N]...? [Y/N] looked down...?), soft apprehension clear in your voice.

“Oh, my love… Cariño…” Miguel sobbed as he looked at you – so gorgeous, so radiant as the day he met you, with eyes that could give the stars in the sky a run for their money, with lips so plush one couldn’t help but want to kiss them at all times, the love of his life, right before his eyes. “I missed you so much…”

He took you in, all softness and loveliness and so you, it almost scared you. You, the goddess, the saint, ready to rid him of his sins and absolve him, to make him a new man untainted by grief and heartbreak.

He had half a mind to touch you before a tiny voice in the back of his head advised him against it – the delusion hadn’t sunk in entirely yet, and he knew your image would flicker, a simple hologram compared to his solidness, to his existence.

But it didn’t matter.

He had given himself the second chance he so desperately wanted, and he was not going to waste it this time.

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! All headers are mine hehe I made them in PixelLab in like 5 minutes lol :) Please do not repost my work without my permission, thank you!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara scenarios #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #atsv x you #spiderverse x you #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman

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zoeysdamn · 1 year

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Bloodied petals - Xavier Thorpe x reader | Epilogue

A/N: /!\ Hold up! did you read Part.8?? Also, bonus aesthetic to celebrate the last part of this fic!

[Masterlist] [Part.1] [Part.2] [Part.3] [Part.4] [Part.5] [Part.6] [Part.7] [Part.8]

Three weeks later

Nevermore closed its doors sooner than usual. After the passing of Principal Weems, the semester had to be cut short, which meant a longer spring break for the students. Most of them were secretly glad of it, and to be fair Xavier was among them. The reason for this elongated holiday was dreadful, but a break from school could do him some good. Standing in the passageway of the first floor above the quad, he gazed at the crowd of students getting ready to go home. He made a mental note to bid Ajax goodbye before his friend left.

“Hello Xavier,” greeted a voice beside him.

He turned his head to the side to be greeted by the sight of a woman cladded in a very sophisticated black outfit, dramatic black hat and sunglasses. She looked intimidating, but he knew better. “Hello Miss Cordelia,” he greeted your aunt. “I didn’t know you were picking up Y/N.”

“I’m not,” she said flatly, “but I wanted to make sure of a few things.”

Approaching the ledge she followed Xavier’s eyes fixated on you, currently hugging Enid goodbye, no doubt promising to text her during the holiday break.

“Does she remember anything?” asked your aunt in a surprising soft tone.

“Of the disease? Most of it. About me, she remembers more and more every day,” said Xavier, not tearing his gaze away from you.

Aunt Cordelia hummed pensively, in appreciation. A long moment of silence followed, before Xavier spoke up again.

“How is that even possible?” he asked your aunt, “I thought removing the flower with a surgical operation would make her forget about me completely.”

Your aunt sighed, indicating how little she knew about this too, “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to come here, the doc had said that during the surgery, the flowers’ roots were already not clutched around the lungs and heart anymore.”

Xavier frowned, not getting where she was getting at, “Why does it matter?”

“It’s the forceful removal of the roots that triggers the memory loss,” explained the elder witch. “Or we think it’s the source of it. But given that he hadn’t to tear it out…I’m wondering if that’s why she still has some memories of you.”

At her words, Xavier’s eyes widened slightly, “You think she can actually remember everything one day?”

“It’s possible,” shrugged Cornelia, “after all, you said it yourself, her memory is recovering day by day.”

His heart thumped in excitement at the prospect. Xavier had dared to imagine this possibility but…hearing someone else confirming his theory was something else entirely.

Fixing her sunglasses on her nose, your aunt continued, “I’ve spoken to a certain Miss Bianca Barclay, I assume you’re familiar with her?”. At Xavier’s nod she continued, “She told me what she had done for Y/N with her siren’s song; it’s most likely that’s what caused the flowers and their roots to retreat from around her heart.”

“You mean that Bianca might actually have saved Y/N?” said Xavier in surprise.

Aunt Cordelia eyed him from head to toe and let out a small laugh, “Well, her, you, Miss Sinclair and that new roommate of hers. So thank you, Xavier.”

His eyebrows rose up in surprise. For as long as he had known your aunt, Xavier couldn’t remember the last time she had actually thanked someone. Witches’ pride or something like that.

“I must go,” she said sharply before Xavier could add anything. “Take care of my niece Xavier.”

“I will,” he assured.

She offered him a thin smile before rummaging in her hand bag, “Oh one second, here,” she said, handing him a small vial, “as a thanks.”

“What is this?” he frowned.

“It’ll help to get the last petals out,” she explained and let out a small snort at Xavier’s expression painted in surprise. “You must be in the end of the healing process now, according to the petals you cough.”

“How did you…?”

“Oh honey, you’re not half subtle as you think you are,” she said with a sweet voice, before turning serious again, “At least I can content myself at the thought you had a taste of what she went through for you.” Xavier’s wince made her brush away her last bitter comment with a vague gesture of her hand. “But you’re healing; the more she remembers how much she loves you, the more you heal. Knowing her,” she said, casting one last fond look at your figure downstairs, “it won’t be long.”

With that, she disappeared to a nearby corridor. For a few seconds Xavier stood on his spot in astonishment, but then chuckled at your aunt’s antics. Grabbing his backpack he walked down the stairs, where he saw you talking with Wednesday from afar. He couldn’t hear what you were saying but you both seemed cordial to each other. You even handed her a wrapped box, giving her a phone. Wednesday didn’t hug you, but a tiny smile definitely crept on her face before she turned and walked away sharply. Taking this as his cue, Xavier strolled next to you, sliding an arm around your waist and dropping a kiss on your forehead when he came by your side.

“Hey,” he said softly, “you’re good?”

Smiling at him you nodded, “Yep. I think that Wednesday and I needed to bury the war hatchet.”

“Did it work?”

“She did try to kill Crackstone to save us,” you admitted. “And she apologized, the counts are even. And maybe I’ll miss my creepy roommate after all,” you added with a playful nudge on his side.

Xavier let out a laugh, and the two of you made your way to the school’s gates. While you packed your bags in the trunk of the car Xavier’s dad had sent for the two of you, you stopped for an instant and looked back at the school. It had become your house over the years, but more importantly it had brought you a sense of normality even among werewolves, sirens and vampires. It has brought you friends, and so much more.

You felt Xavier’s hand sliding into yours.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Looking up at him, you gazed deeply into his brown eyes. This, this place, this moment, was what made everything click altogether, and all the things that have seemed fuzzy fall into place.

“I love you,” you breathed out.

The grin on Xavier’s face was everything.

“I love you too sweetheart,” he said before kissing you softly.

The annoyed honk from the car made you pull away a few seconds later, giggling like kids and you tugged on Xavier’s hand to the vehicle. In your newfound euphoria, you missed the faint cough coming from him, but it didn’t matter. As the car led the both of you away from the school, the last petal Xavier would ever cough laid on the cobblestone of Nevermore.

A/N: Aaaand there it is! The last part of the fic finally out! :DD I hope you enjoyed it and that the ending didn’t disappointed you too much!

I really want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you, finishing a fic is always like a sort of sad goodbye and I swear I’m crying a little by writting those words.

I loved writting every parts, but more than that I loved exchanging and talking with you about it, whether for crack thoughts, or theories! You were incredible and the kindest readers I could ever ask for, so thanks a billion time for your support and you kindness! (especially your tolerance for my crappy English, it’s the first time I’m cristing something this long in such a short time, in a language which isn’t my mother tongue!)

Thank you for the laughs, the cry, the crazy demands to be tagged (we have 119 tagged people!! This is insane for me!!), and if you ever want to rant or talk about the fic, or anything in general, I’m always here!

Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

-Zoey

Taglist: (no need to ask at every chapter, you're added once, and you're added for the whole fic :D)

@apocalypticnova @libdarkheart @ameliabs-world @certifeidlovergirl @aeisnoa @cat-loves-music @coolchick333 @eringaitskill @sweaterxav @sssleepless @l4venderia @persipeoni @coldheartedmar @littlebabyk @pinksirensong @nushy @raribella @igotanidea @ali-r3n @chaosfrisur

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Usernames unfound by Tumblr:

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#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier x you #xavier thorpe x you #xavier x reader #xavier x y/n #xavier thorpe angst #xavier thrope imagine #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #hanahaki disease #no beta we die like men

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jujutsukgojo · 29 days

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The bell tolls for me

satoru gojo x reader

Summary: “Say it.” The few times he has spoken to you, they are always the same. He wants confirmation of your evil. No matter how you word it, he isn’t satisfied until you say it plainly and he’ll only hear the worst part of it. He doesn’t want reason, he wants pain, hatred, and anger. It is what is keeping him going. You will give it to him for now. “I killed them.”

1.5k+ words tw: angst, illness, mental illness, ptsd, depression, mentions of death, spoilers, i think suicide thoughts (?), idk what else (if there's something let me know!) i'm not an expert on mental illness or a doctor! i don't own jjk either.

Gojo wipes his face with his hand. Despite his eyes being rightfully considered divinity, they cannot beat the exhaustion. He hasn't worn a blindfold or glasses in about a couple of months or so. He can’t really remember the exact number anymore.

He spies a single white petal fall in front of his window. He sees pollen in the back and a few people walking around. He hears the bell toll once again. Satoru understands that the people of his past will never hear it again. They will never see the petals and sneeze from the pollen anymore.

The bell rings again. God, he could swear that the bell is only for him.

“Gojo? Are you ready?” He hears a small voice that causes a heaviness in his chest and an icy hatred in his bones. You.

He ignores you completely, making you sigh at his behavior. It isn’t a secret that he hates you and when he is up to it, he’ll kill you. All because you failed. You completely betrayed him and those who mattered most. Rather than finishing what you promised, you went against it and did something he just can’t forgive.

You are disgusting, vile, stupid, hideous, a failure of a being.

You whip out your jar of bones and begin the healing process. Ever since the Culling Games, you have had to learn to deal with these newfound abilities that totally destroyed your life. Yet, that destruction has also given you a purpose now. The usual healer, Shoko, has been extremely busy lately because of the aftermath of the Culling Games, Kenjaku, and Sukuna. So, when you were discovered during all of that, you were immediately put to work.

And your abilities had fit for a plan that you messed up.

You work your fingers to thread the crushed bones into Gojo, who remains silent. You know that one wrong move and he’ll rip you to shreds. Until then, you might as well make up for it by healing him and taking the pain away.

Opening another jar, you take a finger out of it. In the palm of your hand, colors swirl all around. The bone reshapes into a softer and smaller structure, something easier to swallow. You hand it to Gojo, childishly hoping that he would give you something to work with. A smile, a thank you, eye contact, anything.

You receive nothing.

You place it down on the desk and take your leave.

“Was it worth it?” Quickly, you turn your head around to see Gojo still staring out the window. “You know-”

“Say it.”

“There was no hope, Gojo. None at all.”

“Who said?” Sighing, you turn to him fully. “He did, Satoru.”

Satoru stands up. You have to try to stare into his red rimmed eyes. They’re mesmerizing jewels, precious things that see and know all. They're damaged from the strain and the pain.

“Megumi didn’t want to live, Satoru. You can only save those who want to be saved. Him and Geto never wanted to be.”

“And Tsumiki?”

“She was dead the moment she was cursed, way before she woke up. I didn’t even know her. I had nothing to do with that.”

He takes a few steps forward. His long legs carry him to you. He’s menacing and tall. Majestic and radiating a power that you could never handle.

“Say it.” The few times he has spoken to you, they are always the same. He wants confirmation of your evil. No matter how you word it, he isn’t satisfied until you say it plainly and he’ll only hear the worst part of it.

He doesn’t want reason, he wants pain, hatred, and anger. It is what is keeping him going.

You will give it to him for now.

“I killed them.” Although you went against his plan to trick Sukuna, you never meant for your actions to cause such a catastrophe. That it would cause for his world to be ruined.

Before he can do anything, you leave quickly.

He finally goes into the shower after a while. The water is boiling hot and the steam is thick. Satoru stands under it not moving to bathe at first. Nothing goes through his mind other than the sensation of the water and the scars on his body. He barely has any feeling on the long scar across his abdomen. It is nothing but a reminder of you.

You were supposed to save them. Not him.

And yet, here he is. Holding the weight of everyone’s soul all because you didn’t want to follow directions. He killed Sukuna and is hailed as the strongest sorcerer in history. But the glory that he’d usually bask in is a terrible thing now. Why wear it like a badge of honor when it is covered in the blood of those he loved and never got to tell them?

You. You fucking snake.

Now, he has to sit here and heal. According to Shoko anyway. Whether it’s mentally, emotionally, or physically, he doesn’t know or care. He wants to leave. To be free. If only for a moment, to get away from this place and breathe. Away from you.

When he met you, he thought you were plain. Nothing really special except for a weird but cool technique. Then when he lay on the bed after the fight, you were the first in his sight. The light acted as a halo. You were glowing and had an ethereal appearance.

Even Lucifer was the most beautiful and enchanting of angels. And look what happened.

Look where it got Gojo Satoru.

To find out that he had healed mid fight because of you at the expense of so many people hurt him. You had one job, only one.

Why did you make him kill his loved ones? He needs to get away. A fresh start or at least some air. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do.

Gojo stands tall among the sand. The smell of the water is refreshing. Waves against the rocks and the white sand, the sun against his skin and the birds flying overhead, is so serene.

“Gojo.” Everything comes to a halt at the sound of that grating voice. He doesn’t face you yet. No, you won’t ruin this for him too.

“You have to come back, Satoru.” You’re finally face to face with him. “Go away.” He dismisses you quickly and quietly. He doesn’t want to ruin this for himself.

“We have to go back.”

“Nanami would have loved this. They all would. Maybe even Megumi.”

He can still hear his students, his friends, too. The past life he lived as he raised the Fushiguro’s echo in his mind. Megumi was always gloomy, always. Tsumiki was a ray of sunshine with a solemn look in her eyes. She was forced to grow up at an alarming speed in order to take care of the grumpy troll. And she was never thanked. He knows that was what Megumi was thinking.

That he never got to thank her for loving him. For standing for him at his lowest and never letting go. Yeah, Tsumiki was amazing. And Satoru Gojo, her adopted dad, didn't say thanks, either. She would have loved the sea. Maybe in another life, he can take his kids here.

“I want to stay. I think this is how I get back to the airport.” He hears you sigh. “I know. But you left the airport for a reason, remember?”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“If you didn’t, they’d be gone, too. We can’t-” He scoffs and interrupts. “We? Since when are we ‘we’?”

“You can’t heal if you can’t see what’s left.”

“ Nothing’s left!” He screams with his face red. You reach for his hand. “We are here. Hold onto us.”

The bell rings again. He wonders how it keeps following him. He looks around curiously. He questions, “The bell tolls for me, doesn’t it?”

“No, it’s for everyone to know the time.” You answer in a patient voice. He hates that. You talk like a doctor. There's enough of those to go around, he doesn’t need any more.

“Stop talking. Don’t ruin it for me.”

“What?”

“The bell is for me. I’ll be right after them, you’ll see.”

You hold out your hand and reluctantly, he takes it. You lead him out of the street with cars honking their horns. You hold him close out of his delusion. It is his price of using too much curse energy and the reverse technique. Gojo doesn’t know that he’s not in Malaysia as he imagined Nanami would have liked. He doesn’t know the truth of his students. He doesn't realize that the airport he wants to return to doesn't exist.

He blames you, yes, but you’ll stick with him. He'll heal one day.

Right now, he doesn’t understand that the bell isn't for him and hasn’t been for these past four years since Sukuna. That he has suffered so much that his head is stuck. But one day, he’ll heal, and he won't be alone. Even if he doesn't, you will hold his hand, nonetheless.

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk #jjk fanfic #angst #q #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #spoilers #tw: suicide ideation #i think?

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calehenituse-brainrot · 11 months

Text

Memories

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

It's weird to see someone's privacy with the faces of your family and friends.

content warning: self-harm, mentally abusive figures, blood, gore.

Hope was a dangerous thing.

Even though your name is already carved onto a stone and you've been officially declared dead, Cage did not want to give hope. In fact, she would be fine if everyone just continue grieving and never know anything.

It has been a month now.

The three Saints try to figure out the contents of your letter, keeping the details between the three of them and Ron, asking him to keep the letter a secret until they could figure out what exactly happened right under their nose. It still boggled their mind how you had been experiencing such odd symptoms of whatever this was and never spoke a word of it, despite how you were getting constantly hurt. They had known you were stubborn, but it was ridiculous to know it was to this extent.

It has been a month but nothing had resulted in their research about you that could provide a good explanation for why you disappeared. The workers from the Henituse duchy they talked to had spoken of your frequent dizzy spells and nosebleeds a few weeks before your death and the workers at the Palace had said the same. One of the knights on guard on a certain day had seen how much you had bled through your nostrils and nearly passed out when he held you.

Cage paced in her room while Jack and Hannah sat on the couch. Jack seemed to be deep in thought while Hannah seemed irked, leaning back to the couch as she closed her eyes and try to use her brain and try to figure out what exactly was wrong with you before your death. Cage bit on her nails as she paced back and forth, growing anxious by the minute every time she let her gaze fleets to your letter that sat on the table.

"Hearing voices, headaches, nosebleeds," Cage murmured as she paced back and forth, listing the things you mentioned having experienced. "She said they sounded very familiar. Like someone from the past life. Could it be someone from her life before she met Young Master-nim?"

Cage runs a hand through her dark hair, shaking her head. "No, no, wait. It doesn't matter. How would a person talk to someone like that?"

"Cage, could you please stop that?!" Hannah finally snapped, her head buzzing as she listened to Cage's mumblings. "I'm trying to think here!"

Cage did not seem offended by Hannah's tone. In fact, she was very familiar with it and she could not blame the swordswoman as they were all on edge and were using the last of their energy to think.

"It is a God," Jack concluded, almost grimly as he closed his eyes in defeat, finally addressing the elephant in the room. "There is no other explanation."

"What God?!" Cage challenged the idea immediately. She did not want to shut down that theory, however, she would like it best if it was the least possible event. Because Gods are tricky. They are mischievous in their deals and selfish in how they viewed humans. 'We are nothing to them,' Cage thought, knowing just how puny they must look, how ridiculous they look to the Gods, scrambling to find out more about the events that had befallen their late friend, while the Gods lean back to their throne made up of worship and sacrifices, laughing because they know.

"The voice told her to leave us and promised a reward," says Jack calmly. "It told her how she could find her if she sailed away from the continent. She finds him, she finds herself."

"She's not that important to a God," Cage says, almost bitterly. She did not think lowly of you -- oh, by Gods, never -- but even though she was considered special because the God of Death communicates directly talks to her, Cage still knows her place to an extent. She might have been dearly beloved by her lord, but she knew she was nothing but human, divine powers or not. She is powerful, a drunk, and she is still human. She is small in the eyes of her lord.

Were you that important that a God had killed so many people in that ship just to get you?

"Perhaps not to the ones we know of," Jack says slowly.

Cage's eyes flickered quickly up to Jack, taking a moment to process his words. "You think another God is approaching her."

"More like fooling her," Hannah piped in. "He promised her something and look where she is now."

"Hannah," Jack says firmly, almost in a berating way. Hannah looked away from her twin, speaking harshly, "Her name's on a stone now."

"If this is the work of a God..." Cage began, trailing off as she massaged the bridge of her nose.

"Divine intervention is tricky," she says softly, nearing the table where your letter is placed on. "It is usually best to be left alone."

Do not give hope. It is dangerous.

Cage closed her eyes, inhaling a big gulp of air before exhaling. Do not give hope. You will only hurt them all.

Cage snatched the letter from the table, walking out of her room.

"Cage...?" Jack called out, standing up immediately to follow the dark-haired woman. Hannah fixed the strap of her sword properly before she followed Cage as well.

The Sun twins then immediately realized where Cage was walking to and they glanced at each other, both questioning if this was the right thing to do. They walked past your room and then came upon the floor that leads upstairs, following Cage as she practically stomped her way up.

"Young Master-nim!" Cage exclaimed, stepping into Cale's floor and immediately heading towards his bed where he was sleeping even though it was one in the fucking afternoon. Cage grabbed the covers Cale had on and shook him awake. "Young Master-nim, wake up!"

Jack and Hannah stood not far from them, watching as Cale fluttered his eyes open, no doubt tired because they all know he had made a trip to your room again last night. He tries to gather his bearings, looking up at Cage with a small frown, feeling light-headed after being shaken awake.

"W-what the...?" Cale began when Cage finally lets go of him.

"Young Master-nim," Cage says, forcing herself to smile at him. "Divine intervention is tricky. It is usually best to be left alone."

Cale still looked loopy as he tries to digest Cage's words. "Okay...?"

"But not if it's you," Cage says, pushing the letter to Cale's chest. "Here's another letter for you to cry yourself to."

Cale caught the letter, staring at it with bleary eyes. He rubbed his eyes as he held the letter properly, trying his best to read it. Once he got a clear view of the letter, he stopped rubbing his eyes, brown eyes gazing at the familiar handwriting, writing down a series of words he had never seen before in all his days of grieving. Cale used both hands to hold the letter, straightening out the wrinkles that had appeared because Cage had shoved it to his chest.

Cale's eyes quickly scan over the words, having to read them multiple times as he had trouble processing the contents because he seemed to have focused more on the fact that this was something he had never read of before. He had held dearly every single thing you have, and the fact that this was something he did not know of made his head spin. In his head, he seemed to be scrambling because there is more of you that he did not know of, that he had yet discovered. His face stayed stoic as he reads your letter and he wondered again and again at that moment, why wasn't this in his letter? Why didn't you tell him about this?

Cale rubs his face before he looks up at Cage. "How long have you had this with you?"

Cage gazed at Cale's tired brown eyes. "A month."

Cale then noticed the Sun Twins standing not far away, watching him anxiously and he turned back to Cage again, "The three of you kept this to yourselves for a month."

"We apologize," Jack immediately began, stepping closer. "We simply didn't want to give hope."

"This--" Cale raised the letter, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "This isn't hope. It's a lead. It's clarity."

"It would have given hope to you," Hannah piped in with a frown. "And if not you, then the kids."

Cale stood from the bed, standing in front of the three of them. He raised the letter to them again. "I'm keeping this and we're going to talk about this with the others."

"You know best," Cage says, nodding her head.

Cale rubs his face before he placed the letter inside the drawer of his bedside table. "Now leave. I need to wash up."

We shouldn't be hoping, is what Cale thought to himself when everyone gathered together and sits down, each one of them talking to each other animatedly.

'They've all moved on,' Cale thought to himself, watching how everyone had no longer looked sad, their eyes no longer sunken with eyebags, their bodies energized and no longer looking pale like they used to months ago. 'I am still here.'

'It is selfish,' Cale accused himself. He never minded grieving for long periods in silence -- it's always been the one thing constant about his life. He grieved in silence and alone, letting the deaths of his companions be the ones to push him to learn, to be better.

Your name is on the list of people he had lost and he had been trying to let his brain settle with that fact, but it is hard. His brain always seemed to be on overdrive, Records constantly making him confused between the memories and the present. He still remembered so vividly of your smile, how you look, how you sound--sometimes he hears your voice and it drives him nuts that it turned out to be his mind playing tricks on him because Records never forget. He never forgets.

When he remembered, it felt like it was happening at the current time and the only reason why Cale hadn't gone mad was because he constantly remind himself; That person is dead. That time had passed.

"Cale-nim?" Choi Han finally called towards the redhead, seeing how Cale sat on the single couch while looking to be deep in thought, holding a letter in his hand.

Cale looked up and saw that everyone was staring at him expectantly. For a fleeting second, he thought he saw you in this myriad of odd people but he reminds himself again; that person is dead and that time had passed.

Cale sat up straight and properly. "Let this be known that what I am about to tell you is merely to provide some explanation, not to give you hope," he began. "Nor is it to open old wounds."

The others stared at him, waiting for his next words with bated breath. What could this be about?, is what runs through all of their minds, but seeing the look in Cale's eyes, they have a small inkling.

"I would like to tell you all about the reason why [Name] boarded that ship," Cale says slowly, still holding the letter in his hand. It did not escape from him how the atmosphere in the room immediately shifted. Most of their expressions were somber, some avoiding eye contact by looking down at their own hands as if they had done some irreparable sin. Deep down, there is guilt for moving on, that they were able to continue their lives and gradually began to visit a certain memorial less and less.

"[Name]... was not able to find her purpose here," Cale says, the words spilling from his mouth automatically, the gears in his head spinning and working to recall the memories where you had stated your feelings, the words in your letter for him. "She craves for a purpose. And she couldn't find it here."

"That's ridiculous," Rosalyn murmured bitterly, looking away as she leans back to the couch. Rosalyn was still hurt, so badly, and she felt betrayed at the fact that you could not find your purpose here. What does that even mean? You were fine here. You were needed here. You had a job, a home, and a family that loves you.

Cale stared at Rosalyn for a moment. "I know you're hurt. You're not the only one."

While he wasn't berating her for speaking so harshly, it felt like it and Rosalyn shuts her mouth, looking down to the ground with guilt in her gaze. She might have been able to no longer visit your room without feeling a heavy ache in her heart, but she knew Cale was still grieving. It felt so incredibly selfish of her to be so angry to your death when Cale himself did not seem to be angry at all.

"That ship she boarded was supposed to be the start of her journey to find herself," Cale continued. "She didn't board that ship because there were any negotiating or transport problems. She boarded that ship with the intention to leave us all without a goodbye."

It felt eerie to know the ship you believed will take you to many new places eventually took you away to one place they could never reach for. Silence fell into the room as everyone digest this new fact about you. Should they think of you as cruel to want to leave without a goodbye, or should they pity you for your desperation for a purpose?

"This--" Cale raised the letter in his hand, "--is a letter from [Name] addressed to Cage a month ago before her death."

Everyone's gaze lifted to the letter in his hand. Some of them turned to Cage, some surprised, some looking confused. They want to question her about why she hadn't said anything, how could she keep it a secret, but they remember how the letter could have been personal, so they looked back to Cale, Choi Han being the first to ask, "What is it about?"

"It seemed that [Name]'s decision to board that ship wasn't hers alone," Cale revealed, placing the letter on the table in the middle of them all. "She described a voice that talks to her in her head that promised her a purpose if she leaves us all and sails the ship that will take her the furthest from the continent. The voice promised her that if she could find them, she could find herself."

"What?" Rosalyn's eyes widened, shocked at this revelation. She snatched the letter, reading through the content of it with disbelief in her eyes. "Headaches, nosebleeds...?"

"Her experience with the voice is similar to ours when we speak to our lords," Cage began, stepping forward. "However, [Name] seemed to experience effects of communicating with a higher being more severely, most likely because either she isn't used to it or she is weaker than most of us."

"A God," Choi Han murmured with a frown. "A God reached for her, is that what you're saying?"

"That's the most plausible explanation," Cale replied, caressing his chin thoughtfully. You had been transported here, much like Choi Han. There is a big chance that you were taken away because you had been tampering with a certain God's plans or because they needed a successor. "Which God is the question."

"It is not the God of Death," says Cage with a shake of her head.

Jack shook his head as well. "It is not our lord as well."

"So, another God we aren't familiar with," Cale mused, looking up at the high ceilings of the villa.

'There are many Gods,' says the gluttonous priestess. 'Many are lost in time. What [Name] experienced is what happens when a human isn't suited to be an oracle, to be speaking directly to a higher being. Her body cannot handle the divine presence of a God, no matter how small or big. They are still gods.'

Cale looked at the letter in Rosalyn's hands before he looked up at everyone in the room again. "I will be working to get to the bottom of this issue. I will not force anyone to follow my lead, as I understand her death impacted everyone in this room and beyond. What I will do is simply for... clarity over her behavior. It doesn't bring her back. She is still dead."

"We understand," Lock says, frowning. "Of course, we will follow your lead, Cale-nim."

Cale nodded, standing up from the single couch and his actions were followed by his peers. He looked around the room, his side feeling so barren now that you no longer stood there -- you haven't been there for a month and it kills him every time -- but Cale then addressed them all, "I want you all to begin your search first for any foreign primordial gods, ones that aren't known in the continent or even rejected to be worshipped. That voice -- that God, promised [Name] for salvation if she went far away from the continent, so we start our search with foreign gods that are known to make deals with humans."

Hope is a dangerous thing. Do not give it.

But what else but hope that has solidified every step they took to find the answers they need?

"Divine intervention is tricky," Cale says slowly, taking back your letter from Rosalyn. "It is best to be left alone."

Everyone shared knowing glances with each other at Cale's words and Cage faintly smiled, knowing she had done the right thing to show Cale your letter.

Cale looks up. "But I don't listen to advice like that."

"You really don't," Hannah commented with a grin.

John has always heard the term 'your life flashes before you die' and he finds himself questioning the life that flashes right before his eyes right now was his or not.

Because he sees the face of his late mother -- she was so kind, always dressing up in humble tunics -- standing in a foreign room, dressed in slacks and a white dress shirt, slamming cupboards as she yelled, her voice unfamiliar because it was mixed with someone else's.

"You want to kill yourself?!" His mother yelled in a voice that he had never heard of before, a voice so full of venom and mocking. His mother takes out a knife from a knife block and threw it across the kitchen island, the knife stopping right in front of a young teenage girl that looked so similar to you.

"Go ahead! Don't let me stop you!" His mother's face morphed slightly into someone more unfamiliar as she continued yelling, "Kill yourself!"

John looked down at the young girl that looked so similar to you. Tears ran down your cheeks as you stare at the knife on the kitchen island, eyes unfocused as if you were somewhere else. Your arms are scarred with lines of red angry slits as you stood there, hands slightly shaking as you take in every curse word thrown your way by the woman that seemed to be a morph of his mother and yours.

"Why are you crying?!" The older woman asked, almost in a hysterical manner. "You're making me look bad! You're the bad one. I fed you, gave you clothes on your back, and put you under my roof. I birthed you! You're an ungrateful child!"

He stepped forward, trying to touch your teenage self by the shoulder but his hand immediately went through.

"They are just memories."

John jumped slightly and turned around, the background yelling immediately dimming out. Before him was you, looking older than the last time he saw you. You stared at your teenage self and looked back to John. "They're our memories."

John took a step closer to you and the world around you both immediately faded to white. You smiled at him, taking out your hand to him and he immediately took it. John stared at how your skin is flushed with color, no longer a lifeless pale and you no longer looked in pain. Your hand felt warm in his and he smiled, almost in appreciation to feel something warm for once, his eyes glossy with tears. Your hand gripped his, thumb caressing the back of his hand slowly. "It's okay. It's over. We're not hurt anymore."

"Is this the afterlife, then?" John questioned, looking around the white space around you both as he takes his hand back.

"I don't know," you answered honestly.

The space began to morph back into a room, a tavern that John frequently visits with his crewmates. He smiled, watching how the tavern seemed brimming with people until he realized he does not recognize most of them.

"I've never gone to this tavern," you murmured, looking around.

"I have," John murmured. "I think... this was Kore's birthday party celebration. I don't recognize some of the people here, though."

You looked around the place, familiar faces passing by you as you and John stood still in the middle of the tavern. You took a few moments to identify some of the faces and then spoke softly, "I know these people."

"You do?" John asked, frowning. This was supposed to be his memory, and he recalled perfectly how in this memory that you were not in the tavern nor the people in the tavern right now were present back then.

"That's my mother," you said, pointing to a woman that stood laughing with John. "She has been dead ever since I was eighteen."

A cold chill ran up John's spine at your words. She shouldn't be here. John watched how your mother's face would sometimes morph into one of his crewmates, showing how warped his memories seemed to be and how they were mixing with your memories. John's hand ran through his hair in disbelief, looking around and noticing how his crewmates' faces were morphing back and forth to the faces of people he doesn't recognize, most likely the people from your memories.

You turned to the bar, your eyes staying there for a long time. John then turned around as well and his eyes landed on another you that sat in the bar across him. That other you were drinking away, staring at the bar countertop with an empty gaze, much like how you did when you were a teenager and you were getting screamed at by your mother. With a sip of your drink, you ordered another glass and the bartender nodded obediently, serving you another glass of whatever liquor you were drinking.

You remembered the faint night when you went out to a bar after your mother's death, drinking until you passed out, slumped in a bathroom stall after throwing up so much. It's odd how your memories are warped with John's this way, making it seem like you're drinking in his favorite tavern as if you're celebrating with him in one of his happy memories.

"To be honest," you began, turning away from gazing at your own self. "I don't feel comfortable knowing you will be looking through my memories."

John gave you a chuckle, averting his eyes to respect your feelings. "I don't think I want you to know some bits of my life, too, sweetheart."

You smiled, looking down at the floor. "Do you think there is a reason why we're here...? Why our memories are mixing up like this?"

"I don't know," John says with a defeated sigh.

You and John stood together outside the tavern to get away from the noise, looking up at the night sky together. You both cannot feel the wind or the chilly air. It felt out of place. Both of you were out of place. sometimes the buildings around morph into buildings you recognized from your past life, sometimes switching back to the buildings John knew of. It felt dizzying and so frustrating to see so many changes in a short amount of time.

"We died, didn't we?" You asked him softly, eyes staring down at the cobblestone road beneath you both.

John placed a hand on his stomach, where a gaping hole should be as he remembered the monstrous entity that had asked for your corpse. He doesn't know whether he should tell you that there is a big chance your corpse is being desecrated or not. He looked down at you and gave you a comforting smile, placing his hand on the back of your head to caress your hair. "We're going to be alright."

You hesitantly leaned to his side, tilting your head to his shoulder, looking up at the starry night sky and wondering to yourself if John being here was the world's last kind action it could offer to you after such a tiring life.

Withira emerged from the water, Archie and Paseton following her as the three of them circled the mysterious floating island that have let the current carry it into their territory in their whale forms. She has heard from her father that every couple of hundred years, a floating island would float by their territory and it had been best to be left alone. This was her first time seeing this floating island emerge in her two hundred years of life, having been waiting for a long time for the island to appear because of how much mystery shrouds the island. It has been a couple of minutes of them circling the island, trying to find a spot where they could jump onto to enter the island, but the boulders that surrounds the small island were like a bowl, curling inside as if to protect any intruders from entering.

The fact that there were no beaches and the boulders were acting like some sort of border made Withira even more curious. Was there anyone inside the island? If so, how do they survive without fishing? Do they hunt and rely on the vegetation there? There was a tall tree in the middle of the island, its bark twirling into a swirl as it grew higher than the rest of the trees on the island and the greenery inside the island seemed to flourish, so no doubt there would be plenty of vegetation, however, the island was dead quiet. There are no sounds of animals that could be living on the island.

Withira jumped from the water, morphing from her whale form to her human form once she landed past the boulders. Archie and Paseton followed suit as they looked around the flourishing flora around them, moss and flowers and grass growing everywhere, the trees' roots overgrown on the dirt and breaking through some of the rocks. There were proof of civilizations, as there were crumbling ruins and clay roofs, preserved by nature so perfectly.

"Is everyone dead or something...?" Archie murmured, looking around the island with a frown.

"This could be an ancient, lost civilization," Paseton suggested, looking at his sister who was busy eying up a poorly sculpted boulder not far from them, placed on a pedestal.

Withira approached the sculpture, touching the harch lacerations of the sculpture gently. The sculpture resembled the shape of a flower and despite how poorly it was made, judging by how the stone wore out, Withira could tell it was a sculpture that was well-loved. Withira looked down on the pedestal where the sculpture was made, seeing many trinkets and dry sticks on the ground by her feet, which meant someone had placed offerings by the pedestal a long time ago and it had been consumed by nature.

"Was it a grave...?" Paseton asked softly after looking at the sculpture and the trinkets that lay on the ground by it.

Withira looked around the place. "Maybe."

Something bugged her about this island. She had half the mind to bail and leave the island alone, but her curiosity won her over so she nods to a cobblestone path to Paseton and Archie, signaling them over to follow her. They did as she had asked them to, following behind her and keeping their eyes peeled open for anything that might be suspicious or dangerous. The island was eerie, as it was quiet aside from their footsteps and the shuffling of leaves whenever the wind blew on the trees there.

"No animals," Archie murmured. Not even birds.

"Could be why everyone is dead," Withira says, looking down to a clearing slightly below them, seeing the many numbers of headstones down there. The grass was overgrown and the graves looked to be placed too close to each other, most of them destroyed due to the overgrown roots from the trees near them. "No more meat to hunt."

Paseton gulped. "That's a lot of people."

"A lot of dead people," Archie corrected him, looking over the graves with a frown.

"Look." Withira pointed to the same flower sculpture at the front of what seemed to be the graveyard site for the past civilization here. "Another sculpture. Means they're probably worshipping it."

"Worshipping a flower?" Archie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, a flower," Withira says, unamused. "Of course, not. They worship what it represents. They most likely worship that looming tall tree in the middle of the island."

The three of them continued to traverse the small island. Withira noticed how there seemed to be thick, wood all around the forest that was in the shape of tendrils, reminding her faintly of Cale's powers to summon so many logs of trees and control them like they were ropes. Flowers grew on the wooden, tendril-like barks, all of them having the same shape as the flower that was sculpted and placed on a pedestal all around the island like small landmarks. Whatever entity caused these wooden tendrils to grow, they were worshipped by the community that had once lived on the island.

Withira stopped when they reached the middle of the island, facing a ruined structure of what was once a great hall of some sort, its entrance having hanging vines like curtains. The roof of the entrance was destroyed due to the tall tree that had grown in the middle of it, the tree's bark resembled multiple tendrils being strung together and twirled, flowers growing on its barks, the color a pretty deep purple with white tips at the petals. But what had caught her attention was the dried, brown reddish color that seemed to be dragging from the other way to the inside of the ruin.

"Blood," Archie says, preparing himself if there was someone inside the ruin and coming out to attack them.

The blood might have been old, but it wasn't as ancient as everything else on the island.

Withira walked up to the entrance of the ruin and covered her mouth and nose, recognizing the agonizing stench of rotten flesh from inside of the ruin entered her sense of smell. Paseton and Archie followed her from behind as they stepped into the ruin. The smell seemed to amplify once they were inside and Withira grimaced at the sight of a rotten body laying back on an altar stone, a gaping large hole in his stomach, his guts and blood all over the floor.

"Poor man," murmured Paseton, eying the gaping large hole on the man's body. "What could have done that to him?"

Withira approached closer, noticing that there was another body, laying on the altar stone, and the dead man laying on the ground had held their hand tightly, even in death. Withira approached the altar stone carefully while Archie and Paseton stood back, still looking around the premises with their guards high up.

'That hair...' Withira thought to herself, seeing the familiar [h/c] hair strewn all over the stone altar.

Withira stood there for a long time, letting realization sink in as she come to terms that she knew this person on the altar stone. Withira leaned down to the body, your body, nearly frantic as she cups your face. Your skin was cold, like the corpses she had helped pushed in the waters to help Cale's men to retrieve them the day she found out she had to aid them to look for your corpse. This was where you were? How did you even end up here?

Withira leaned down, placing her fingers on your pulse and when she couldn't find it quick enough, she pressed her ear to your chest, desperately hoping to hear any signs of life.

"Sister--!"

Withira jumped away from the altar stone when she heard Paseton's voice and a thick, tendril-like bark struck where she was standing up. The tendril looks to have dried blood on it and the size of it matches the hole on the dead man's chest.

"It's sentient," says Archie when the vines that were scattered all around the ruins suddenly began to move. "We need to get out of here!"

Withira watched how the vines squirmed and seemed to be facing the three of them, standing guard over the altar stone like they were protecting you. Before she could get another word out, a number of them struck out to impale the three of them. No matter how many times they cast their weapons to cut off the tendrils, more seemed to come up to attack them, driving them away to the edge of the island until the three of them were forced to jump into the water, morphing back into their whale forms.

"We need to inform this to Cale-nim," Withira says, swimming towards their home quickly as they avoided the tendrils that seemed to grow from the base of the floating island, chasing after them.

"What? Why?" Paseton asked, confused as he narrowly avoided a thick vine.

"That was [Name]," Withira says. "She was still alive."

They swam until the tendrils could no longer follow them, having reached their limit in length. Withira, Paseton, and Archie watched as the thick tendrils began to thrash around, creating big waves into the ocean to push them out further. 'So this is how it sunk the ship,' Withira thought with wide eyes, realizing that whatever entity they were facing, it was not one to be messed with.

#cale henituse x reader #lout of count's family #lcf cale #trash of the count's family #cale henituse #tcf cale

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 4 months

Note

Hello, I hope you're well.

I've always wondered why Alice couldn't have gone to Volterra on her own at the end of New Moon to stop Edward? Couldn't she have gone to Forks, seen and spoken to Bella, gone and found Edward and shown him her thoughts? I vaguely remember Alice saying something along the lines of Edward not believing anyone apart from Bella, but I imagine Alice would've been faster if she didn't spend the time taking Bella along too. And surely sending Bella to sprint through Volterra while Alice sorted out the car wasn't the fastest option available?

I imagine Alice could've sped through the Italian countryside unseen once she arrived, and she would've had a great deal more strength than Bella to push Edward out of the sun. (Bella certainly seemed to struggle in the film). I haven't reached that part of the book yet, so maybe it's different to the film? Would Edward have been killed if Bella hadn't been there maybe?

So, the thing about the movies, is that they explain jack shit and then will change some things so they don't make any sense.

Why does Aro have Felix nearly murder Edward in Volterra only to then let him go two seconds later? It's unclear, I guess they ran out of run time for Michael Sheen. Why do the Cullens even do this human thing? Hold that thought.

So, there's a lot that the books do explain in some detail, that either never get a mention in the films or are extremely glossed over for run time, toning down, difficulty to explain in the medium, and various other reasons.

No offense if you like the movies, anon, I just hate them.

So, here's what Alice tells us in the book.

Bella and Jacob ask what you just did: why doesn't Alice go herself? Bella will only slow Alice down and Alice has to get Bella out of the country right this second when at the moment of asking she could only pray that Bella had a passport (Bella did so it worked out but if she hadn't I imagine Bella would have been placed in the cargo hold instead).

Alice responds that she has had visions where she runs through the city, yelling at Edward mentally that Bella is alive, but that Edward would not only not believe her but step into the sunlight sooner as he knows Alice is there to stop him. The reason he wouldn't believe her is that he would know Alice would know this is the only way to stop him from doing this. This is why, even if Alice doesn't think "Bella's alive!" she still can't go as Edward will realize his suicide attempt will be quickly thwarted.

Add in that it was a very sunny day in Tuscany and Alice would have had to take a very roundabout path to get to Edward where she would stay in the shade. Because she's dealing with vampires, not humans, this matters: Edward will kill himself before Alice can ever reach him.

Similarly, we have a problem in that Edward can't hear Bella's thoughts. As a result, even when Bella shows up, she can't stay outside the city/in range of Edward's gift if not his person, as he can't hear her think and wouldn't be able to recognize she's alive. Moreover, Edward's so fucking focused on killing himself dramatically, that he's not paying attention to thoughts around him, who might happen to see Bella's face but would likely think nothing of it. Edward's not looking for her.

The only way they can stop the suicide is if Bella runs and manages to catch him in time. It's not about pushing him out of the way, it's about getting there just in time to say "WAIT, I'M ALIVE, DON'T KILL YOURSELF".

Which is what fortunately happens.

What Alice doesn't mention is Edward's a little in love with the idea of killing himself over this. So, it's not shocking that nothing else will stop him.

Which yes, means she ultimately risks Bella's life, takes her to the den of the enemy, so that she can save Edward and does not make this clear to Bella.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #alice cullen #anti alice cullen #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #bella swan #meta #headcanon #opinion

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cryptictongues · 8 months

Text

Cruel

pairing: Barnabas Tharmr x Leviathan!Reader rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI; 18+) word count: 4.5k summary: You will be Barnabas's ruin.

warnings: porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, vaginal fingering, body worship, angst.

This was supposed to be an Enemies with Benefits type beat but lmao it shifted a little bit. Hope this kicks off the week for those that enjoy!

Spoilers from the very beginning of the game, as well as certain things about Barnabas you learn later in the game. Also, there are some references from FFXVI Ultimania. Explained some of that in a comment if interested!

There are a few lines used from the game in the beginning. I do not claim that I own those lines or anything that Square Enix has created.

[AO3 link]

Barnabas didn’t want to be here. Sitting here with Dhalmekian’s leaders as they list all the reasons that he should grant them his knights to fight against the Ironblood makes him mentally roll his eyes. He only accepted the invitation for this meeting to ensure the plan he has set forth is going as planned. All in its right place he tells himself.

“Did you not pledge your swords to our cause!? The Marshal yells, and all Barnabas can think of is how pathetic the Marshal is. Men begging for him to save them, as if they deserve saving. He feels Harbard take a defensive stance beside him, sword at the ready.

“Come now. Marshal–the king of Waloed is our guest.”

Silence spreads at that statement, as if they are remembering who it really was that they were in the presence of: Barnabas Tharmr, Warden of Ash and king of Waloed, and the Dominant of Odin… a Dominant that has slayed thousands upon thousands in battle with a single stroke of his blade. They knew not to step on his toes, or they too would seek the same fate, as well as a termination of allyship.

Barnabas turns to Harbard, shaking his head and scoffing at their pleas. Harbard goes at ease and looks to the Dhalmekian leadership. “And you have His Majesty’s answer.”

Groans and sighs waft around the room, no words being spoken as everyone contemplates their next moves. Barnabas casts his eyes down, thinking about how everything is going. His goal for this meeting is to have Hugo Kupka take the field as Titan, needing him to take down the Shiva Dominant that the Ironblood have so she can be captured. He needs all of the Dominants in the right place for this to work, and if he gets her, then everything will be set. Well almost.

Most of the Dominants outside his circle are exactly where he needs them. Bahamut is out of the way, staying within his means of commanding the Sanbrequois forces. Ramuh is out playing “hero”, most likely nearby to try and retrieve the Shiva Dominant. The Phoenix is six feet under where he belongs. All of this comes to fruition as the perfect vessel, his mythos, starts to come together. There is only one issue: you.

Leviathan, Goddess of Chaos. The one who should be by his side to bring on a new age. But you fail to see the bigger picture, and that has led you astray. It infuriates him. You infuriate him. It drives him mad that you could betray him, and potentially ruin everything he has laid out, yet still have a soft spot for you. It makes him sick to think that no matter how hard he tries to fight his urges, you are still able to make him remember that he is what he hates most: human.

Commotion returns his mental focus as he hears shouting coming from the hallway, blood curling screeches growing louder before everything falls silent again, aside from the footsteps approaching the double doors. Once the footsteps halt, the doors swing open… and there you are in all of your glory.

��Sorry to crash your meeting, my dear friends.” You say, bowing slightly, although Barnabas could tell it was in a mocking manner.

He keeps his face stoic, but his insides churn at the sight of you. It has been a few years since his last encounter with you. You had left him ten years ago, leaving not a trace of your whereabouts. It had sent him spiraling, as you were the last person, he expected to turn against him. The next time he saw you was a couple years later when he arrived back from Storm to the shores of Waloed, and he saw you there by the ship port. His first emotions were anger for how dare you show your face. That was until you climbed aboard, dragged him to the lower deck, and had fucked him on the floors on the Einherjar. Then you disappeared again, seeming to find him a couple times a year since and the both of you would engage in a few rough rounds before departing again. There are many times in the beginning he contemplated getting rid of you, the sting of treason heavy on his heart, but he grew to accept this agreement. If it meant he could be close to you, to share some semblance of the past when you were his most avid supporter, it would be enough. The last time he saw you was three years ago up until now, a big gap of time spent compared to the others. On the inside, he was surprised, but you tend to have a way with your timing on things.

You look older, but he still saw the radiance you allure, wearing a dark blue velvet gown that covers your every step. Collar bones exposed and skin glowing like the moon reflecting the sea. You are like a siren calling to him, and it was working because all Barnabas could think is how beautiful you are… and how cruel you could be all the same. Because he knew your presentation was for him, and that he would break. He always did.

You are standing by the table now, hands placed on top as you scan the room. Everyone looks shocked, not expecting surprise visitors, let alone a rogue Water Dominant. The reaction makes you smile; you love catching people by surprise. Your eyes land on Barnabas, and good stars above, he looks gorgeous. Chest slightly exposed, beautiful blue silk and black fabric in intricate form on his body. He really hasn’t aged a day.

Finally, a member from the Dhlamekian council stands, taking an immediate defense posture. “I don’t know how you bested our men, but you are not welcome here. This is between us and the Waloeders.”

You shrug. “Well thank goodness that I am a Waloeder. Well, by blood at least.”

Benedikta snickers, an obvious grimace on her face. “And you chose to leave, therefore I don’t think you have business here.”

You turn to her, a wicked smile appearing on your face. You walk towards her, placing your hand on her face to caress her smooth skin. “Oh, but I do, Benna.”

“Keep your hands off of her.” You hear a growl from across the room, turning to see it is none other than Titan himself. You feign innocence. “Or what? Are you going to put your hands on me? It’s not nice to manhandle a lady.” You turn fully to him now, a smirk forming over your innocent gaze. “Not that I personally mind it.”

Barnabas internally growls at your notion, moving his hand to his chin to keep his jaw locked. The last thing he needs is for his facade to slip.

You sense the Marshal stand, irritation clear on his face. “I’ll ask one more time to leave, or I’ll have my guards escort you out.”

You belt out a laugh. “What guards? Look around!” Your arms go to the air spread out, turning your torso from side to side to show that it is just them. That seems to set him off as he goes to walk towards you, seemingly wanting to throw you out himself. You can’t have that.

You put your hand out towards him, feeling the blood run through his veins before gripping your fist, causing the Marshal to stutter in his stance. He gasps in pain, grabbing at his chest as he tries to breathe. You throw your fist down by your side, sending him to the ground in a fetal position. You keep your grip as you walk to him, bending down as you place your other hand's fingers on his chin, lifting it up to look at him. You see he is struggling, and all you can do is tsk. “Know this: I could make you scream just like I did to your men out in the hall. Consider this a mercy.” You tap his face before releasing him, leaving him on the floor as he tries to gain his bearings.

Your attention goes back to Hugo Kupka. “You may want to ready yourself, Titan. The Ironblood are invading Dhalmekian territory as we speak.”

Hugo’s face is stone, walking past Marshal and others to the door. “Kupka!” The Marshal chokes from the floor. Hugo doesn’t look his way as he replies. “The Ironblood will rue the day they set foot on Storm… this game is over.”

He makes his exit, closely followed by Benedikta. You see her leave with confidence in her stride, very obvious that she is trying to prepare her facade. You chuckle at this new development.

“Everyone out.” A stern voice says, and you turn to see it is none other than Barnabas, whose hard stare is on your form.

Everyone is still, not knowing if they should listen as it is their territory after all. You, however, could care less. “Do the lot of you not understand signals? Get out.” You say sternly, command dripping from your voice. The council slowly makes their way out, afraid to talk against you due to what they witnessed. You hear them talking amongst themselves in disappointment, confusion, and curiosity, questioning what business Leviathan has with the mighty Odin. You turn your head towards the Lord Commander himself, watching him stay firmly in his spot. “That means you too, Harbard.” Barnabas dismisses him, and Harbard walks past you, smirking as he is the last one to exit. The doors shut and you face Barnabas. “It’s been a long time, Barney Boy.”

His face twists. He hates when you call him that. You walk towards him, commanding his attention as you sway your hips. “Awe, does the strong, dark King of Waloed not like being called that?” You walk slowly behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “Would you like me to call you something else, your majesty?” You draw out, hands running down to the inside of his royal blue undershirt. You lean down by his ear, taking a second to let your breath graze it as your left pointer finger traces the scar on his chest. “Would you like me to call you something endearing like my dearest?” You kiss under his ear, and he shivers. “Or…” you continue to kiss down his neck. “Would you like something a little more submissive like my pet?” You nip at his neck, and he grunts.

He craves you in this way. When you left Waloed, left him, he struggled. He had been with several women since, but he always feels like he has to hold himself to the standard he’s set for himself. He could always be vulnerable with you, no matter if it was you in control or him. With you, he gives himself fully and he can’t say he ever regrets it even though you will be his ruin. He is sure of it.

You step back from him only to step into his line of vision, leaning against the table. You place your hand on his cheek, and he leans into its cool embrace, craving anything you would give him. “Someone seems touch starved. Is Benedikta not keeping you warm at night?”

“Nobody will ever compare to you, no matter how cruel you are.” He speaks truthfully, turning his face into your palm to press his lips to the softness of your skin.

“Is that true? Because I know of someone, or rather something that seems to topple over me.”

He growls. “You know my relationship with my master is not the same as it is with you.”

Your hand moves from his cheek to grip his chin, holding it tightly as your eyes burn into his. “Are you sure? Because it seems every time we are in this situation, it’s my name you call out; like I am the one that can grant you salvation.” You bend down to kiss his forehead, whispering your next words against it. “It’s a shame I can’t seem to make that illusion stick.”

You pull away and move to sit on the table. Your left foot is set on the arm of his chair, while your right one rubs against his muscular thigh. You love how muscular he is, his battle hungry body filling his clothes out deliciously, especially in his black trousers. Your foot moves past his thigh to his crotch, rubbing his bulge with little pressure. He is staring daggers at you, but you know he won’t do anything. He could have taken you in his arms and fucked you face down into the table if he wanted to, but he knows your command is law in these moments. Right now, you are his God.

You push your foot slightly, causing him to buck into it with a sigh. “It’s okay though. I like to pretend, even if it is for a moment.” You set your right foot on the other side of the seat to settle on the arm rest. You pull your dress up, exposing yourself to him.

Barnabas licks his lips. No matter how many times he’s had you, he will never get tired of how beautiful your womanhood is. His breath deepens, wanting so badly to touch you, but he knows the rules. You are in control.

“Did you want to touch me, Barnabas? It’s been a long time since you’ve had a taste, hasn’t it?” He mewls, nodding his head, hands clenching and unclenching to calm himself.

You smirk. You know him like the back of your hand. You know what he wants, and you are going to give it to him. “Go ahead, my darling. Claim your prize.”

There is hesitation on Barnabas’s half. It isn’t like you to give in so easily. You will toy with him until he is begging for you to let him touch and taste you. You would make him watch as you pleasure yourself, letting the sweetest gasps fall from your lips. You wouldn’t let him have what he wants until there is visible evidence of your essence dripping from your fingers. You see his hesitation and you giggle. “There is no catch, my dear. This is all for you. Indulge in me, worship me, for I know it is what you crave.” You lift your foot again, this time putting it on his shoulder to edge him forward. He simply cannot refuse.

He reaches forward, his big hands starting from your calves to your thighs, gripping the flesh as he brings himself forward. He places kisses on your thighs, giving small nips only to lick them right after. He takes his time with you, worshiping you like you deserve, making sure to convey his devotion to you as your encouragements reach his ears.

“You revere me so much, don’t you? You are doing a wonderful job at showing that.” You purr, using one hand to run through his dark locks. “But I want those pretty lips to worship me where I will be brought to ruin. Will you worship me there?”

He looks up to you, steel blue eyes stirring with his need to praise you. “I will do as you wish, my Goddess.” He goes in, securing your legs over his shoulders, and letting his tongue sing praises against your delicious cunt.

“You are such a good boy.” You mewl, gripping his hair as your other hand holds you up so you can watch him please you. All you can think is how beautiful he looks in his submissive state, an absolute juxtaposition to the battle hungry maniac he is.

His hold on you tightens, his actions becoming more relentless the more you praise him and the more your essence starts to make its way onto his tongue. He moans into your pussy, lapping at your clit with vigor. He has had many women on his tongue, more as a way of getting them ready for his own selfish pleasure. No one has ever compared to flavor, for he yearns for you to fall apart on his mouth. To know that he is the one to bring you to completion makes his blood pump strongly through his veins, going right to his manhood.

Your noises grow louder, becoming apparent that your release is calling to him to give you what you need. He takes his right pointer and middle fingers to your heat, sinking them in as his tongue worships your clit. He feels your hold on his hair grow stronger, and his moan against you with the fast work of his fingers signals your finish. You cry out, thighs squeezing around his head as he rides your orgasm out. He slurps the sweet liquid dripping around his fingers, letting you calm down as your breaths echo throughout the room.

You pull his head up, hard enough to the point where he is now standing in between your legs. You are both staring at each other, both breathing heavily waiting for each other’s next set of commands and moves. You stare at his lips, glittering with your essence. Your resolve is breaking down, your want to do what you haven’t done in many years taking hold of your heart.

Barnabas is waiting for you to tell him what you want from him next when gravity seems to shift as you pull him down, your lips pressing against his in hunger. Time seems to still, his mind going insane as your lovely lips move against his. Something he noticed in previous meetings is that you would never kiss him. Whenever he would go in to kiss you, you would avoid saying he was undeserving of that kind of affection from you. The last time he had kissed you was not long before you left. It has been ten long years since he received this blessing, and rather than thinking about what has changed, he loses himself in you wanting to make up for all the times he wasn’t allowed to love you like this.

His hands grab your face, holding it in place as he escalates his kisses. The callused skin of his palms feels good on your cheeks, the roughness causing you to latch your hands to his top attire. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him on top of you as you deepen your kiss with him. His bulge is right up against your wet cunt, and he softly grinds into you. The feeling feels good on both ends, both of you capturing each other’s gasps and choked moans as things get heavier and more intense.

You pull away, placing both hands onto his cheeks as you look at him. The emotions swirling in his gaze are almost too much to bear, and if you want to do this right, you cannot be sucked into them. You won’t let that happen.

“Make love to me, my darling. Please.” You whisper.

He is fast to lower his trousers enough to release his cock, lowering his face to yours to kiss you again as he sinks into your warm heat. You whimper, his cock stretching you out in an exquisite way. It has been a very long time since you’ve had him on top of you like this, and you will burn this into your memory for all time.

Barnabas picks up the pace slightly, letting go of your lips to trail wet kisses down your neck. He sucks harshly where your neck and left clavicle meet, the need to mark you infiltrating his soul. He missed loving you like this. He can’t believe you are allowing this. For so long, it has been you to have your way with him, to have complete control over the situation. In any other instance, if he had instigated this, you would have punished him till kingdom come. But you started this. You allowed this. It is now the both of you engaging with each other how you both used to. It is too good to be true.

If only he knew that it was.

He keeps leaving marks on your neck, painting the beautiful picture that you are his to mark. He is pumping his cock in you in deep strokes, reaching every depth of your cunt that sends you reeling. His hands travel down to your breasts, squeezing through the velvet of your dress which makes your nipples rub against the fabric. You hum in approval, bringing your hands to the collar of his undershirt to move it aside, bringing your mouth to his chest, the both of you now marking each other as you both reach the edge together.

Barnabas is fucking you full force now, his right hand pulling your head back as his mouth leaves your now marked body. His lips meet yours again, praises and whispers of affirmation leaving each other in the same breaths.

“Release for me, my Goddess.” He breathes into you. “Bring me to ruin.”

You cry out against his lips, your walls squeezing his cock as you cum for him. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him against you as he releases during your high. He draws in and out, slowing down as his cock becomes more sensitive by the second. Once the both of you are down, he releases your lips, heavy breaths and stares exchanged in the aftermath. He groans as he pulls out of you fully, causing you to sigh at the emptiness, letting your legs unravel from his hips to dangle against the table.

You work to calm yourself down, needing to get yourself together before you do anything else. Your eyes shut, focusing your mind on your next moves. You know what you need to do, yet you didn’t realize cutting off your boundaries would make this much harder. It has to be done.

You sit up to see he has fixed himself up and is staring at you with what you can only see is hope. It makes your chest pang a little harder, knowing what you are about to do will sever your ties with him for good.

You move off the table, situating yourself so your gown is smoothed out and looking somewhat presentable. As you are doing this, you see his feet reach your line of sight. You look up and he is directly in front of you. His eyes are soft yet holding back. He is smiling down at you, and it makes your heart flip. You want so badly to confirm you are here to stay, but that is far from the truth.

“What’s changed?” He breathes out. “This isn’t like you. I feel as if I’m back in the past; back to how things should be.”

Your gaze stays down, working up the courage to say what you came to say. His hand comes to your chin, mimicking how you had gripped his chin earlier, and lifted your face to his. He is examining you, not understanding why you don’t seem happier. “You are usually so cruel to me, making me earn my servitude. But most of all, you haven’t blessed me with your kisses in a decade. So, I’ll ask again, what’s changed?”

You sigh, stepping back from him. His hand is still out, confusion taking over his features at your mannerisms. Your confident gaze is set back onto your face, not wanting to potentially give into him. “This is a goodbye.”

“A goodbye? Meaning what?” Barnabas asks, his tone shifting slightly, his brows knit together.

“I’m leaving Valisthea… for good.” You admit.

His blood runs cold. Leaving? What could you possibly mean by that?

You watch his features shift once more, only this time it snaps your heart in two. He is scared; you can see that very clearly. It is the scared look of a boy, as you know deep down that is who Barnabas is: a lonely, scared boy. You continue. “Things around here are getting worse with the Blight and the ridiculous wars you and everyone else seem to lash out with. Countless lives lost to them. It is barbaric, and this place is no longer a place I can proudly call a home.”

“My biggest reason is that I cannot live in a place where you exist.” Your voice shakes.

“Exist?” He chokes out.

You smile, a hint of sadness complimenting it. “The way you want the world based on how your god wants it will not only destroy everyone, but it will also destroy you. I will not stay to bear witness to it.”

“You know that this is the only way to salvation.” Barnabas says above a whisper, not wanting to give away his motives, but he knows it is futile. He knows you are smarter than that.

You laugh, sorrow building in your chest. “If your plan to have us enslaved by that thing you call a god is salvation, then I’d rather be dead.”

The next thing you feel is your back hitting the wall, Barnabas pushing himself into you as he holds your head in his rough hands, eyes staring at you belligerently. The scared boy you saw from the deep dwellings of his heart vanishing before your eyes. “We have always belonged to one another, ____. We can build a world that no man could ever dream of seeing.”

This sends you into a spiral, causing you to laugh maniacally. “I have always belonged to you, but you have never fully belonged to me.” You push him off of you, leering at him as you can feel yourself starting to rage. “You were the only one who could bring me to my knees, but I am not the only one that can bring you to yours.”

You rush towards him, pushing him into the table with your hand on his throat. “Remember this, Barnabas.” You seethe. “You may hate mankind, but under all of your disdain, you are still nothing but a man. Not even being Akashic can change that.”

You feel him try to turn you over, but as soon as you feel him move you grip your free hand, making him stop in his tracks as he groans out in pain. You make his blood run slowly, having it flow away from his hands and feet to make them go cold. “Do you forget who you are dealing with? Your god made my Eikon the strongest. That was his first mistake because unlike you I am not a sheep in wolf's clothing. I will not stay to be his puppet.”

You let him go, backing away as he drops to his knees, numbness in his limbs as the blood slowly returns. “For your sake, Barnabas, I hope you find peace as I understand your need to avenge, but I will not stay for the finale.”

You kneel, looking at how pitiful he looks. “I do love you. And because I do, I must save myself the heartache that I will never be able to change your mind. Goodbye, Barnabas.”

You stand back up and turn away, walking to the doors and out of his life for good. Barnabas coughs, hitting the cold floor with his fist to calm the anguish that repeatedly suffocates him because now he really is alone.

If only you knew that his attempts to keep you here weren’t for ulterior motives… he just wanted you to stay.

#barnabas tharmr x reader #barnabas tharmr smut #barnabas tharmr angst #ffxvi x reader #barnabas x reader #my fics #angst #smut #ffxvi #final fantasy xvi

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thepastisalreadywritten · 2 months

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By Simmone Shah

29 February 2024

While Catherine Middleton has been absent from royal duties for two months due to a “planned abdominal surgery,” the British public has been full of speculation about what's going on with their future Queen Consort.

But the royal family has always held a fine line between balancing private health matters with disclosure to the public they serve.

“You could argue that details about a head of state are in the public interest,” says Richard Fitzwilliams, an expert on the royal family.

“But on the other hand, to what extent does a public figure have a right to privacy?”

Catherine's absence fits into a long and evolving history of how royals have chosen to handle health issues.

Past generations often shrouded them in secrecy. Perhaps most famously, in the 1950s, the British public was not told when King George VI had lung cancer.

In 1951, he had his left lung removed because of what was vaguely described as “structural abnormalities," and cancer was not mentioned in his death announcement.

Occasionally, past generations would be more open about less significant problems.

Once in 1982, when Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, had to visit the hospital after nearly choking to death on a fishbone, she issued a statement to the press, joking, “It was only the salmon getting its own back."

“The fishbone is quite revealing because they tended to be more open about minor instances,” says Gareth Russell, a historian and author who focuses on the British royal family.

“Britain was a much more reserved society in the 20th century, and in families across the land and across the social spectrum, cancer or fatal illnesses often weren't discussed.”

Catherine and William’s approach has proved to be starkly different, as they’ve addressed private matters with far more candor.

“Catherine and William are members of a different generation, so they feel no shame in being open about challenges,” says Clare McHugh, a royal historian and author.

Neither Catherine or William have shied away in the past from speaking out about health matters.

Prince William has spoken extensively about the importance of mental health, and Catherine spoke about the difficult morning sickness she faced during her pregnancies.

She also revealed her postpartum baby bump in photos hours after giving birth to her son, Prince George.

In part, it’s a necessary tactic for the internet age in which secrets are much harder to keep.

“I think they do recognize that in order to survive and flourish in a modern era they need to be honest about what is going on with them,” says McHugh.

“It’s better for them to be candid up front rather than let internet rumors fly.”

That they have previously been somewhat transparent only makes their current silence stand out, experts say.

“That’s why William and Catherine’s reticence about what's going on with them is odd,” says McHugh.

As Kathryn Lamontagne, a lecturer in Social Science at Boston University says, sometimes saying nothing causes more of a stir than addressing the problem head on, a lesson the Royal Family learned when Queen Elizabeth II missed parts of a major event in the months before her death.

“For Royal followers, her absence from the Platinum Jubilee celebrations in 2022 was a glaring sign of how unwell she was and a clear indicator of a serious issue on the horizon,” Lamontagne said in an email.

Still, despite her candor in the past, in many ways the Duchess of Cambridge’s silence is simply following tradition.

“This dance between private and public information nudges the line of medical privacy and a public clamoring for details, but it still follows the pattern of giving very few medical details of a certain kind to the public,” says Lamontagne.

“‘Never complain, never explain,’ in the words of the late Queen.”

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #health issues #abdominal surgery #right to privacy #King George VI #Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother #Prince William #Prince of Wales #Queen Elizabeth II #medical privacy

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thatlovinfeelin · 1 year

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Flightless Bird | ten | Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Synopsis: Josephine Wilson Miller is alone for the first time in her life. She got married after her first year of college and became a housewife, but that life is gone now. So she runs to San Diego, to her childhood best friend Jake, where she meets the man who could very well be her salvation.

series warnings: unplanned pregnancy, just pregnancy in general, talks of infertility. past mental and emotional abuse. anxiety. talks of women's reproductive systems (idk)

“My client is not in agreement with these terms.”

Josephine clenched her fists. She’d been in this damn conference room for two hours while her lawyer argued with Michael’s. She just needed this to be over already. He was the one that kicked her out, so why the hell wouldn’t he just sign the damn papers and be done with it?

“I think you’ll find these conditions are more than favorable for your client,” Her lawyer responded calmly, “Mrs. Miller isn’t asking for any assets, in fact she wants nothing from your client. Mrs. Miller’s only request has been made very clear, we feel it’s quite simple.”

Jose could hear Michael mumble something on the other end of the phone. She knew he was there, of course, even if they hadn’t said a single word to one another. They’d been going back and forth through their lawyers for weeks now. But he kept dragging his feet at every turn, making every possible excuse as to why the divorce wasn’t fair.

“You and your client are asking my client, Mr. Miller, to sign away his rights. This is no simple matter.”

“I think you’ll find, given the situation that-”

“Michael, can you hear me?” Jose cut off her lawyer.

“Mrs. Miller, please.”

“I’d like to speak with my husband, since legally, we’re still married. Michael?”

She could hear him clearing his throat, “I’m here.”

“Why are you being so stubborn? You’re the one that made this happen,” Jose reminded him softly, “I’m not asking for anything more than what you made clear you wanted.”

“Oh, that’s how you see it?” He scoffed.

“You threw me out, in the cold. I had nowhere to go, because I didn’t have a life outside of you. All because I dared to say I wanted to keep the baby,” She reminded him, “You didn’t want anything to do with either of us, and you still don’t. Stop acting like you do.”

“No, no, you made that choice. You chose to leave.”

“You can keep everything, the apartment, the money, all of the investments we made. I don’t want any of it anymore,” She pleaded, “Just sign the papers, please Michael. Stop the cycle here, don’t be like your father. Don’t use this child…my child…as a bargaining chip.”

“Josephine, you just love to paint everyone else as the villain in your story. It’s always everyone else’s fault, never your own. You told me you weren’t able to conceive, so we made a different life for ourselves. Don’t blame me because you lied and changed your mind.”

Jose held onto her stomach, feeling his words hit her like knives, “You know I never lied about that. You were at so many of those appointments. Michael, please think about what you’re doing. You’re trying to use an innocent little baby girl as leverage. She hasn’t done anything yet, she didn’t choose to exist, but she does. It isn’t her fault.”

The silence seemed to be so loud it almost hurt. Her lawyer sat quietly next to her, waiting for the next move. Up until now, Michael and Jose hadn’t spoken to one another since she left New York. Aside from the text messages Michael sent to tell her to get Jake off of his back.

“It’s a girl?”

She wasn’t sure if she imagined the sound of his voice breaking or not, “I found out last week. She’s healthy, ten fingers and toes. Mi, our marriage was over a long time before she came about. You know it just as much as I do. Don’t punish her for our mistakes.”

“You want me to sign away all of my rights to her.”

“It’s just as much for her as it is for you. It’ll protect you, no one could ever claim you have to pay any type of support. Your name won’t go on her birth certificate, as far as anyone is concerned, I’m her only parent. Michael, you can continue to live your life with no strings. You can find someone who will actually be good at all of the games. I was never fit for that life, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Josephine, I-”

“We loved each other once, Michael. I know we did. But those kids that fell in love and got married have been gone for a long time now. We’ve been holding each other back and hurting each other at every turn. So please, do right by our daughter. The best thing you could ever do for her is give her up.”

“I-” He took a deep breath, “You’re right. The papers will be faxed to you no later than tomorrow evening.”

Josephine sunk back in her chair with tears swelling in her eyes, “Thank you.”

“Jose?”

“Yeah Mi?”

“You’re going to be an amazing mother,” He said softly, “Our daughter…your daughter is lucky.”

“I hope one day you get to see her, Michael, but it will always be her choice.”

“Goodbye, Jose.”

“Bye, Mi.”

When Jose came bursting through Jake’s front door three hours later with signed divorce papers in her hands, she didn’t expect to run right into Jake and Phoenix on the couch. They both jumped up, quickly moving away from one another. Which only seemed to make Jose laugh.

“Sorry, don’t mind me,” Jose held her hands up, “Go back to whatever it was you were doing. I’ll just leave.”

“Hey wait!” The other woman yelled, “How did it go?”

“Well, the next item on the to-do list is to legally change my name back to Wilson,” She shrugged, “Michael agreed to sign the papers. The office sent them over an hour ago, I’m officially no longer married.”

Jake and Natasha were on Jose in an instant, both hugging her tightly. Jose laughed and hugged them back. Her baby might not legally have a father, but she already had some of the best family. In another world, Jose might be scared about doing this without a partner beside her, but she knew she wouldn’t be alone. She would always have Jake, and Phoenix, and Bradley and anyone else that came along with them. She was making her own little family.

“How did you manage it?” Nat asked her once they all settled into the living room.

“I think I appealed to the boy I fell in love with. There was still some humanity left in there somewhere.”

“Have you told Bradley?” Jake questioned.

“No, I came straight home to tell you.”

Natasha pulled out her phone, “I’m telling him to get his ass over here.”

“What? Why? Nat stop!”

“Too late,” The woman grinned, “You probably have less than five minutes.”

“I say she has two,” Jake chimed in, “He’s pretty fast.”

“Why did you do that?” Jose questioned, standing up.

“Because you like him,” Natasha shrugged, “And you’re single now.”

“I’m pregnant! It doesn’t matter who I like!” Jose argued, “Jake! Help me!”

“Sweetheart, we’ve had this conversation one too many times already,” Jake sighed, “And I’m tired of Bradshaw playing a one sided game of twenty questions about you while we’re on base.”

“He asks about me?”

“Too much,” Jake rolled his eyes, “In any other situation I wouldn’t be supporting this. I know you’re scared, but I also know the two of you have some kind of bond that I don’t understand. I trust him. So, let your guard down for a minute.”

“You know why I can’t do that,” Jose argued.

“Don’t use her as an excuse,” Jake was standing in front of Jose now with his hands on her shoulders, “It’s okay that you’re scared, but don’t use your daughter as an out, okay? Be a big girl and accept the fact that you have feelings.”

“Jake, I think it’s a good day to sit out on the back patio, don’t you?” Natasha questioned, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Phoenix, I think that’s a great idea,” He smirked, leaning over to kiss Jose’s forehead, “Holler if you need us, Sweetheart. Play nice.”

“I hate you both so much right now.”

It took five minutes for the knock on Jake’s door. Josephine’s hands were all sweaty by the time she reached for the handle. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say, or what Natasha even said to get Bradley over here.

It took her less than a second to realize just how nervous she was. Which seemed weird, she never really felt nervous around Bradley. Always an overwhelming sense of calm, yet not her heart was pounding like it might burst.

“Hey are you okay?” Bradley asked frantically the second Jose opened the door.

“I’m fine,” She said quickly, “I promise, everyone is okay.”

“Phoenix said I needed to get over here as-” Bradley stopped and looked at the woman in front of him, “Why are you smiling like that? What’s going on?”

Jose reached forward, pulling Bradley towards her. His eyebrows were pinched together as he put his arms around her. Despite everything, Jose couldn’t think about anything other than the man before her.

“I’m free,” She told him softly, “He signed the papers today.”

“Jose, that’s amazing,” His voice was so tender it made her heart seem to jump.

“I meant what I said,” She whispered, “I want you in my life.”

“I’m right here.”

She had to get on her toes, which in her current state was harder than it should have been. Bradley stayed still, not wanting to scare her. But he liked when she seemed braver, he liked when she was like this. Her eyes flicked back up to his for a moment before she leaned in the rest of the way.

Then it was just them. Just Bradley and Jose, and the sparks that she wasn’t going to ignore anymore.

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster top gun #rooster fanfic #rooster bradshaw fanfic #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #top gun

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