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reallygroovyninja · 3 months

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The Break Up

Clarke's finger hovered over the call button, hesitation flooding through her. She glanced at the clock - 10PM in California meant 1AM in New York. Was it too late? Lexa always told her to call no matter when, insisting that she'd always pick up. But things had changed between them over the past few months. The distance between the two coasts had created a chasm even their daily calls couldn't bridge.

She tapped the familiar icon on her phone, the rings seeming sluggish, amplifying her nerves.

"Clarke?" Lexa's husky voice was thick with sleep. A pang of guilt hit Clarke for waking her girlfriend.

"Hey," Clarke started softly. "Did I wake you? I can let you go back to sleep and just talk tom-"

"No, no it's okay. Is everything alright?" Lexa's tone shifted to concern. Even half asleep, she was still taking care of Clarke.

Clarke sighed, tears pricking unexpectedly. "Not really. I just..." Her voice caught. She couldn't bear to say the words out loud, couldn't voice what she knew they both were thinking. That long distance wasn't working for them. That as much as they didn’t want to admit it, they needed to have a heartbreaking discussion about the fate of their relationship and what came next.

The deafening silence on the line said it all. Clarke imagined Lexa on the other end nodding slowly, both reluctance and grief etched on her features even without seeing her face. Here came the conversation Clarke had been dreading for weeks. The distance seemed destined to end them despite their best efforts.

Clarke gripped the phone tighter, her knuckles turning white. She squeezed her eyes shut as the first tears escaped down her cheeks.

"I miss you," Clarke whispered, the words cracking with emotion. She missed everything - Lexa's smile, her laugh, the feeling of her arms wrapped tightly around her. Video calls and phone conversations were no longer enough. Not when there had once been lazy Sundays tangled together in bed and long walks hand-in-hand along the Potomac River without the pressure of time difference schedules.

"I miss you too, Clarke," came Lexa's shattered reply. Miles away yet connected by the slim electronic lifeline, Clarke could picture Lexa's stoic armor falling away, eyebrows knit together while she held back her own tears.

"But...I think we need to talk..." Clarke forced herself to say. The seven dreaded words no one in a relationship ever wants to hear. But the distance had strained them to a breaking point - separate cities, increasingly separate lives. As much as Clarke wanted to cling to what they once had, it didn't exist anymore.

"I think you're right," Lexa's voice wavered slightly despite the even tone. She had always been able to read Clarke so well. They had both known a reckoning was coming, as much as their hearts silently raged against the mere idea.

Clarke took a shuddering breath, wiping the tears from her eyes. She focused on the painting leaning against the bare wall of her apartment, grounding herself for the devastating but inevitable conversation about to unfold.

"I just...I feel like we're drifting apart," Clarke whispered, giving voice to the fears that had been plaguing her for weeks. "Like we're becoming strangers."

She heard Lexa let out a shaky breath. "I've felt that too. At first, I thought it was just starting new jobs and getting settled in our cities, but..."

"But it's more than that," Clarke finished for her. Long distance was supposed to be temporary - they had clung fiercely to that belief in the beginning. That after a year apart chasing career dreams on opposite coasts, they'd reunite and start building a life together again.

It had seemed possible when granted with everyday moments like Lexa's small, sleepy smile in the morning or the brush of her fingers along Clarke's arm. Things video calls failed to replicate at their now fractured foundation.

"Maybe if the distance was less..." Clarke's voice trailed off wistfully, knowing not even the entire breadth of the country could be blamed alone. Something else had fractured between them too. The easy affection, unquestioned devotion, shared dreams for the future...all casualties gradually inflicted not solely by physical separation but a growing emotional chasm too.

"I want this to work, I do." The catch in Lexa's words splintered Clarke's heart further. "I love you, I'll always love you. But wanting that doesn't change what's happening between us."

A lonely tear trailed down Clarke's cheek. The hardest relationships to end were often the deepest loves too.

A sob caught in Clarke's throat as the weight of Lexa's words sank in. She loves me. Present tense, not past. And yet...it still isn't enough.

Clarke blinked back the threat of more tears, trying to swallow the sadness rising within her. "I know," she finally managed to say. "I love you too." She poured every ounce of feeling into those four words, hoping Lexa could still sense her heart even so many miles away.

"But you're right," Clarke made herself continue after a painful pause. As agonizing as this conversation was, she owed Lexa the truth of her feelings, no matter how much the reality hurt them both.

"The distance, stretched over months...we can't pretend it hasn't changed things." Once upon a happier time, Lexa had felt like her anchor amidst any storm. But now Clarke only felt her absence, like a ship adrift without its mooring. "We've both got separate lives now. I barely know what's going on in your world anymore...and you in mine."

Silence stretched between them - Clarke picturing Lexa sitting on her sofa, shoulders slumped forward, dark waves of hair curtaining her face. She ached to brush those strands back, let her fingertips graze Lexa's cheek, re-memorize every beloved detail of her features.

Finally, Lexa's somber voice came, quavering on just two shattering syllables. "So...what happens now?"

The question neither one wanted to ask but had to, the one that would inexorably lead to goodbye. Because the only thing worse than the painful realization they had been growing apart would be denying it while staying together in name alone.

Clarke's breath caught in her throat at the question. What did happen now? The obvious answer loomed before them - the necessity of ending things if they were both feeling the relationship fracture.

And yet...the years of history they shared made the notion nearly unfathomable. How could she just cut the tether they had created day by day? Lexa had been her first love, the one who unexpectedly burst into her world and changed her entire concept of relationships.

Clarke pinched her eyes closed, forcing aside the fresh swell of tears. She focused on steadying her uneven breath, trying to calm the storm inside her heart.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, the words barely a whisper. Because the truth was she wanted Lexa in her life in any way possible, even if that meant redefining the parameters of their relationship. The title seemed insignificant compared to keeping Lexa's steadfast care and understanding rooted in her world.

"Can we just...talk? Not make any big decisions now?" Clarke asked hesitantly. She knew the sensible decision loomed before them, but the reminder of Lexa's love made her long to cling to these last lingering threads between them. Surely there was still something worth saving if they both still felt such depth of emotion?

The extended silence magnified Clarke's nerves. Would Lexa agree they owed it to their history to try talking first? Or had the distance grown so vast already that she would insist on a clean break? Clarke held her breath, praying Lexa's heart would echo her own in those agonizing moments.

Clarke heard Lexa take a shaky breath on the other end of the line. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm.

“I think if we’re both feeling things changing between us, then talking more right now might just prolong the inevitable,” she said quietly.

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears spill down her cheeks. She had feared Lexa would say that but still couldn’t stop the renewed ache in her chest.

“This is so damn hard,” Clarke whispered brokenly. “I can’t imagine you not in my life anymore.”

“Me neither,” Lexa replied, and Clarke could hear the barely contained emotion in her words. “But with how things are now...I think some space would be best. For both of us.”

Clarke nodded before remembering Lexa couldn’t see her. As rational as the suggestion was, the thought of losing even their nightly calls felt unbearable.

“Maybe one day, when enough time has passed...we could try to be friends?” Lexa offered tentatively. “But right now I think a clean break is what we need to heal.”

Clarke swallowed back a sob, wiping fiercely at her eyes. She had to be strong now, with Lexa’s emotions likely just as fractured.

“You’re right,” Clarke forced herself to say. As agonizing as this was, she knew Lexa enough to recognize the wisdom in her suggestion. “I’ll always be grateful for our time together.”

She left the ‘I love you’ unspoken this time, the finality of this goodbye conversation settling around her shoulders with profound weight. The first crack in her heart split wide open, and she could almost hear Lexa’s fracturing too through the phone pressed to her ear.

"So I guess this is it then," Clarke said softly, the words barely making it past the lump in her throat.

She was met with deafening silence on the other end of the line. Somehow Lexa not responding hurt more than if she had simply said goodbye and ended the call. Clarke could practically see her love struggling to maintain composure, emerald eyes glistening with restrained tears.

"Lexa?" Clarke prompted gently when the quiet stretched on, laced with unspoken hurt.

"I'm still here," came the whispered reply, Lexa's voice finally breaking on the last word.

Clarke's heart shattered at the sound. As stoic and measured as Lexa tried to be, she had always worn her emotions when it came to them. Another reminder of the profound connection now rupturing.

"I wish we had a choice other than this," Clarke admitted sorrowfully. She knew Lexa was right - some space was the only path forward - but every fiber of her being railed against losing her best friend and closest confidante.

"Me too," Lexa echoed thickly.

They fell silent again, thousands of memories passing almost tangibly between them through the phone line. Lazy mornings under the covers, hands clasped as they explored new cities, the brush of lips upon meeting at the end of long days...all memories now piercing them with bittersweet nostalgia.

Finally, Lexa cleared her throat. When she spoke, steel resolve underpinned her words despite the wavering grief.

"Be well, Clarke."

Not goodbye. Just a simple wish for happiness in their new separate worlds. Fresh tears flooded Clarke's eyes but she managed to echo it back, the closest they could come to closure.

"You too. Take care of yourself, Lexa."

A soft click echoed with finality. And just like that, she was gone.

#this is the break up #this one has been a tough one for me to write for the oddest reason #the next section after this picks up 5 years later and its weird writing a story #where people have a history and know so much about each other #but at the same time they changed in that 5 years #you see glimpses of the person you knew but at the same time you don't #clexaweek

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timeisacephalopod · 1 year

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Love atheist communities that hate Christianity but reproduce every single issue Christianity has right down to the racism, wild misogyny, and of all fuckin things evangelizing atheism by sending religious people rude ass 'gotcha' type reactionary content to like idk, recruit people to atheism the way Certian Brands of Christian recruit literally anyone to their religion.

Like yes this atheism is what I see a lot of white men participating in, but like how dense do you have to be to only ditch the GOD part of religion and nothing else while claiming you're intellectually superior to religious folks like a great many incredibly talented and smart people in various sciences weren't religious?

#winters ramblings #its so funny that the so called 'skeptic' communities on youtube and reddit claimed ti be SOOOOO skeptical of things #but never took a fuckin second to check their misogyny or racism and badically applied shite christian values to everything they do #but think they arent doing that because they openly denounce god. like bestie youre doing ALL the same shit i have a problem with #in teligious spaces except you have the balls to claim youre inherently smarter and more intellectual #which is why youre SO SMART you cant figure out how to be a halfway decent human being #like its so funny when i see athiests like this around where it feels like religion is the only thing they felt held them back #and not in the ways PoC queer people and women deal with- THEIR athiesm is usually rooted in #'christians told me i was black because i have the curse of ham and thats fucking racist as shit' or some other discrimination event #plus your average religious truama and in my case just a lack of desire to participate in religion and also no belief in it #but then you have white dudes whove never had a real problem in their life doing all the same shit as them Nasty Christians they rail on #without a H I N T of the irony while also wondering why it is that their spaces seem so... homogeneous lmao #almost like women PoC and queer people know all you did was reject the GOD bit not any of the underlying discrimination tendencies #no need for them to unpack that i guess because theyre Very Smart Skeptics they dont seem to think #that they believe just as much dumb shit as any religious or non religious folks out there except theyre insufferable about it #also the nonsense of science being inherently opposed to religion like tell me you know nothing about the history of science #without saying you have NO IDEA what youre talking about. so much science was trying to understand gods creations #science and god arent diametrically opposed to each other and in fact went hand in hand for a long time #not as much any more but ill bet a huge number of scientists are still religious because being smart #doesnt mean youre an athiest like HELLO youre not smarter than anyone for not believing in god #the same way you arent smarter or better FOR believing in god lmao

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decolonize-the-left · 1 year

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The tags on my whiteness post said to me that white people (at least those that are racially aware) and colonized natives perhaps have more in common than most people think. Or at least more than they talk about it in public.

Not that they're the same. Misogyny and transphobia are not the same, but they are both veins of oppression in a patriarchy. Similar.

In the same way, that empty hollowness white ppl feel where your culture should be is not unlike what I feel as a native, from what I've read of your accounts. Learning your ancestors chose whiteness and safety and comfort over culture and identity. That now you have nothing because of the colonization and assimilation your grandparents experienced when they got to the USA. Because of whiteness. Because of the power it has even just as a concept in the US.

We experience these for much different reasons and at least your loss bought you privilege.

... but they aren't total opposites either. A hollowness where you know rich history used to be? Having culture but feeling a disconnect where you know More used to be? Feeling like you only have scraps of the culture your family used to have? Clinging to what you can get your hands on? Feeling like it's so detached that it's not really yours?

I get that and I bet I'm not the only one.

The USA's habit for white supremacy, racism, and colonization hurt all of us.

And it will benefit all of us to discard the systems those things built. They're still there and still hurting every one of us.

We can build a future that benefits us all instead as soon as we all start working on that together.

But we can't do that if some of us refuse to admit the system is what's hurting us. If we refuse to acknowledge that even with perfect politicians our Systems would still prevent progress because they are built on outdated and white supremacist ideals we'll just continue to suffer together under those systems instead.

We can't keep attacking each other just because some of us refuse to look at the ideologies fueling our current reality.

#solidarity not division #whiteness #solidarity #native american #im aware this water is hot

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spacelazarwolf · 5 months

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apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

#ip

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genderkoolaid · 1 year

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Tranny. Many people don’t know the history of the word, they assume it was an assigned hate term or slur along the lines of the “n” word. That’s not how it happened. Tranny was invented by us in Sydney, Australia in the 1970s where drag was a big deal, and still the best drag shows ever are in Sydney, Australia – they’re amazing. So a lot of trans-identified women who were assigned male at birth did drag, that’s how you made your living. And so they were transsexuals, transvestites, drag queens, and they were all doing drag to make money. They all bickered amongst each other who is better than who, “Well the drag queens are better,” “No, the transsexuals are better.” “You are all freaks, we’re better.” And on and on and on. But they worked together and they were family together, so they came up with a word that would say family and that was tranny. In Australia they do the diminutive, that’s how they come up with words. So tranny. I learned the word in the mid-1980s, late 1980s from my drag mom in San Francisco, Doris Fish, who was the city’s preeminent drag queen and she’d come from Sydney. And she schooled me in this word tranny, she said, “This way it means we’re family, darling.” “Thank you mama.” [...] So we used it and we were trannies together. And F to M was just beginning to start, the trans men were just beginning to become visible, Lou Sullivan was a neighbor of mine around the corner, and he was the first big out trans man, wrote his book. So trans men and cross dressers . . . cross dressers were also family. Transsexuals, we were all trannies and that felt good. That got into the sex industry and became a genre – there was tranny porn, there were tranny sex workers – chicks with dicks, she-males. [...] And, my only guess is that people who . . . because the only way they would have found out about the word is if they were watching tranny porn or having been with a tranny sex worker and then hated themselves so much that they turned it into a curse word. So it’s not really technically correct to say we’re reclaiming a word – it was always ours. So, many people mistake the word for the hatred behind the word and, in my generation, and I’m sure in future generations of trans people, tranny is going to be a radicalized, sexualized identity of trans in the same way that faggot is a prideful identity in the gay male community – not all gay men are faggots, but those who are are proudly fags and those who are dykes are proudly dykes within the lesbian community, trannies are proudly tranny within the transgender community. Does that mean we can’t call ourselves that because some trans woman does not want to be called a tranny? No. I’m going to keep calling myself a tranny. To the trans woman who gets called tranny, I’m sorry – as soon as . . . you’ve got to look at why you’re getting called tranny and if you don’t pass, you’re going to be read as a transgender person and then you fall back on the cultural view of trans folk which is freak, disgusting, not worth living, we can hurt you. It has nothing to do with the word, it has everything to do with the cultural attitude. So the word has stirred up a shit storm, but it’s not the word.

— Kate Bornstein on the word "tranny" in this oral history from the Digital Transgender Archive

#m.#the whole interview is very interesting i recommend watching/listening/reading

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yourmidnightlover · 3 months

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forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents.

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place.

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely.

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be.

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite.

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady.

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light.

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much.

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life.

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together.

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door.

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe.

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight.

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting.

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls.

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile.

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline.

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun.

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting.

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you.

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway.

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men.

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips.

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates.

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned.

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes.

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with.

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often.

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip.

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be.

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband.

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins.

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away.

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you?

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this.

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think.

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted.

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly.

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.”

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident.

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth.

and then there was a knock at the door.

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting.

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements.

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft.

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was.

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again.

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.”

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you.

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing…

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed.

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point.

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad.

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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 2 months

Text

You Could Be Mine

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: smut

It was a hot summer evening and you found yourself on a private party on a 100 m yacht in Monaco hosted by none other than Lando Norris. Actually, you weren't initially invited, your best friend was, but when she mentioned to Lando that you were in town too, he was more than happy to send you a verbal invitation through her.

Lando and you have a history together. You met a year ago in a club when you were visiting Monaco for the first time. He was your friend's friend and from the first moment you laid eyes on each other there was an undeniable attraction between you two. You spent 3 unforgettable wild nights together back then, but there has never been anything more since then.

And here you were again, back in town, at his party. There was quite a lot of people for a private party, a lot of girls too, but his eyes were glancing at you the whole night. You could feel his gaze searching for you, but you also saw how many girls around him were practically begging for his attention and you weren't gonna be one of them.

You don't want him that much, you thought.

That's why he couldn't wait to catch you alone somewhere. Once you wandered onto the upper deck, the highest one where was no people, Lando saw his chance and took it. You two quickly got into talking. He was so obviously flirting with you, he really wasn't wasting any time, he wanted to let you know that you've been on his mind and that he didn't forget about your nights together.

"So for how long are you staying in Monaco?" He asked stepping closer to you holding his hands in the pockets of his white linen pants.

"Two more nights." You say biting your lip.

"That's such a shame.." Pulling them out of his pockets, one of his hands finds its way to your cheek and the other to your waist pulling you closer to him. "If only I'd known sooner that you were here..."

"And why is that?" You ask glancing at his lips as his thumb caresses your cheek.

He runs his tongue over his lip then gently traces with his finger over your bottom lip before mumbling "What if I told you I've been getting off to the thought of you?"

You smirk squeezing your thighs hoping he wouldn't notice it while your faces are only inches away from each other's.

"It wasn't easy to forget you either, I must admit"

"Yeah?" He asks and you nod putting your hands against his chest looking up at him. "So what are we gonna do about it then?"

"Well, you tell me"

"I'd rather show you" He murmurs before he finally presses his lips against yours. The kiss gradually changed from gentle and slow to fast, passionate and heated. He was hungry for more of whatever this was between the two of you. His tongue ran over your bottom lip asking for permission to enter which you willingly granted.

"Fuck, I forgot what a good kisser you are" He pants and you blush hiding your face in his shoulder. He gently moves your hair out of your neck so he can leave sloppy kisses that send tingly feelings through your body.

His hand slowly comes between your thighs slowly working its way up under your short dress as you slightly part your legs for him. Just as his fingers were about to reach your wet lace panties, a squeaky female voice interrupts you.

"Lando!" The girl screams from downstairs making you quickly close and squeeze your thighs at the loss of his touch as he pulls back from you. "Where are you? Are you coming down?" The girl asks climbing a few stairs to see him. It was the girl who had been crawling all over him all evening desperately trying to get a minute of his attention. Her gaze stops at you raising her eyebrow and eyeing you up and down.

"Give me a minute" Lando says brushing her off to which she mumbles something rolling her eyes, clearly annoyed at his lack of interests, and leaves.

"Is that your girlfriend to be?" You provoke.

"She'd like that, but she never will be" He reassures you once again pulling your body closer to him. "But you could be" You giggle, but don't say anything to his unexpected proposal?

"I'd love to fuck you against this fence now," He whispers squeezing your hips. "But I'll do that in the morning when everyone leaves"

"What makes you think I'll be here in the morning?" You tease him.

"There's no way I'm letting you go before I show you how much I've been thinking about you." He groans as you slowly lift your leg and press your knee lightly into his crotch. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy..Come with me right now"

Lando goes down the stairs first and you follow behind him. He takes your hand leading you as you two disappear unnoticed into one of the rooms on the yacht.

As soon as the door closed he was pressing you against them forcing his tongue inside your mouth and lifting up your dress. You whimpered as he vigorously turned you around pulling your panties to the side and gently pushing your cheek against the hard surface of the door. He slipped his fingers inside you only to spread your wetness all over your slit and over his tip before teasing you with it.

"Lan" You moaned.

"What baby?" He murmurs into your ear rubbing his cock over your folds, but not pushing himself in. "Tell me what you want"

"Stop with the teasing and fuck me already"

"Fuck, you turn me on so much you don't even know. Feel how hard you make me? It's fucking aching for you" He hisses grinding against your ass.

He positions his cock at your entrance and you eagerly push your ass back on him. You were dripping wet so he slid in without the slightest trouble.

"So ready for me" He groans scraping his teeth over your bare shoulder making you shiver. "You're so tight baby, fuuuck"

He was thrusting into you deep and fast, your ass was grinding back against his pelvis as the sound of your skin slapping against each other filled the room. You were so into each other that you weren't even trying to be quiet. You almost forgot that anyone could walk by the room and hear your moaning.

As the familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach started building, from the other side of the door, the squeaky voice of the girl who interrupted you once was heard again.

"Lando?"

"Shit" The voice snaps you back to reality as he abruptly stops moving making you whine ruining your orgasm.

"Lando, are you in there?" She asks again. He puts his hand over your mouth breathing heavily as he slowly starts moving again.

"Should I tell her how deep inside of me you are?" You ask quietly removing his hand from your mouth.

"She's fucking crazy, and I don't want anyone to touch you" He pulls out of you and turns you around to face him.

"I'm not scared of her, I know she can't have you the way I can" You didn't even mind that she was behind the door because you knew you had all his attention, you knew he was starving only your touch.

You start kissing his wide neck, running your tongue over the veins that were popping out as he throws his head back.

"Fuck, she's not even half of you"

He reaches under your ass tapping your thighs signaling you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist. When you do so he leads you to the bed gently throwing you down and getting on top of you.

"I missed you" He says looking at your lips before you connect them. You were clinging to each other as he started thrusting into you again only this time slow, deep and raw. He was enjoying the feeling of your walls tightly hugging him.

"I missed you too" You were moaning into each other's mouth, gasping for air as both of you were getting closer and closer. "Faster, Lan, please"

"You gonna cum with me?" He asks. You nod and he quickens his pace. "I'm n-not pulling out, okay?" His voice cracked and legs trembled. You didn't even have time to answer as your climax penetrated your whole body. Lando's quickly followed by filling you up to the top.

"Ohh fuuck" He moaned before collapsing down on you.

When your breathing calmed down he propped himself up on his elbows looking at you and caressing your cheek before placing a soft kiss on it. "You okay, baby?" He asks.

"Yeah" You blush at the nickname he didn't call you by the last time you were together.

"Why are you blushing?" He asks smiling, but you're too shy to say why. "Tell me"

"I'm not telling you"

"Is it because I called you baby?" You giggle trying to hide your face to the side from him, but his fingers pull your chin back to face him. "I'm not letting you leave Monaco this time. You're staying here with me."

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 fluff

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lazyjellyfish300 · 5 months

Text

Mom and Dad are fighting on Christmas 🎄⛄🖤

Miguel O'Hara x wife reader

TW: MINORS DNI, angst, relationship and marriage troubles, fighting, insecurity, jealousy, postpartum, talk of divorce, mild smut at the end (p in v, idk to me it's mild, I've seen worse) word count 3.3k

Credit to the gif owner keezinemugstudent! 🙏🏽

Synopsis: your marriage to Miguel is on the brink of collapse. He wakes up and tries to fix it on Christmas. Jerry Maguire inspired. 😁

Valentine's Day spinoff sequel

Mother's Day ending blurb

I tried to write something angsty. Hope everyone had/is having a good holiday season! ⛄

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Miguel's in the doghouse and he knows it. You requested a separation after you reached your limit. The kids were sick in the weeks following Thanksgiving and before Christmas and he spent the whole time working late and coming home at suspicious hours in the morning, leaving you drowning. You and the kids were piled in yours and Miguel's bed when you'd hear him come home, the front door closing and his familiar footfalls dredging down the hall, pausing only at the fridge before passing out on the couch. Oh you hated him right now. The resentment had creeped in and poisoned the marriage inside and out when he became exceedingly obsessed with work.

Protecting the stability of the multiverse was a huge undertaking, but, like all things in his life, Miguel took it to the next level. But when it came to his personal life, he was grievously lacking. The passion where you two would do it twice a day and couldn't keep your hands out of each other's pants? Ancient history. The small pecks you'd trade in the mornings were a thing of the past. Gone were the days you two would text all day and go out for dates. You didn't so much as get an "on my way home" text, instead letting the sound of his car pulling in the driveway be your confirmation of his return. You two were more roomates at this point than husband and wife.

Traditionally, on Christmas Eve after the kids went to bed, you two would take that time for each other, eating the cookies for Santa that were conveniently your favorite kind, placing the presents you two carefully shopped for and wrapped (well, mostly you wrapped), under the tree. A hysterical giggle would escape your lips at the milk mustache on Miguel's face. Then you'd two get busy on the floor in front of the fireplace, fighting back laughter as you tried to keep your moans down, every year struggling a little bit more than before because your knees weren't what they used to be before taking it to your bedroom for one more round before the chaos of Christmas morning began.

He was perfect in the beginning. The romance between you two used to be at an all time high. He was a nerd in the same friend circle when you knew him in high school, wickedly smart, the guy who won the Robotics and Math Olympiad comps and got visits from Ivy League college STEM departments, eager to scoop up his talent. Sure, he was cute, but when he went to college is when you heard he had a major glow up and became kind of cocky. You heard about how he became Spider-Man and was pretty much the greatest thing since sliced bread in the eyes of the people, saving lives and fighting villains and all. You knew how the opposite gender seemed to malfunction and forget how to act around him, so you stifled away your tiny crush you had on him for years in the smallest crevice in your brain in a forgotten folder, never thinking it'd see the light of day.

When you saw him at your high school reunion, you decided to be brave and remark on how they're playing Nickelback, which he shrugged and said he actually enjoyed them, to which you sheepishly admitted that you really enjoyed them deep down too, you just couldn't resist making yourself the person to talk shit, since there's always gotta be one hater when Nickelback comes on. A canon event, if you will. This earned a tiny side smile from him, a chink in his stoic armor. After 8 beers, some flirty jests, and a little backseat rendezvous in his car, that became the last night that you two spent apart.

You were a single mom and he was a single dad. He had Gabi who was now 10 and you had Marcus who was now 6. Then you two had little Anthony together who was now 2. At first he was at all the doctors appointments, all the parent teacher conferences, he knew what the kids were doing in school. He did bed times every night, reading in a silly voice with Gabi and Marcus both balancing on his lap while you rocked baby Anthony, smiling when you heard the kids giggling from the other room. You'd walk in after baby Anthony fell asleep in his crib, your heart melting as you saw this handsome giant of a man usually known to be cold and serious to everyone else, turn into the doting husband and loving father you knew him to be. Now, years of the monotony of every day life, pressures of raising a family, and the dying egalitarian attitude you two had as partners snowballed into your own version of Gottman's four horses, leading your marriage to Miguel into apocalypse.

At first, he welcomed the separation as you two battled in the kitchen.

"You wanna separation, fine, I'll do you one better. I'll fucking leave! Felicia's better company anyway," he smirked.

There wasn't real truth behind his statement, but he knew it would hurt you when you heard it. He'd be lying if he said Felicia wasn't an attractive woman, but, she simply wasn't you. He had learned his lesson on cheating years ago when he fumbled his relationship with Gabi's mother.

Ouch. But his words could be daggers when he wanted them to be, and he knew just how to twist them into you. Of course it was Felicia. Felicia, the gorgeous Black Cat recruit from work. Her silvery hair that halted midway down her back and startling blue eyes that could drown any man in them. She didn't have kids either, a life with her promised excitement, passion, and freedom. She was witty and funny and had a way of making anyone in her vicinity listen when she spoke. And to add insult to injury, she had a killer body.

After giving birth, you became so busy, and with reassurance from Miguel that you were still beautiful to him, you let your desire to get your body to "snap back" sit on the back burner. Signs of motherhood and postpartum marked you with purple stripes running vertical on your soft belly and a new plushness to your thighs. Basically, Felicia was a complete 180 from the woman you were, which made the sting of his words that much more unbearable. He took your vulnerabilities and threw them in your face.

"Oh so you admit it, finally! I know there was something going on between you two. Makes sense. She's a gorgeous woman, right? She can fucking have you then. What, are you in love with her?"

Miguel rolled his eyes, annoyed with the superficialness of your statement and your obsession with looks, despite him reassuring you many times that he wouldn't look at other women.

"I'm not in love with her, but she doesn't nag me all the fucking time like you do. I bust my ass every day for this family so you don't have to work. I don't know who this new woman is that I'm looking at right now and what she's done with my wife, but it's not the woman I fell in love with. It would be nice if you could show me a little appreciation once in a while."

You felt your blood pressure rise.

"Appreciation.... APPRECIATION, are you fucking kidding me?! I was up all goddamn night with Gabi and Marcus. I run this fucking household all by myself. I quit my fucking career to stay home and raise your kids. Do you not understand how lonely that is?"

"I'M LONELY!!! " he yells, triggered, the feelings bottled up, fizzed over and hurtled at you like a cork on a champagne bottle. "How do you think I feel? I got women at work practically throwing themselves at me but I don't do anything about it because I'm a good husband. Meanwhile, my own wife doesn't wanna fuck me. I'm a prisoner in my own fucking house."

Your eyes almost slipped from their sockets from rolling them so hard. He seemed to want a cookie and a gold star for just being loyal, the bare minimum.

"Oh, so you wanna fuck them? Go ahead! Maybe I'd fuck you if you actually gave a shit about me and not like I'm some damn fleshlight you use to get off!" You hurl back.

He left and checked into a hotel down the street.

A few weeks had passed and it was now Christmas. You were getting used to being separated but your heart still ached in your chest. You couldn't go on doing life, when the one person you did life with was nowhere to be found. You couldn't listen to your favorite songs, eat your favorite foods, or even look at your own children without being reminded of him. Gabi was his spitting image. Same with Anthony. Even Marcus, who was his stepson, started adopting Miguel's mannerisms. The way he'd scratch his head while he did his math homework, deep in concentration.

It was Christmas evening at your mom's. You joined the other women in your family, your non-politically correct Aunt, your soft spoken sister-in-law, your mother with a don't-try-me attitude, and your younger sister with a sass to rival your mother's. You were all complaining about the men in your lives, your aunt rattling off about her 3 ex husbands but, 'hey she collects alimony from two of them so she can't complain!', your younger sister complaining about the frat guys at college who just wanna get in your pants, your sister in law who's silent the whole time (your brother treats her like a queen), and your mom about your asshole dad with an erratic mother who was incapable of cutting the apron strings and made her life a living hell. The kids are laughing and playing in the basement, eagerly trying out their new Nintendo Switch Santa left under the tree.

"I'm here for my wife."

Your feminine council meeting is interrupted by an unwelcome masculine figure. It's your estranged husband, Miguel, the coffee-colored strands of hair that hung over his forehead starting to wet from the snowflakes that melted under the warmth of the room as he stepped inside, a look of regret and longing embedded in his eyes that you hadn't seen since your earliest days of knowing him.

His strong hands dangled at his sides in fists, his chest heaving up and down. His navy blazer bearing dark water stains from the melted snow. He had a revelation at work. He and Peter B. stopped an anomaly that was terrorizing the streets of Queens in Peter's universe. The battle was close, almost a little too close to where he lived, putting MJ and Mayday in direct danger. After the job was done, the moving and emotional reunion between Peter B., MJ, and Mayday was his epiphany.

As the little family reveled in their joy and relief of evading the ultimate disaster, the only thing there for Miguel at the point of his return was the inanimate, empty, thin walls of his apartment and the thoughts of you, his severed family, that inevitably haunted him. He needed you back. He needed to apologize and fix it now.

He ran from your house to your mom's in the snow and all. It was the first Christmas Eve he spent not in between your thighs and buried deep inside you. It was the first Christmas morning he didn't wake up to Gabi's blueberry pancakes and Marcus tackling him while Anthony screamed in delight. It was going to be the first Christmas night without his family by his side, an uncomfortably obvious empty seat at the table he rightfully belonged. Next to you.

Sometimes you don't know the value of something until it's gone. Sometimes life gets in the way and you forget to appreciate the person in front of you. Why did I treat my wife like garbage when all she ever wanted was for me to ask how her day was? Why were we on our way to winding up like both sets of our parents? Doomed to repeat the cycle of divorce and hurt. Doomed to lose your faith in love and marriage like all the maternal figures in your family before you did.

Now here he was, in the living room while your mom, sister, and aunt moved towards each other, eyes squinting, three pitbulls willing to jump in on your behalf while your sister in law just stayed frozen in place. He was in enemy territory and he needed to choose his words carefully.

"Not here Miguel..."

"YES here. Right now." He says in a firm voice. "You're not getting rid of me, woman."

You scoff, almost amused by his sudden urgency and painting you like you're the one who wanted this family to be broken apart.

"The kids are downstairs..." you start to say, hoping that the mention that innocent ears could be prying into the adult conversation would help him simmer down.

"I'll see them in a minute." He says flatly.

"I miss my wife...."-he chokes on the last word, wife.

"And I want her to come home." He knew at any time his words would give way to the reservoir of tears built up behind it.

You stood there, incredulous.

"I don't want to come home to an empty apartment. I don't want my own bed. I'm ashamed it took me losing you and the kids for me to wake up. And, I'm so so sorry. I'll do whatever I can to be better. To be a better man for you and the husband that you needed. We both got caught up in real life and focused on the kids so much that we lost each other. Well, this is me trying to find my way back."

Your lips parted slightly as your breathing became heavier. This was all you ever wanted to hear him say. Stop neglecting the love between you two that laid dormant, a plant starved of sunshine. For him to finally shake off the stubborn shackles that was his ego and express himself to you. Let him allow you back into his heart, no longer as a guest, but a permanent resident.

"You're... you're everything to me. And I'm not leaving here tonight until you let me know if you'd allow me the opportunity to get hurt by you again," a tear rolled down his cheek, his scarlet eyes yearning, his hands pining for the feel of you. As though the madness of not having you alone could stop his heart from beating, stop his world from turning, rearrange life as he knew it into a hollow existence not worth seeing.

Your own reservoir could not be held back any longer and started to roll down your cheeks. He managed to peel back the walls you built with his apology, revealing the woman underneath who just missed her husband.

He steps closer to you now, eager to bridge the rest of the space between your bodies.

"You still love me?" he asked softly.

Your chest heaves, shoulders raising then falling sharply, feeling yourself crack with exasperation under his burning gaze as you softly answer,

"Never stopped."

He grabs you and pulls you into him, his embrace is tight as though you'd disappear if he dared to break it. He tangles a hand in your hair and presses his cheek into your head, his eyes closed, drinking in the scent he'd been away from for weeks. You bury your face in his chest, trying to make yourself small and allowing his frame to swallow you whole, not minding his wet shirt and blazer that still have a slight chill on them from the storm outside, allowing your body heat to seep into his. You both began to rock back and forth a little bit, still locked inside your hug. It was as though the passing of time had evaporated and it was only you two in the room, nevermind your family witnessed the whole thing.

After several long moments, you pull apart and he offers you one of his dazzling smiles, one you hadn't seen in months. The kids have made their way upstairs and shriek with excitement when they see their dad and Miguel bends down to scoop them up. You smile and stand beside your mom who scoops you into a side hug. With her blessing, Miguel stays and celebrates the rest of Christmas with you and your family.

Gabi, Marcus, and Anthony are now all tucked in. The sugar from the chocolate they consumed all day had worn off, making them crash hard in their beds. You and Miguel are cuddled up on the couch watching the fireplace, taking some needed time as a couple. You stroke his strong arms that are wrapped around you with your fingertips, watching the way the flames leap and spark in the air when they crackle against the charred wood. You look up at him and feel a wave of desire wash over you that you had pent up for months as you study his chiseled features and the way the fire's glow highlights his skin.

"Should we end this Christmas with a bang?" You ask, pun fully intended.

Miguel looks at you tiredly, trying to act like that wasn't a witty remark but he lets out a chuckle. "I'd love to," he whispers.

He takes both your cheeks in his large hands and brings his lips to you immediately. They're soft and full. You feel yourself melting into him every time he sandwiches yours in between them. He reclines you backwards, slowly, until he's on top of you. He lets the weight of his body and hips come down on you little by little, making you arch your back, so your body can better receive him.

Once he lets you taste his tongue, you open your mouth wider, permitting him to deepen the kiss, tossing kindle onto the growing flame between you two, and it's not the one in your fireplace. You take your turn to dial up the heat, seizing his bottom lip in a gentle nip from your teeth, earning a low groan from Miguel and a tightened grip on your hair.

As you continue your steamy makeout session, he begins to hump gently against your clothed body, a nonverbal plea for the wet friction only the inside of you can provide.

After your frantic hands strip each other of your clothes, you've transitioned so you're straddling him in the lotus position, goosebumps popping up all over your skin as your bare body meets his, a high pitched gasp escaping you as you sink down onto him, his mouth falling open and his eyes shutting closed as he breathes in your ear,

"God, I missed you, baby."

You whine into his neck as you coil your fists in his hair. His hands fly to the soft flesh of your sides, using them to move you up and down, his haggard breaths making you weaker and weaker by the minute. You hum,

"I missed you even more."

The next move of his hips is harder than you anticipated, causing your brain to go fuzzy with pleasure.

"How much?" he exhales in a sultry tone.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all week,"your tone turning into pleading as you feel yourself approaching your limit.

Miguel can't help but feel himself lose his mind a little bit at your words and at your reaction, sensing you won't be able to hold on much longer.

He lays you down, while still keeping himself inside. He slows down to a more sensual pace, breathing in the sight of your wild hair clinging to the couch cushions, evidence of him hitting you in all the right spots every time the inner corners of your eyebrows squinch upwards and your lips fall open.

His loving eyes burn with worship of your body and how well you're doing as he runs a thumb along your chin then pulls down your bottom lip, leans in and mumbles quietly into your mouth,

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. O'Hara."

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🖤

#miguel o'hara #spotify #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #fanfic #miguel o'hara angst #Spotify #miguel o'hara smut

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halemerry · 10 months

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Alright, not to be too predictable, but I wanna talk about space and color as it's used in the intro to episode 1 for a minute. And you know, show some gorgeous space shots.

So we open in the dark. There's distant lights and the occasional flare from them moving through space but for the most part we get the angel that would eventually become Crowley alone in enough darkness that he himself isn't even giving off particularly significant amounts of light.

But then, enter Aziraphale. He arrives in a big ball of blue light shining above him that really emphasizes Crowley's red hair. They get tied to the colors we most often see them attached to, especially in promotional materials.

From here the entire scene gets slightly brighter, even once Aziraphale's light dims down. They're both lit up once they're together, even it the middle of literal nothingness.

They start the universe next, using Crowley's hand crank, which gives off a magic that's a combination of their two colors - purple.

A very similar color to this shows up in heaven as a signal flare for their accidentally too powerful half a miracle. It's a color tied to a miracle so big it could've revived someone 25 times and also a miracle that got the engine of the universe running.

And then. Creation starts. Our first image is a very Heavenly aesthetic. It's a blueish light cutting through the clouds much like Az just cut through the dark.

And what explodes from that is the thing that set me down this little rabbit hole in the first place: it's purple scattered through with red and blue lights.

As the initial burst fades, the blue and the red separate, the color fading except for this tiny blue dot and this growing red zone on the right.

The blue then fades, leaving us with an extremely Crowley coded palette here and a very orangeish red. There's shades of gray, a little bit of light, but not nearly as much color. As the sequence moves the darkness grows but does start slowly filling with small points of light.

We then end up with shades of gray both light and dark. There's balance here, even if it's not particularly colorful.

And then all at once a pinkish red bursts forth with these intense clawing tendrils. At the core of it, from the heart of it, is a bright blue ball of light.

It fades into a blue heart surrounded by darkness with whisps of white resembling a certain someone's hair. Or, as some friends pointed out two people embracing.

As the nebula settles a few other colors set in but the primary scheme is still red and blue. An almost violent plume of red emerges on the left side of the image.

And from this moment on most shots of the two of them back them with their respective color schemes.

They chat and Aziraphale gets anxious. He looks for a distraction and is immediately drawn to the space where the colors mix.

And as we fade out the other colors in the picture fade. We get the most balanced blue and red get. And on the far corners fairly clear dark and light.

So what does this mean? The purple speaks to them being very powerful together. And, the rest is arguably just representative of the plot. We have Aziraphale as a beacon in the dark - a signal flare we know Crowley has throughout history been aware of and drawn to. We have them brightening each other. We have Az's color breaking out of heaven to mix with Crowley's to create something new and wonderful and powerful. Aziraphale's color fades, leaving Crowley alone. We then get a burst of a red closer to Crowley's current hair, with Aziraphale's blue in the core of it that eventually becomes a blue heart surrounded by darkness. That too fades, replaced by the pillars becoming their familiar hand shape and slightly more colors seeping in. As they talk together and move closer together their own colors settle back in and come to balance.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #Aziraphale #Crowley #space #good omens meta

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createserenity · 7 months

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Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship dynamic fascinates me and what fascinates me even more is how people perceive them, partly because I seem to have a much more optimistic view of their dynamic than a lot of what I read suggests they do.

With that in mind I started trying to unpick how I see their dynamic and why and what I ended up with was a series of rambles on various aspects, including confidence, trust, silliness and what they ask of each other. This one is about what they ask of each other and why their relationship isn't some weird one-sided thing where Crowley gives Aziraphale everything he could possibly want or ask for.

I see a lot of posts and things suggesting Crowley always rolls over and does anything Aziraphale asks of him. I don’t know to what extent most people really believe this or if it’s just a fun joke (and I’m not saying that’s bad, I think it’s a fun joke too, I love reading all that stuff and it makes me laugh). The point I wanted to make here though is that I don’t think it’s true and also why I don’t think it’s true.

Everything from here on out is my opinion, but I won’t keep stating that in order to make it more easily readable, just take it as a given. If your opinion is different that’s absolutely fine, I love that we can all see this stuff in different ways depending on our experiences and personalities, it’s why the fandom is so fun. (It’s also why my opinion on so many things in season two ricochets wildly from one theory to another).

So back to Crowley and Aziraphale – I don’t think Aziraphale walks all over Crowley, or certainly not to the extent that people sometimes think he does. Also Crowley doesn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to be walked all over anyway. Why is this even relevant? Because I’ve seen people say that in the final 15 minutes Aziraphale finally asked Crowley to do something that pushed him over the edge and that Aziraphale was shocked when Crowley didn’t roll over and do it because Crowley always does what Aziraphale asks. This isn’t at all true for a start, but also this view tends to include a second assumption, which is that their relationship is one-sided and Aziraphale never does anything for Crowley, that he dismisses him and takes him for granted, which also is not true in a lot of ways. I think it’s a fundamental misinterpretation of their relationship dynamic.

First of all why can Crowley’s actions be interpreted as just rolling over and doing whatever Aziraphale wants? Well, the answer to that is three-fold – firstly Crowley is a genuinely unselfish in many ways, he does things for people because that’s the way he is, it doesn’t make him a pushover, it just makes him nice. Secondly he loves Aziraphale deeply. Whether he knows it or not doesn’t matter, he cares for Aziraphale and wants him to be happy. This isn’t the same as being a complete doormat, it’s simply compromising with the person you are in a relationship with and occasionally prioritising them over yourself. Both these things come together in the third thing, which is that Crowley’s love language is acts of service – he enjoys doing nice things for Aziraphale, he enjoys rescuing him, or going along with him and letting him have his own way, so why not do it? The point is he’s never railroaded into it by Aziraphale, it’s always a deliberate choice. He is literally saying, I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you.

How does Aziraphale see this behaviour?

Well that’s a tricky one, because in many ways Aziraphale is the more complex character, not least because he changes the most over the course of their history together. Is there a slight element of him taking Crowley for granted in some of their interactions, especially in season two? Possibly, but mostly I don’t think that’s it at all. When someone gives you things because their love language is acts of service you develop a (mostly sub-conscious) confidence in that relationship dynamic and if you also have confidence in yourself (which Aziraphale absolutely does – I’ll write more on this another time) then when you want something you ask for things. You ask not because you learn to expect, but because you think you’re worthy of asking and you think that your relationship is strong enough to stand up to the ask. I ask my husband for things all the time, sometimes they’re things I know he’ll give me – these are easy asks (I don’t just mean physical objects, I also mean acts of service such as helping me with something), sometimes though I’ll ask for things knowing he probably won’t give me that thing or without having a clue what his answer will be – these are harder asks, the sort you don’t do early on in relationships because they might break it either in one go or over time. Sometimes a hard ask results in me getting what I want, sometimes it results in a bit of back and forth before I get what I want, sometimes I get a no and I’m temporarily annoyed or upset, sometimes I get a no and I accept it because I knew it was the most likely outcome.

The point is that I ask, and so does Aziraphale. You ask because you have confidence that you are worthy of the ask and also that your relationship is strong enough to bear the request, even if the answer is no. Can a no still be annoying or upsetting? Yes absolutely. Can a no still be wrong on the part of the other person? Also yes. The point is that sometimes the no isn’t wrong and it doesn’t necessarily break the relationship. By the time season two comes along Aziraphale is confident enough in his relationship with Crowley to feel it can bear the weight of him asking.

So what happens when he asks? Does Crowley roll over?

Well no, he doesn’t. One big example of this is right at the beginning of the series, in episode one. Here Aziraphale makes a massive ask of Crowley and he knows it’s a big ask. Even before he tells Crowley what the problem is he’s aware of the possibility of a no. “Is it something I can help you with?” Crowley sayss, and Aziraphale merely shrugs. It’s not because Nina is there, she’s gone by that point. It’s also not because he doesn’t have faith in Crowley’s ability to help him, he always has faith in Crowley’s abilities (this is a whole other thing on trust). What he’s doubting is whether Crowley will help him. It’s why they’re meeting in the café, not the bookshop. He wants to break this one to Crowley a bit at a time – there’s a problem and I need help. I want your help, it’s why I called you, but you aren’t going to like it and I’m not even sure whether you will help so I’m establishing that I need help first, rather than showing you Gabriel immediately, so that you aren’t completely surprised when I present the whole problem to you.

Once they go to the bookshop and Crowley is confronted with Gabriel he offers the help he feels able to give by saying that he’ll drive Gabriel somewhere and dump him. He’s stating his willingness to help (which is important later), but for now he’ll only help in one specific way. What he isn’t willing to do is any more than that, not even for Aziraphale.

Help me take care of Gabriel. Help me sort this mess out, Aziraphale says, and what does Crowley say? No. Absolutely not. You’re on your own with this one. Even after Aziraphale practically begs him for help, complete with puppy dog eyes and the magic word, “I’d love you to help me,” Crowley still says no. That is not the reply of someone who lets themselves be walked all over or who rolls over every time the angel they’re in love with flutters their eyelashes.

Okay so what about the fact that he returns? Well, the stakes have been raised: for a start Aziraphale is now directly in danger, which alters the balance in favour of helping him, and remember he was already willing to help, he said as much, but he was previously only willing to help in one way. Now that’s changed. Doing things you wouldn’t normally do for someone you love when the stakes are raised is a perfectly normal rection in a relationship and does not indicate an unhealthy dynamic. Crowley has now realised that getting rid of Gabriel is no longer an option - his preferred plan (dumping Gabriel somewhere) will no longer work, so the only choice is now Aziraphale’s plan of keeping him in the bookshop and taking care of him.

This is why he returns.

A quick note on the call

Just backtracking a bit here – when Aziraphale calls Crowley to ask him for help Crowley agrees to be over in two minutes. It’s instant, no questions asked and at first glance looks like Aziraphale calls and Crowley comes running just because. But nope. Later we are very clearly told that Crowley knows something is wrong the moment he picks up the phone and Aziraphale starts speaking, “This was your ‘Something’s Wrong’ voice.” Crowley already knows there’s a problem and what do you do when your closest friend calls you and tells you about a problem? You try to help. Whether that’s advice, comfort, physically going around to help out or whatever the situation calls for. Of course Crowley says he’ll be there in two minutes, he doesn’t exactly have anything else on and his friend has just indirectly told him something is wrong. He’d be a pretty shitty person/entity if he didn’t agree to drop round and try to help.

So what about the 'I was wrong' dance?

This whole interaction, that many people say indicates how under the thumb he is actually shows us the exact opposite. What’s the first thing Crowley says when Aziraphale asks him to do the dance? “I don’t do the dance.” This tells us a hell of a lot about their relationship dynamic up to this point – for a start Aziraphale has clearly done the dance before, at Crowley’s request, and he lists off the occasions. The dance is silly and slightly demeaning and Aziraphale has done it several times for Crowley, whilst Crowley has never done it, yet somehow we read this whole scene as Crowley being the whipped one? Um. No. Also heavily implied in Crowley’s, “I don’t do the dance” statement is, You’ve asked me to do this before, I’ve always said no because I don’t want to. You’ve always accepted my no before and I want (expect!) you to accept it this time.

But this time Aziraphale doesn’t accept the no. Just like Crowley wouldn’t go along with his plan earlier, Aziraphale now won’t go along with Crowley’s no. Clearly he has done so in the past, but this time their dynamics are different. They’ve been much more open about their friendship for the past four years, they’ve both accepted that they are at least close friends, if not more. They’ve saved the world together and saved each other. They both acknowledge they “carved (this existence) out for ourselves” and that brings strength to their relationship. Now that Aziraphale has more confidence in what they are to each other, he takes that confidence and tests the limits of what Crowley will do for him, to push them more towards equality. Why should he always be the one to do the dance? Crowley responds by acquiescing not because he would just roll over and do anything for Aziraphale but because he recognises three things. Firstly that Aziraphale is pushing and that this is new and that this means something to him in the context of their relationship, secondly because he reluctantly accepts Aziraphale’s point that it isn’t really fair that he never does it, and finally because the request for him to do the dance isn’t about him refusing to help (Aziraphale was never certain he would), it’s about the fact that he’s broken Aziraphale’s trust by refusing to help (which is a slightly and very subtly different thing). To illustrate this, right before Crowley does the dance, just after he says “fine,” he gets this very brief, soft look on his face – this is him acknowledging to himself that Aziraphale deserves this dance, that he loves the angel and that he’s doing this because of both those things – he could have continued to insist on a no, he clearly has before, but this time he chooses not to.

I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you.

All right, what about the car thing?

What about it? Lending your car to the person you love is very normal. Ok so the car means more to Crowley than a normal car does to us, but the point still stands. Aziraphale is making a reasonable request here. Does he expect a yes? Absolutely, because he also knows it’s a reasonable request given where their relationship is. Does he flirt to get his own way? Hell, yes. Does Crowley know exactly what Aziraphale is playing at? Also a hell yes. And Crowley totally plays up to it, he’s not as opposed to it as he claims. He’s playing up his “no” and his grumpiness for effect, to encourage Aziraphale’s silly flirtiness. Look at the difference between this no and the no he gave Aziraphale earlier. There’s no anger here, there’s no real sense that he thinks Aziraphale is asking too much, he’s playing a role in their relationship and they’ve both played this game before. Look at that little slap of the hand, which Aziraphale responds to equally playfully. The game even continues after Muriel turns up at the shop, when it’s already quite clear that Crowley is going to let Aziraphale use the car (he’s already taking the plants out). Even in the back-room Crowley still teasingly grumbles about trains whilst Aziraphale smiles flirtily, and Crowley playfully withholds the car keys when Muriel interrupts them. They both know Aziraphale is going to end up with them, there’s no point to him not directly handing them over in spite of the interruption, it’s just an excuse to tease Aziraphale back. I mean, look at him – he spends the rest of the conversation wiggling his hips, grinning smugly and confidently handling the Muriel problem by talking about love. Aziraphale’s very overt reaction tells you all you need to know about the dynamic of this one.

Two can play at this flirting game, angel.

But he follows him around like a little puppy!

Well, yes and no. Sure he follows him around whilst he goes around asking all the shopkeepers to the meeting, but he does that because it’s fun for him. He’s curious, Aziraphale is acting oddly, doing something he’s never done before and Crowley wants to know what it is. He’s always found him fascinating – what silly and ridiculous thing is the angel up to now?

Also wanting to hang out with the person you are in love with isn’t at all strange or a sign you are in some sort of weird relationship where only one of you calls the shots. It’s normal. Crowley knows Aziraphale has a tendency to be silly or do unexpected things and he wants to watch him do them and also flirt with him whilst he’s doing them. Looking grumpy and reacting to Aziraphale’s silliness with disbelief is how Crowley flirts-without-flirting. Both of them know, understand and like that dynamic, and he has that role not because he’s unhealthy levels enthralled with everything Aziraphale does but because of the levels of trust they have spent millennia establishing.

What Crowley doesn’t do is wait around for Aziraphale. Look at the scene where Aziraphale daydreams about Job. In that scene he’s aware Aziraphale has something else to show him (the record clue), but he doesn’t stick around whilst Aziraphale ignores him. He could have sat down somewhere in the shop and waited – he’s got an eternity, waiting an hour or so is no big deal, but waiting around like that would suggest he really is a doormat, just waiting for the next time Aziraphale shows him any attention. He doesn’t do that, instead he goes off and does… well, something. There’s a lot of speculation over what it is, but whether he goes off to read Pride and Prejudice or just wanders off to find something more interesting to look at than the back of Aziraphale’s head, he’s clearly saying here that he has a life outside of whatever Aziraphale wants to do.

Also side note - you know what else he doesn’t do for Aziraphale? Adjust his driving style. Aziraphale clearly hates it, it makes him nervous and he even asks Crowley to change several times whilst they’re in the car together, but Crowley never does. This is how I am angel, accept it or don’t, but this is the line and I’m not changing this for you. Related to this is his refusal to accept Aziraphale altering the Bentley. Aziraphale tries to persuade him, “But it’s pretty,” and Crowley really isn’t having it. It’s another hard line and he’s not going to let Aziraphale cross it.

Anything else?

There’s a few other examples that I’ve seen listed in the, “Crowley does whatever Aziraphale says/wants” evidence piles. Things like Aziraphale assuming he’s going to get the drinks in the pub. Well, someone has to get them, and it makes perfect sense that they both assume it’s Crowley here because he’s the one more comfortable with pubs. Having a role that you take on within certain situations in a relationship is healthy and normal, imagine how exhausting it would be to debate who is going to do every little thing all of the time.

In the first series the coat cleaning is another example often cited, but this is something Crowley is perfectly happy to do. Aziraphale is flirting, which is delightful, and he’s not being asked to do anything difficult or dangerous. I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you, which is totally different from, you always ask, I always give, and you always take.

What about Aziraphale. When does he give?

All the damn time. We just don’t notice it as much because Crowley asks different things of him. His love language is acts of service towards others, but he doesn’t really ask or require them in return. Sometimes he gets them from Aziraphale anyway (Holy water anyone?) Also notably in the Globe Theatre when he’s clearly the one pushing the Arrangement, and Aziraphale more or less agrees to do his work for him (“That doesn’t sound like hard work”) even before he’s asked, before they’ve gone through their little dance of Crowley pushing and Aziraphale supposedly-reluctantly agreeing.

The other things Aziraphale gives Crowley are much more nuanced, and much less measurable to us as the audience, but he gives them constantly, or more or less constantly, throughout their relationship. He gives him acceptance (although he occasionally partially withdraws it, such as in the bandstand scene), his silliness (which is more important than it first appears), a safe space (not just the bookshop, but also a safe space for Crowley to air his real views without fear of consequence, which is important irrespective of whether or not he persuades Aziraphale to agree with him), his physicality (by 1826 he’s really in Crowley’s space so much of the time) and most importantly he gives Crowley himself. Crowley constantly pushes Aziraphale to grow as a person, it’s one of the original reasons he entertains developing a friendship with him. What he asks of Aziraphale is for Aziraphale to think – really think – about what he believes. And Aziraphale does so, but only for Crowley. Humans have constantly questioned religious beliefs throughout history, they’ve written books, made speeches and even had wars over religious doctrine and the problems, inconsistencies and absurdities within it. Crowley is saying nothing to Aziraphale that he won’t already have indirectly heard from humans and dismissed or ignored. But when Crowley says it, he thinks and he changes. That’s what Crowley asks of Aziraphale and it’s what Aziraphale gives him.

What was the point of all this waffle?

Well, honestly there isn’t much of one. Only that their relationship is much more balanced than some suggest and I think I just wanted to spell that out. It also has an implication for the final 15 minutes. There’s no way Aziraphale goes into that with some sort of fake confidence that he can persuade Crowley to follow him to heaven simply because Crowley always follows him – Crowley doesn’t, he has very clear limits that he enforces with Aziraphale and Aziraphale knows this. He might feel confident for other reasons (such as thinking Crowley will be happy to be an angel again) or something else entirely different might be happening (so many theories!) but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to do with thinking Crowley always does what he asks, because he very clearly doesn’t.

It's also why Crowley waits around afterwards to watch Aziraphale leave. It’s a way indirectly of saying one final time, I love you and I enjoy making you happy… but this is something I cannot give to you.

#good omens 2 #good omens #good omens meta #apology dance #ineffable husbands #ineffable fandom #acts of service #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #aziraphale #crowley

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planetsstarsandmoons · 8 months

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Synastry observations based on (personal) experience, part 5:

I’m back!!!! After months lmao

Moon opposite mars: a big ‘want’. Moon opposite mars is a story. It’s every romance movie/ romcom aspect, and i’ll tell you why. These people see in each other the potential of moon conjunct mars fullfillment that’s actually (way, but opinions differ ofc) better than the conjunction. That’s because in the opposition, each has something the other lacks. This can create for both people the ultimate romantic fullfilment when brought together by effort and acceptance of each other, and this promise is very hard to let go of. Typically, these are couples that fight a lot but find it very hard to let each other go once they know what they can have with each other, because it really is the best. Just think about it, even the thought of people putting conscious effort to be sweeter to one another is precious. That only creates a bond that’s very raw and very real (quoting jewelastrology here). Then combine that with the power of the mars and the moon and the friction of the opposition, keeping things interesting and keeping both parties learning more. You shouldn’t romanticise struggle in a relationship. Too much ‘work’ can just mean you aren’t compatible. THIS aspect is an exception. Just watch out for possible aggression. That’s never okay. One day I’ll make a seperate post about the amount of moon opposite mars couples in literature. The best I can think of now is Pride and Prejudice, with Mr Darcy being mars and Elizabeth Bennet being moon.

Venus twelfth house overlay: sorry y’all, in my personal experience, it’s true what they say. The twelfth house person has a hard time feeling this overlay on their side, or on a very subconscious level. I was the 12th house person. On one hand, I really ‘got it’ so to say but on the other hand, I don’t have a shitty clue of how he picked up on this ‘thing between us’ he thought or picked up on we had. That’s actually the big thing about this overlay. Don’t lose all hope, but you’ll have one person going “you knoww like there’s this thing between us...” and the 12th house person will be going: “what thing?” 😂 this can actually be nice because the 12th house person will get in touch with that subconscious twelfth housey part of themselves IF there are other nicely supporting aspects. Like the venus person’s venus to other stuff. They say a true connection is always mutual. I want to say to you all that don’t be surprised when a 12th house person in such an overlay is not ‘feeling’ this mutually. I literally wrote in my diary: “i might actually like him when it’s too late. Or just never lol i do not know.”

Update: I wrote this observation months ago in like april. It is now october and I’m starting to gain interest in him, albeit slowly and subconsciously, but, yeah 🤦‍♀️😂 i came back to this draft being like “WHATT?? Astrology had predicted this TOO for me???”

Moon trine pluto: you know when the fighting super intense troubled couple FINALLY gets together in this really intense and satisfying time when things are finally going the way they’re planned? Like an end all all good? That is this overlay, but constantly. On the outside, it’s the annoyingly passionate/emotional couple in a series that you don’t get because you haven’t seen them do any work to deserve this kind of intense fan-service scene. It’s because it lacked that kind of character development? It was me watching avengers infinity war with vision and wanda. I didn’t like the couple because i didn’t get it. I didn’t know their history i thought it was just some random very bland peaceful couple being very dramatic about each other all the time. Another example (i’m not shitting on this aspect i swear 😂) when a cartoon shows an example of a ‘romantic movie scene’ where the couple says “i loove you!!” And the other goes “oh bill!!” You don’t swoon because you’re like… okay. You get the oogies/ick because it’s like ‘ew that’s a couple’ anyways what I’m trying to say is that moon and pluto are not typical besties they’re supposed to be two problems kind of, they’re two very intense and bare planets, so harmonious flowing energy between them will feel kind of unsettling? Even. So these people will be kind of ‘gross’ with each other but in a soothing way. It’s how you imagine such a trine to be, but it plays out exactly like this irl too lmao! It feels bland on the outside because it’s always going well. And on the inside it plays in the background, because issues bring moon and pluto stuff to the foreground as a ‘theme’ in the relationship. So this aspect is also is the simple idea-of-a-passionate relationship. It’s the groaning “I’ll never let you go!!” Which doesn’t hit the same way for some people because there isn’t any drama or shit that happened before to deserve this pay off. However, some people loooove this aspect and by that I mean people in real life who like to have a secure and deep relationship where two hidden parts of people correspond and love each other well. This aspect is reaallly hard to let go of lol.

Sun conjunct mars: I call this the ‘spicy friends’ aspect. This is the aspect of two people who get into shenanigans together. I also see this aspect a lot with romantic couples who got together young, because it makes for boy-girl relations where the boy actually gets motivated by the person the girl is and the girl feels understood on the same level by the boy. They don’t get bored and so these people will forever get on or be aggravated by each other. It’s because these are two extremely conscious ‘in the moment’ planets so they easily fire off each other and it doesn’t take a lot of energy to have that interaction. Not in the plutonically karmic way, but in a personal way I currently cannot describe. No in between. It creates a bond that people can’t really get in between. You just have to let them stay friends/buds until they get sick of each other, and they may even repeat the process after that. Either way, this is an aspect that makes people get together fast ! Their conscious behaviour is accelerated by each other.

Sun conjunct venus: unlike mars, venus is a cold planet, which is totally okay in a synastry, only the interaction plays out a little different. Sun and venus don’t fire off each other. Their influence on each other is more passive and more ‘mental’. The sun, how basic it may sound, warms venus or even makes them burn. Venus gives the sun person chills. The venus person is responsible for the harmony and awesome functionality that this aspect brings. They will take a step back to fully adore and admire sun from afar sometimes. The sun will run to venus basically when it needs love and beauty and also a kind of sensibility that the sun person misses, like a puzzle piece. Sun brings heat and passion that the venus craves. These people will often crave for how the other person makes them feel. Venus typically loves every little thing the sun person does and the sun person is just taken by the venus person every single day. Think Oliver (venus) and Loretta (sun) from Only Murders In The Building. This aspect makes for real contentment in a relationship.

Mars in twelfth house synastry or composite: with this placement, you’re not even sure if the person is actually even attracted to you and if you’re making it all up in your head. This is also typically seen as a ‘synastry/composite of secrets’ which I wasn’t so sure about at the time I experienced this one myself, but now I realise, hey, that man actually had a girlfriend while he was giving me ‘special attention’ while holding back, with me being like ‘what could he mean what could he MEAN’ typical mars in twelfth scenario. One guy I had this with in composite was basically lying to me about his sex life and not having cheated on his previous girlfriend… and guess what… I had lied about my sexual history too 😭 I even thought to myself ‘why the f*ck did I lie that elaborately??? I didn’t even have to??’ But whatever, it’s the way of the worlds apparently 😂 but you see how this immediately creates distrust when it is not actually what we mean to do or coming from a place of disrespect. Oh and this aspect in composite also created months of us being like ‘🧍🏻‍♀️….🧍🏻‍♂️’ not normal sexual tension, but sexual tension we weren’t sure should be concreticised out loud or in action. We’d only kissed once Monthsss before which is basically nothing in western european student culture. It was like: “does this person know I’m still, in this moment, attracted to/like him/her? Am I making this all up in my head?”

Moon in the 8th house: a lot has been said about this aspect. Just a few things: intensity, yes. Either one will always be a significant person for the rest the person’s lives. It’s not nothing. It’s the basis of real all consuming love that’s a very rare and unique mix between total safety and total rush-like danger, which makes people think it’s a soulmate aspect. It’s actually not, imo, it’s a deeply (deeeeply) karmic aspect. It’s funny to see all the friends with benefits who have this aspect start out as “lol we don’t want a relationship” to “……. Lol nevermind” and end up together. They go back to each other because they’re simply too significant to each other. Fear of being vulnurable is also big on both so they either take that step or they’re just standing there forever. Mutual aspect, but it’s mutual in different ways. Truthfully, I don’t see this aspect so often in relationship charts. I see it with people who are in love with each other and aren’t together, or people who started out casual but still for some reason can’t let each other go after more than a year, or people who have had the roughest most obsessive breakup in history and ask me for advice. Often, people in relationships who have this aspect don’t come to astrologers for advice. They’re too ‘into’ one another to do that, I feel like.

Venus trine moon: cute cute cUTE because the venus loves reassuring the moon person with affection, which makes the moon person feel so safe and endorphined and warm. The moon person simply inspires that in venus! Great for a chart with more difficult aspects !

Moon conjunct jupiter: so if a guy is jupiter and the moon is a woman and they’re married, the woman doesn’t need to worry about jupiter feeling turned off from the relationship by her pregnancy. Moon is the feminine, the nurturer, the mother, jupiter adores and respects her. Jupiter inspires respect, optimism, friendships and all things serotonin. Jupiter will make the moon feel good. The kind of union where the guy will constantly declare how much he lovees her pregnancy glow ✨ the same goes ofc for lesbian relationships but since this is a cultural phenomenon i thought i might touch on it.

Moon opposite jupiter: i feel like this might be the opposite story :/ the girls motherhood and need for support and needs in general will just be the opposite to what the jupiter person finds ‘fun’ and joyful, BUT if they’ve made it this far in the relationship as to have a child together it should be okay. At least the cause of the behaviour would moreso be astrology, not misogyny.

Moon square jupiter: wife jokes, but the ones that are cute and funny.

Moon in third:

Being someone with a moon in third house be like: wow imagine going through something hard and not type 10k words in your notes app about it.

Having your moon overlay in someone’s third house be like: wow imagine going through something and not telling that person 10k words about it

Also: jupiter has such an underrated influence on us in astrology!! Jupiter radiates the most energy out of all the planets in our solar system and may be way more personal and influential than we think in astrology… And in synastry also it’s the MOON

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tayytayy12 · 22 days

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But Daddy I love him! | LH44 x Horner!Reader

Summary - You, a twenty four year old with an overprotective father. Lewis Hamilton, your much older (secret) boyfriend who works for the no.1 competition of said protective father. So when he finds out about you and Lewis, things aren’t too pretty.

Warnings - (legal) age gap, swearing, arguments, secret relationship, innuendos to intimacy

Type - SMAU

Requested - No

Wrote this at 4am, not been proof read and probably makes no sense

“Lew, you can’t keep cornering me in the paddock, anyone could see us.” You whispered out with a laugh as your boyfriend dragged you into a corner where you was hidden away from anyone’s prying eyes.

You and Lewis has been together secretly for almost a year, and no one knew about the relationship except the pair of you. It was a combined decision the two of you had, to keep your relationship a secret; you both knew full well that nothing but drama would come from the news of your relationship.

The media would have a field day with it, for many reason, the large age gap that the two of you shared, even if you both had gotten together when you was both of legal age and you was old enough to make smart decisions for yourself, you both new that the press has a habit for twisting things.

The other main reason that you also decided this, was your father. Everyone knows that red bull and Mercedes has one of the biggest rivalry’s in the history of formula one, and with Lewis being the Mercedes golden boy, and you being the daughter of the redbull team principal if your father and Toto were to find out, you both know that it wouldn’t matter if the pair of you were happy, they would make an uproar of the situation.

So that left the pair of you here, sneaking conversation around the paddock, sending each other longing stairs at FIA parties, trying your best to be together without people knowing.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks, Love,” he whispered into your neck as he pulled you into a hug, which you of course instantly returned, “let them see us, I’m having withdrawals.”

You laughed and pulled away from the hug as he smiled down at you a kissed you gently. He was right, you hadn’t seen each other in almost two and a half weeks because of some work related things he had to do, and he’d been waiting to get you alone since he saw you walk into the paddock with your father.

“I hate that I can’t be with you all the time,” you whispered as Lewis smoothed your hair down, he sighed and kissed the crown of your head and hummed in agreement, “Me too, sweetheart. More than anything. But you know why we’re hiding it. It won’t be forever, I promise. I want nothing more than for all those wag accounts pairing you with a different drivers, or random football players every week,” you laughed at the annoyance in his voice. He always sent you the posts by these accounts as made a point of how stupid it was that everyone was convinced that you had a boyfriend who was a footballer, this week the main speculation was Mason Mount. A friend of yours for the past couple years, who was very much nit your type, and very much in a relationship with someone else behind closed doors.

“I want them to stop as well,” you shivered before kissing him one more time, “now go get a podium for me, hmm?”

He smirked down at you, “Anything for you my love.” He said before walking back into the loud paddock, you leaving a few minutes later to avoid anyone seeing the pair of you leaving together as you made your way back to the red bull garage.

You were beyond happy, Lewis had managed to score a P2 in the race, his best result in a few weeks and seeing him up on the podium again brought a giddy smile to your face.

You went to the podium celebration with your father, using the excuse that you wanted to be there for your Max for his P1, believable considering the two of you were very close friends, but the whole celebration your eyes didn’t drift away from the Brit standing on the second place position. Lewis not being able to keep his focus off of you much either.

You didn’t manage to see Lewis until late that nights when the pair of you had arrived back at your hired (you somehow always managed to convince your father to book the same one as Lewis, of course he didn’t know it was the same but still).

After your father had gone of his room to turn in for the night, you sent Lewis a message, giving him the okay to come over to your room, it must’ve been a record time that he showed up at your door at.

“Why hey there my winner,” You said with a whisper as you opened your hotel room door, Lewis with a beaming smile on his face and he pulled you into a bien crushing hug, kicking the door closed behind him as he didn’t let you go from his hold, “not quite a winner for you yet, baby. It will happen though, just you wait.” He whispered into your shoulder before placing a gentle kiss there.

You picked up his face in your hands and looked into his eyes and said, “Lew, you have seven world titles. You are one of the greatest in formula one history. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, especially me,” you whispered as you placed a kiss on his lips, “and plus, with Max in that redbull, second is practically first. It’s how I judge the races anyway.”

He smiled down at you. God he loved you. He loved you more and more everyday, “I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered as he pulled you in for a deep kiss, only pulling away when you both were gasping for air, “god I love you so fucking much.”

You groaned as you woke up in the morning, the sun light glaring in from the gaps in the curtains making you turn around and burrow your head into Lewis’ bare chest, him having lost it in a rush in the events you two took part in last night.

He must’ve already been awake, you hearing him let out a gruff laugh at your sounds of annoyance of being woken up prematurely, “Morning baby.” Lewis whispered, smoothing a hand up and down your back as you closed your eyes again.

“No,” you mumbled, “it’s not morning till I say so. Now, let me sleep.”

He laughed once more, pulling you flush against his chest as you felt sleeping pulling you back in, you felt at peace.

But all aspects of that peace were shattered far too soon as you both jumped up at the sound if the doer of you hotel room being opened, followed by the voice of you father travelling through the suite. Shit.

You scrambled out of beds both trying to find something to wear in the piles of discarded clothes on the floor as your father walked closer to the bedroom, “Y/n! Are you awake? We have a plane to catch.”

“Fuck.” You whispered as you cleared your throat, “Yeah I’m just um, finishing up packing, took me longer than I’d expected.” You said, it was the first thought that came to your head as you a Lewis sent each other alarmed looks, neither did you knowing what to do.

“Oh well I can help you with that.” Your father said, and before you could yell out your protests he had twisted the handle and opened your bedroom door, his normally cheery face when it comes to you immediately vanishing when his eyes landed on a certain shirtless seven time world champion in your room.

“What on earth?” He said angrily, eyes darting between you and Lewis, “y/n. Explain.” He said and when you didn’t say a word he rolled his eyes, “Now!”

“Don’t yell at her.” Lewis said as he came to stand behind you, not using your panicked stance. Christian looked livid as he turned to Lewis, “maybe I should get answers from you instead, what was you doing with my daughter? Hmm?”

“Now, Horner. I think we both know you wouldn’t like the honest answer to that question.” Leave it to Lewis to be making jokes in a time like this, you thought, semi-affectionately.

Your dad looked that angriest you had even seen him in your life as his fury filled he’d flickered between you two, “Y/n,” he said looking towards you, “I’m taking this as a stupid, drunken mistake you have made. I don’t care if that’s not the case,” he said seeing that you was about to interrupt him, “I’m going to wait at the airport until our plane leaves. If you meet me their it means you have ended this with him,” he said it like Lewis was disgusting, something that needed to be locked away, “if you don’t meet me there, and you continue this, don’t come to see me unless you’ve realised how stupid this is.” He said and without another word, he left.

You broke it into tears as Lewis pulled you into his chest, leaving you to make one if the hardest decision of your life, the love of your life, or your family.

——

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whateversawesome · 1 month

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Spy x Family Chapter 97: An Old Love Story

Okay, say it with me: FOIL!

You can see it too, right? Looks like Martha x Henry (Henderson)'s story is a foil of Twilight and Yor's story.

Henderson was in Twilight's place; the smart, lonely young man so focused on his ideals that he was blind about who was in front of him and his very own feelings.

Martha was in Yor's place, the strong and graceful girl too young and inexperienced to know her own heart and that she was in love.

This is exactly what's happening with Twiyor, the main couple of the story, and I think we may get to see one of the possible endings for our beloved Twiyor through Martha and Henderson story.

Now, what do we know about these two 🤔...

We know that Henry Henderson has a daughter and a son-in-law. It was mentioned he writes to them, but there was no mention of his wife. This leads me to believe that:

His wife is no longer alive.

He lives with his wife, so there's no reason for him to write to her.

He is divorced.

So, with this information we still can't know what's the current relationship between Martha and Henry, but we can take a guess 😉

From the way the story is being told, it almost feels like it's a semi-tragic love story, doesn't it? We can almost assume that they didn't end up together...or did they?

Theory one: Yup, everyone is right and Martha and Henderson eventually went their separate ways for reasons we'll probably get to know in the next couple of chapters.

If this theory is right, I think it's beautiful that they are getting a second chance 💖They certainly look more mature, confident, and calm (also elegant!). I love the way they look at each other, so much trust and love 😌

Theory two: I know this one is a long shot (and Henderson just said in that panel that "She is merely and old friend") but maybe...they're actually married. Why am I so bold to even consider that possibility?! Well, there's this panel:

The matron is clearly teasing Master Henderson, don't you agree? If she does it, it's because she knows something. Either she knows that there was something between those two in their youth or she knows they are married. I don't know, but they way she said the word "partner" and the fact that Master Henderson is married made me think that Martha is his wife. I know, I know...it's a remote possibility, but you have to remember that marriage is mentioned a lot through different characters and couples during the story, so maybe those two were actually married. (But, it's quite possible it's theory one).

Other things to consider...

How long have Ostania and Westalis been at war?

My guess is that we're talking about two different wars between the same countries; very much like WWI and WWII, where there was a brief period of peace before a second conflict. So, probably the first war started while Henderson was in his 20s and the second war started when he was in his 40s (and Twilight was a kid).

It makes a lot of sense that now they're in a period of "Cold War", just like in real life.

The Garden

I am convinced that the Garden is involved in this. I've talked about this before (read it here). After this chapter, I still think the Garden is going to pop up. Want some evidence?

Do you recognize this guy?

That's right 😏 That's Matthew McMahon. What is he doing there? Too much of a coincidence, don't you think?

And also the way this is phrased:

Odd that there was a mention of the word Garden, isn't it? And the fact that the whole story between those two takes place in a garden...🤔

In addition to that, in a previous chapter, Twilight observes how Martha moves like a soldier. Franky mentioned earlier that Garden people are like soldiers. And the Garden has a history of recruiting young skilled/strong people, like Yor. Things keep adding up.

The Consequences of War

This is a prevalent theme throughout the whole SxF universe: how war (violence, intolerance, manipulation of information, propaganda, politics) has affected the life of all the characters.

No matter their background, nationality or education, we've seen it again and again with most of the characters big or small, like Twilight, Franky, Sylvia, Millie, and now we're about to see it with characters from an older generation like Martha and Henderson.

My guess is that this won't be the last time and this pattern will continue while the story lasts. I think what the story is trying to show us is how war is seen by some (politicians and men in power like Desmond) as a natural, inevitable course of action, but at the same time how brutal the consequences are in the smallest stories. That's one of the things that is truly remarkable about SxF.

#spy x family #twiyor #sxf #spy x family manga #spy x family analysis #spy x family theory #sxf chapter 97 #spy x family chapter 97 #martha marriott #henry henderson #loid forger #yor forger #spy x family meta

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loveinhawkins · 11 months

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Every so often, Eddie will get the bus to Starcourt Mall (because what else is there to do?) and watch the world go by.

It’s not like he’s above a cliché or two—maybe he wants to indulge in being a lone figure within the crowd. Maybe he just feels like wallowing in the aimlessness of it all, damn it.

This is where Wayne would point out that Eddie is exactly the opposite of aimless, what with how he’d stormed into the trailer last month, failed test results in hand and snarled, “Next year. I’ll fuckin’ show ‘em.”

But there’s a long time between now and the new school year starting, the summer stretching out before him like taffy. He’d tried to start his reading list early again, but that’s never done him much good; this time he’d gotten through one chapter of Moby-fucking-Dick before despairing.

So. People-watching at the mall it is.

It’s surprisingly not all that terrible an activity, apart from discovering which teachers are suddenly very passionate about jazzercise—a sight Eddie could’ve blissfully lived the rest of his life without seeing.

There’s also the confirmation that the Starcourt commercial he saw was not a vivid hallucination—that Scoops Ahoy is, in fact, real.

And so are the ridiculous sailor outfits.

Well, I’ll be damned, Eddie thinks.

Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are an incredibly unlikely duo. It’s like the universe abandoned all sense, spun a wheel and paired them up just for the fun of it.

When he joins the line for ice-cream, Eddie initially thinks he’ll find the whole thing laughable: seeing people forced to work together when usually the laws of the universe (and Hawkins High) would keep them as far apart as possible.

But then he discovers that the ice-cream parlor is packed, one hell of a bottleneck forming right up at the counter, where folks are waiting for a seemingly never-ending amount of floats to be poured.

It takes a while for Eddie to near the front of the line; enough time passes that he honestly feels kind of bad for even taking up a spot, for adding to the workload that has Robin shouting herself hoarse with every, “Next please!”

He strongly considers just leaving, but he hesitates for a moment too long, and unintentionally meets eyes with…

“Hi,” Steve says, pleasantly enough, if a little distracted as he prods at the soda machine. He smiles apologetically. “Be with you in a sec.”

Eddie almost wants to tell him you know it’s me, right? He doesn’t.

It’s not that he expects Steve to be mean, exactly; it’s just that he’s getting more than familiar with the whole post graduation routine. It’s like there’s a secret page in folks’ yearbooks, instructing them to look at anyone still attached to high school with either indifference or embarrassment—or both.

Steve must not have got the memo.

“Next!”

Robin beckons Eddie forward with a sweeping arm gesture, looks somewhere behind him and sighs in relief, puffing out her cheeks.

“Oh, thank God. You stopped the tide.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder; sure enough, he’s the last person left to order.

“Don’t think I’ve got that power, Buckley.”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Debatable.”

Eddie almost laughs. There was a rumour in his first attempt at senior year that he could curse people: it only came about because he ominously whispered some Pig Latin he’d once overheard Robin herself use during History, and Molly Pritchard crossed herself in horror.

“I’ll have a vanilla cup.”

“Ooh,” Robin says dryly, “adventurous.”

“Nothing wrong with a classic,” Eddie says.

Robin smirks as she rings him up. They don’t know each other that well, but there’s admittedly something nice in the distant familiarity they share; at the very least, she’s not gonna add to any potential awfulness when school starts again.

While Robin hands over his change, Steve is filling up a cup—Eddie would say he’s uncharacteristically quiet, except for the fact that he doesn’t actually know what truly is characteristic of Steve Harrington.

Plus he’s stuck on the fact that he only paid for one scoop, but the amount of ice-cream Steve manages to cram in is almost double that.

And he does this ridiculous little twirly thing with the scooper before he even reaches for the tray of vanilla.

Eddie tells himself he notices just because the move is so stupid; it’s definitely not because he’s noticing Steve’s hands in general. It’s just… eyes get drawn to movement. That’s all.

“Syrup?” Steve asks, nodding his head at the dispensers.

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Strawberry.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Oh, don’t do that, man. Get it with butterscotch.”

Robin’s eyes rise to the heavens, as if some longstanding argument has begun once again.

“And why should I do that, Harrington?” Eddie says.

“Because,” Steve says, like he’s patiently explaining that two plus two equals four, “butterscotch is better. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Robin parrots mockingly. She closes the register drawer and says, “I’m taking my break, Popeye. Try not to judge the customers too hard.”

Eddie’s pretty sure he hears Steve mutter under his breath as she leaves, “Seriously? You’re worse than me.”

His cup of ice-cream is under hostage, apparently. Steve still hasn’t pressed down on the damn syrup pump.

“This your usual sales technique?” Eddie says. “Browbeating the customers?”

“Only the lucky ones,” Steve returns mildly.

Eddie scoffs. “Fine. Gimme the damn butterscotch then.”

“Knew you’d come to your senses,” Steve says.

He hands the cup over without any more quips; just as he’s done with the syrup, a large family swoops in with multiple sundae orders.

Eddie eats the ice-cream while waiting for the bus back home. He grudgingly has to admit that the butterscotch isn’t bad.

But that’s not really what’s bugging him.

He has to know if it’s a fluke—if maybe, just maybe, Steve Harrington only deigned to talk to him because he was, like… delirious or something. Maybe the flood of demanding customers scrambled his brain.

Of course, when Eddie goes back to the mall, it’s purely to test his theory. Strictly observational—educational, even. Like… summer school. (Take that, O’Donnell.)

The bus drops them off a little bit before the mall actually opens, but they’re allowed inside anyway. Eddie inwardly cringes at the sight of grown adults tapping persistently on the windows of still closed stores. Jesus Christ, they’re worse than zombies.

Scoops Ahoy isn’t open yet either; Eddie’s soon witness to a very stressed looking Steve striding over to unlock the place.

He flits in and out of view for a while, taking mops round to the back, filling up the jars of toppings.

Eddie actually considers heading over to Waldenbooks to check if it’s open (it’s not like he’s coming here for one store in particular, obviously), but then he hears metal clacking against the tiles.

When he looks back at Scoops Ahoy, he spots a set of keys on the ground right at the entrance, Steve nowhere in sight.

Goddamn it. He’s gonna have to be a Good Samaritan. Ugh.

Eddie briefly looks up to the ceiling as if he can condemn the ways of the universe from here. Then he sighs, picks up the keys and steps into the store.

“Harrington, you dropped these—”

“Shit,” comes Steve’s voice from the back, followed by an almighty clatter.

Eddie hesitates before his curiosity inevitably wins out.

He goes behind the register, through the door and finds the aftermath of complete disaster: Steve standing in front of an entire vat of ice-cream that’s been dropped onto the floor. It’s splattered all up his legs, cookies and cream clinging to the hairs.

Holy shit, stop thinking about his leg hair, Eddie thinks.

Up until this point in time, he’d believed it was physically impossible to look anything other than comical in that stupid sailor outfit.

(Well. Almost.)

But right now Steve looks absolutely tragic. Like he’s a crew member on the Titanic levels of tragic, and he’s about to deliver the news that there’s simply no more lifeboats.

Steve meets Eddie’s gaze.

“That was limited edition,” he says pitifully.

They both look down at the floor.

“Well,” Eddie says. “It definitely is now. Still, uh, what’s the phrase? No use crying over spilled… ice-cream.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna cry over it,” Steve says. “I’m gonna scream.” For a moment he looks murderous. “Robin’s not coming in.”

“Is she sick?”

Steve snorts. “Sick my ass. No, she’s keeping The Hawk in business—gonna see a movie about an ice-cream parlor, something like that.”

“An ice-cream parlor,” Eddie echoes. “Um. Are you sure she didn’t just make it up?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s one of those foreign—never mind.”

He cuts himself off, lifts up one foot, as if he’s become aware of his predicament all over again.

“I was fine with her ditching, she can do whatever; it’s not like we have managers checking up on us. But I forgot a huge delivery was coming, and it’s Saturday so it’s gonna be crazy, so I’m not gonna have time to put all of it in the freezer or check the stock chart, so it’s all just gonna become fucking soup, Jesus, maybe I should just throw everything on the floor and—”

“I could help,” Eddie interrupts, because apparently a little alien has burrowed into his brain and now he just says things.

Steve stares at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry,” Eddie says. He wishes his brain-invading alien an immediate death. “Bad idea, just—”

“No, I mean why would you do that? Dude, it’s not like I can pay you or—”

“I don’t really have plans,” Eddie says—oh great, the alien hasn’t died! “Uh, you can pay me with, like, a name tag?” What? Stop talking. “Like a souvenir?” Stop! “Oh sorry,” Steve says, as if on automatic pilot. He pulls at his shirt. “We don’t have—our names are stitched on.”

I was kidding about the name tag. Actually, maybe you should just murder me instead.

By some miracle, Eddie’s expression must somehow still look fairly normal because Steve continues, deadly serious, “Munson. Are you sure?”

This is the time to back out—

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Look, man, it’s no big deal. I can clean this up and—”

A bell starts ringing from the front, being struck over and over again in the most obnoxious way possible.

Something in Steve’s eyes flickers, a shift from panic into planning mode, and Eddie has the sudden bizarre feeling that this is what the basketball team saw whenever a crisis timeout was called.

“You sure you’re okay if I leave you back here?” Steve asks, and the gravity with which he says it threatens to send Eddie into hysterics—Christ, you’d think they were in the goddamn trenches.

“Think I’ll survive,” Eddie says. “I’m basically cleaning up, and putting everything into the freezer?”

Steve nods. “And, um, a stock check too, if that’s okay? There’s a chart pinned up, you just gotta count the flavours and put, like, tally marks next to—”

“Oh my God, not tally marks,” Eddie drawls. “The horror.”

Steve huffs. “I was just—”

The bell rings even more insistently.

“Uh, think you’re needed on the front line,” Eddie says.

He nearly chokes on his own spit when Steve turns to just march right on out there.

“Harrington, wait! Your—your legs,” he says weakly.

Steve has the audacity to look puzzled. “What about them?”

They’re very long.

Eddie gestures silently to the ice-cream on the floor, then attempts a vague hovering motion in the direction of Steve’s legs.

Steve’s eyes go wide in realisation. His cheeks turn slightly red. “Oh! Yeah, um, thanks. Um. I’ll just…”

He disappears into the world’s tiniest restroom, comes back free of cookies and cream before heading out to the front.

Well, Eddie thinks to the mop he finds, this is definitely a situation.

It’s not the worst way he’s spent a few hours, apart from having to listen to a Sailor’s Hornpipe on loop through the speakers (he briefly wonders how Robin and Steve stay sane). He cleans up, gets the rest of the delivery into the freezer, even jots down some tally marks, wonder of wonders.

Steve will occasionally slide back the shutters and pop his head in, passing over a soda.

“Employee perks,” he says, then has to hurriedly retreat to keep serving.

Eddie keeps waiting for the stiltedness to set in, but it seems Steve’s far too busy for there to be any awkwardness.

At midday the shutter slides back again and Steve says, “Hey, can you do me one last thing, and I’ll never ask you for anything ever again, I swear.”

“Harrington, you’ve technically never asked me for anything. Gimme the mission.”

Turns out the mission is just to use some employee only coupons at Burger King so Steve can take his lunch.

Eddie returns to Scoops Ahoy with two burgers to find that Steve’s strategically placed a pile of chairs and wet floor signs at the threshold to deter people from entering.

There’s also a hand-drawn sign on top of one of the chairs: Out for Lunch. Underneath, there’s a horrendously bad drawing of a ship on choppy waves.

Eddie tries very hard to not find it endearing.

He gives Steve a burger, hops onto the table in the back and starts eating his own.

A quarter of the way through, he realises that he could leave now—he’s done everything Steve’s asked, and Steve’s already said he can manage the remaining shift on his own now that the delivery’s been put away.

Huh. Well, he’s already gone to all the effort of sitting here…

Steve’s quiet for most of his lunch. Eddie doesn’t mind; he enjoys his free food, comes up with a half-baked campaign idea before discarding it, counts every tile in the room…

Looks over.

Steve’s sat with one leg hunched up to his chest, a book resting on his knee—the cover’s folded over the back as he reads, the spine broken. Eddie doesn’t know why on earth it’s attractive, but it is; he feels like some mooning middle schooler, entranced by the way their stupid crush eats spaghetti or some bullshit like that.

But then again, there’s always been an easy grace to Steve Harrington.

A beeping noise; Steve checks his wristwatch with a sigh.

“Ugh.”

He leaves the book on the table, at just the right angle for Eddie to read the title: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.

“Is it good?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I’m only a couple chapters in, so…” Steve shrugs. “Honestly, it’s the most I’ve read since starting high school.”

And Eddie gets that: the senior years he’s suffered through have left him each time with a brain like a wrung out sponge, not even having the energy for Tolkien.

God. At this rate he’s never gonna read for fun ever again.

His face must do something because Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times before saying, a little hesitant, “Hey, I’m sorry you never, uh… made it through, y’know? You—you were so close, man.” Eddie doesn’t bother wasting time on being pissed that Steve knows some of the details: ‘test results’ and ‘confidentiality’ don’t exactly go together in Hawkins High.

“Yeah, uh. Thanks. Here’s hoping third time’s the charm.”

Steve claps his shoulder. “You’ll do it, it was just tough this year. Like, I scraped through, trust me.”

Eddie snorts—he would literally kill to have a handful of Steve’s grades.

“Think my definition of ‘scraped through’ is different to yours.”

He helps Steve disassemble the mountain of chairs, and now it really is obvious that he could just leave; he only has to take a few steps, and then he’s out of there.

But he pauses.

The store is still empty.

Eddie shuffles back from the doorway. “Ice-cream for the road?”

Steve laughs. “Sure. Least I can do.”

He doesn’t ask Eddie what he wants, just serves a vanilla cup with butterscotch syrup.

Eddie suddenly feels himself fighting a smile. “Think you’ve got an agenda, man.”

“Nope. Just giving you the superior choice, Munson.”

Then Steve picks up an empty cup and pours more butterscotch into it, nothing else. He knocks it back like a shot. “Gross,” Eddie says.

Steve flashes him a syrup-streaked grin.

It’s so… juvenile.

If it wasn’t for the fact that they’re in a mall, Eddie would almost think that he’d gone back a few years, made an unexpected temporary friend that goofed off with him in the back of the class.

He finishes his ice-cream as more people flock to the counter; in what seems like no time at all, Steve’s ushering Eddie out, pulling down the security grille.

It feels a bit like a soap bubble has burst. Like the bell’s unexpectedly rung at the end of last period, in a class he was actually enjoying, against all odds.

Steve does say, quite sincerely, “Thanks, Munson. You didn’t have to… you really saved my ass.”

Eddie’s about to clumsily work his way through some reply about how it was nothing, but then they really do have to go, because some stern-faced security guard’s staring like he might vaporise them.

It’s just one day, Eddie thinks. A… what’s-it-called. An anomaly.

But he goes back to the mall the next afternoon. He doesn’t bother to make up an excuse even in his own head.

Scoops Ahoy is somehow even more packed this time—Steve’s serving up samples while Robin’s back at the register, and when she sees Eddie coming, she points at the vanilla, mouths, “The classic?”

He chuckles, nods. “How was your movie, Buckley?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” she says serenely. “I was very sick.” She coughs delicately.

“Praying for your miraculous recovery.”

He gets vanilla with butterscotch syrup (just because Robin’s the closest to that particular dispenser, that’s all).

It’s so busy that once Robin’s finished at the register, she starts filling orders alongside Steve. When Eddie picks up his cup, they barely look at him, surrounded by other cups and plastic bowls laid out for ice-cream.

Figures. Eddie knows it’s not personal. Just. Soap bubble’s burst, and all that.

He’s almost out the store when he hears a whistle.

“Hey, Munson! Go long!”

“Fuck off, no,” Eddie says automatically, a response drilled into him from many a compulsory Phys Ed class.

But he turns, just in time to see Steve throw something at him. He catches it—it’s plastic, round—somehow manages to keep a hold of his ice-cream, too.

Steve gives a brief thumbs up, before he’s back to scooping. He still finds time to do that stupid twirl move again.

Once outside, Eddie opens up his hand. Snorts.

It’s a shitty white badge, chipped in several places. His name’s scrawled on it in red marker, a cartoony anchor in the upper right corner.

On the bus home, Eddie mulls over the thought of flicking through a couple chapters of The Hobbit, something like that. No pressure, no notes—no imagining the year ahead, a teacher looming over his shoulder. Just for fun.

There’s plenty of time.

He puts his souvenir in his pocket, takes another spoonful of ice-cream.

And he has to admit that butterscotch is pretty damn good.

#my second scoops fic! such a fun setting #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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itaipava · 8 months

Text

— little moments of f1 boys yearning for their best friend.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

it’s the middle of the night and you’re lying side by side in bed. you told a joke that he didn’t find that funny, but he can’t help but laugh next to you while you’re laughing so hard at your own humor. he stops laughing for a bit and looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen - because you are. moonlight enters the room, shining on your chin, lips, and cheeks, and a soft, joyful glow shines in your eyes. he feels this need to run his fingers along the contours of your face, in a light and gentle caress, but he resists. and yet he can’t help but think that maybe he loves you, with all his heart, even if you have a weird sense of humor sometimes.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

it’s a little too early in the afternoon to be drunk but here you both are. you’re sitting on the couch and he’s not certain when you got close but his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean your head against his shoulder and he shifts a little so that he can place a hand on your back; an almost-hug. you’re saying something and your breath is warm on his skin and perhaps it’s the influence of the alcohol but he’s overcome by a burst of a certain something in his heart. he pulls you closer and when you start to move away, he doesn’t let you go and he says ‘stay.’ and you do. for a minute. then two. then time doesn’t matter anymore.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

it’s when you ask him to turn his face away so you can change your shirt; you already have a beautiful and trusting intimacy, so you trust him enough to do something like this around him. he turns around, but when he turns to you again, he takes a little of your body away while you lower your shirt, putting it on completely. his breath hitches in his throat as an insatiable desire surges within him; the desire to touch you. he wanted so much to be able to explore every little part of your body, know the story of every scar or spot, worship your body as if that were the last thing he would do in his life. he looks away quickly but that image will stay with him forever.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

it’s the middle of the night and you’re lying side by side in bed because the movie is too boring and each other’s features are so much more interesting. you talk about anything that comes to mind as you trace light patterns on the bed between the few inches between the two of you. he loves hearing you talk, he really does, but right now he can’t hear you. he is so hypnotized and obsessed with you; it’s like you’re holding the stars as he walks through the clouds. his eyes shine like never before and he feels lost when you smile as you continue talking, completely oblivious to the effect you have on him.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

sitting on the balcony, the two of you are talking. you ask him if he could go anywhere right now, where would he go? and he thinks, perhaps to a little cottage in the countryside where it’s peaceful and the days slow and sweet; or perhaps a bustling city that never sleeps, with its neon lights and people from all walks of life; or perhaps a picturesque town where culture comes alive and and every building whispers an ancient history. and he looks at you because you’re there with him everywhere he goes; lying on the grass next to him; going out for a dinner in a fancy restaurant together in the busy city; sitting in a little café in an old city… he wants to let you know but instead he jokes, his voice light, his face holding a ghost of a smirk, ‘anywhere away from you,’

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

the sun is about to set and he sits beside you on the floor. as the movie plays on his laptop, he watches it while listening to you talk about your day. at one point, he glances at you and it’s supposed to be a glance but the sunlight is on your skin and he can’t seem to look away. seeing your questioning face at him, he tears his eyes away from you, back to the screen. and the two of you watch the movie quietly while this feeling he isn’t brave enough to name swells in his heart.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

when others are superficially talking about people they find hot, he never joins in the conversation and if you’re there, he glances at you a little too often. if someone asks him to describe his ideal type, his mind goes to you immediately as he describes your qualities. in a room full of people, he always finds himself wondering where you are as his eyes look around, the smitten smile on his face when you lock eyes from across the room.

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