#i'm going to be miserable about this forever you don't understand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinguwrites · 11 months ago

Note

Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo.

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering.

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied.

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up.

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it.

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome.

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion.

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love.

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t.

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before.

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream.

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours.

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?”

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over.

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked.

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . .

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you.

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter.

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling.

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help.

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured.

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair.

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously.

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.”

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

“You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head.

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society.

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red.

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip.

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that.

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946.

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice.

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating.

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth.

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you.

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk.

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips.

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick.

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.”

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music.

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered.

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t.

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you.

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment.

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head.

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say.

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.”

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy.

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . .

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

#william killick #william killick x reader #william killick x you #william killick x y/n #cillian murphy #fanfiction #the edge of love #pinguwrites

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literaticat · 1 year ago

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I'm at my wit's end. I've spent a decade trying to break through - 10 years with 5 novels coming super close with a variety of big publishers, who rave about my writing, ideas, etc. Feedback has been mostly positive. One even rejected saying "I don't know why we're rejecting this, it's EXACTLY what we're looking for and ticks all our boxes, but we feel compelled to reject it anyway." Is there just a "Do Not Publish" sign on my head? How to keep pushing ahead after so long and so much rejection?

(OP continues...) "Sorry about the rant, Jenn, and I know there's not much you can say as you don't know my specific situation. But it's just maddening. 10+ years of my life! I know everyone faces rejection, but I seem to mostly get positive feedback and so many "close calls" of almost getting a deal - a lot of interest, but then it just peters out. That "compelled to reject anyway" just made me start feeling like I'm just fated to never be published, no matter what? I'm unagented now, starting from scratch..."

OK first of all -- that rejection, if that is literally what they said, is utterly insane. I have to presume (HOPE? PRAY?) that you are paraphrasing, that that is what it *felt* like to you, but that's not LITERALLY what they said??? Because there are certainly things where, on the surface, yes, this is what a publisher is looking for and it "ticks the boxes", but ultimately, it doesn't have that X-factor, je ne sais quois, or whatever -- so I can see a publisher saying something like, "while the writing is admirable and the premise is interesting, ultimately, we weren't compelled enough to make an offer for publication" -- which is ALMOST what you said, but there's a key difference that makes it actually normal and not insane. Because in YOUR version, it sounds like they are under an imperius curse or something, where they don't know what they are doing or why they are doing it, they just have to do it, even though it is against what WOULD be their better judgment if they weren't cursed. And... it's wild to think that a publisher would make a statement like that. (Maybe they were having a very OFF DAY???) -- BUT ANYWAY, on to the crux of your question/rant:

I understand your frustration. If it makes you feel any better (??), you're not alone. I know many -- MANY -- MANY career authors, who spent 10 years honing their craft, trying and failing, getting rejections, getting close-but-no-cigars, etc. I was chatting with a wise (and now famous) author I know, who spent 10 years or so in the query/wrong-agent/rejection/close-call trenches. She told me a theory that I feel pretty sure is right, though I don't have proof per se, it does track with my observations. She said:

Just about everyone who sticks with writing or the arts in general as a career has about a ten-year rough patch. That doesn't mean it takes everyone ten years to get published! (Though it does take LOTS of people 10+ years) -- Some lucky people get their break a lot sooner than that. BUT. Everyone has to pay the piper that ten year fee, either all at once, or in installments. So let's say you sell your book right away and start raking in the accolades etc -- fab! Just know that nobody stays popular and beloved forever, and at some point, the ten year slump is coming for you. Aren't you lucky that you're getting yours out of the way now?

OK, if that didn't work for you, how about this:

How to keep pushing ahead after so long and so much rejection?

You know you don't have to, right?

Like, if writing and seeking traditional publication is making you miserable -- you can stop. In fact, stopping may be a great idea.

I say this not to be discouraging, but rather, encouraging, actually. I encourage you to give yourself permission to prioritize your own mental and emotional well-being.

If you realize you miss writing and can't live without it -- go back to it! But maybe instead of having "publication" as your goal, your goal can be writing for the pure joy of it, without worrying about future queries or would-be agents or anyone else's expectations. What freedom! Embrace that!

Then when you do have a brand-new shiny manuscript, you can decide your next steps. Maybe it's trying again for traditional publishing, and this is the turn around the track that changes everything. (It should be close, if the 10 year theory is correct!)

OR, maybe it's self-publishing. (Lots of people have a lot of success there -- maybe you're one of them!) --

OR, maybe it's just chilling out and writing some more for your own pleasure -- creating art for the sake of creating it, for fun, for self-fulfillment, etc. Like, you know, a normal hobby, that nobody is expecting you to monetize or make into a "gig".

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txttletale · 7 months ago

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You've helped expose me to a lot of theory that I hadn't read before, and I'm realizing i need to read more theory for real, like. Actually. That being said; The more I start to lean into communist thoughts and not just anti capitalist, I find myself becoming warped and joyless. How does it not take a tole on you? The constant reminder of the endless suffering of the oppressed? How do I enjoy art when I am forced to see all of it as a coerced product, suffering for my entertainment? The constant guilt of life is something I dont think I can stomach at all times. Am i supposed too? (BTW; I mean this more so as an ask of how you do it, not to argue that because suffering is hard to look at we should actually just go back to the status quo and ignore it. I'm just like. Not sure how to deal with it, I guess.)

i don't really feel guilty about anything so i don't know how much i can help. i guess i just think that using communism as like a lense to judge your own individual morality as many people like to do is bound to make you miserable to no real avail. that's not the purpose of communist theory, the point of communist theory is to analyze society and history and guide mass-scale poltical action, not tell you if you're evil for watching the new star wars or whatevsies.

i guess i also personally find that reading socialist history and the more practical, grounded-in-praxis types of theory is liberatory and fills me with optimisim--reading about, e.g., social systems in cuba or people's democracy in the early soviet union is helpful in dispelling the 'oh, everything's going to be horrible forever, socialism is just a utopian pipe dream' insinct that i think liberal hegemony instills in most people, by showing how people took actual sensible pragmatic steps to introduce things like workplace democracy, universal healthcare, women's equality, mass literacy, etc. post-revolution. it helps you understand that communism is not a magic wizard who will come and save us all but yknow something that is doable and achievable by human beings.

#ask

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aois-amaterasu-painting · 4 months ago

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Ruki (on X):

From January to July, so many things have happened.

Amidst the whirlwind of days, I questioned what is right and what is normal? While swaying between emotions and reason, I was constantly making various choices, and desperately running through each day.

In such times, I was supported solely by everyone's concerned voices and the words "I love you."

Thank you always.

And although it's been a while, I wrote on Instagram. I hope this reaches everyone who loves me. ✉️

It's been about two months since my last post.

Seeing the closet still filled with winter clothes, I realized that this year, for me, there was no spring. Time stopped in winter, and then summer came.

I noticed that I had been putting off such a basic thing as living, and I finally did a long-overdue wardrobe change the other day.

Life is built on daily choices, an accumulation of decisions.

Only you can decide if those choices and your life are right or wrong.

The responsibility for your life is yours and yours alone.

I feel that trying to conform to the standards of "normal" for others will only make you feel more miserable when you are going through a tough time.

It's the same for everything; it's okay not to be "normal" as measured by someone else's standards.

No matter the relationship, I believe it's impossible to fully understand all of someone's inner struggles and pain. Fans' pain and our pain, human wounds vary from person to person.

Therefore, the way and speed at which wounds heal also vary for each person. The way you accept things too. It's okay if it's not the same.

Because the heart is a place that cannot be seen from the outside, others can't understand those wounds, and in fact, even we ourselves cannot measure how deep our wounds are.

Everyone, might be forcing a smile on the outside, and when they come home, no one sees the emptiness they are feeling, and they probably don't want to show it to anyone.

The way I've spent my days, I was told, wasn't very human-like, but I think that's okay.

Now, rather than sadness, I feel loneliness.

Because I am human, I know that I will meet them again someday.

So, thinking that way, I am accepting it now.

Although I feel lonely without Koron and Reita, for now, goodbye. This reminded me of when I wrote the lyrics for QUIET.

And when the day comes that we can meet again, I want to live in a way that I'll be told, "You lived a good life."

In reality, there are four of us now, but not as a mere illusion; another face is vividly present in my mind.

So, the feeling of being five members is not a lie. That will surely be forever.

After thinking about it all, I've come to the conclusion that I need to start living each day in a way that will leave a lot of proof that I lived.

I want to create music and things with more love than ever before.

Although my core approach to making music hasn't changed, what I feel I want to draw and leave behind now has changed significantly.

I want to cherish every moment, even the most ordinary ones, like taking pictures of everyday life, going to different places and feeling the scenery, the smells, all the things that I can only feel at that moment.

And if you're feeling overwhelmed right now, I think it’s okay to put everything on hold and take a break without overthinking it. It’s okay to stop pushing yourself for a while.

If I hadn’t taken a step back, I wouldn't have reached this mindset.

Then, bit by bit, listen to music you love, visit places that bring you joy, and heal your heart.

I'm gradually doing that myself too.

I hope everyone can find their own way of healing.

And if this band, the GazettE, can become something that saves or heals even just one person, I will overcome anything.

To me, everyone who waits for us is my reason for living.

The only place where you can let out everything you can't express in daily life, I believe, is at live concerts.

So, I hope we can share that extraordinary space where we can shout and make noise together as much as possible.

I've said it before, but there will be more opportunities to meet from now on. Or rather, I will make them.

I want to increase the time I can enjoy with everyone who loves me, so please wait for it.

Next is Toyosu PIT announcement, so please check it out.

Thank you for reading such a long post. I'll write again

2024.07.18

#the gazette #2024 #ruki ig #twitter

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thenightisland · 1 month ago

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in various conversations with my doctor about the insane life changing effect adhd meds have had on me one of the things he said was that it's not uncommon for people who have dysthymia/pervasive depressive disorder to have undiagnosed adhd at the root of the problem. and i think we forget that like. major depressive disorder is supposed to be something that eventually stops. it's episodic. like even people with depression very often are not in a state where it's just like. every day is a misery virtually nonstop for 15+ years. but with dysthymia/pdd it very much so is. which you can have pdd and mdd both at the same time too which is evil but anyway. it is wild enough conceptualizing that there is in fact a difference between the two things bc i very much so got depressed around age ten and just. never stopped. and when you live like that for the bulk of your life you just sort of get used to it? like it sucks but you just assume a degree of that is normal. so even on several antidepressants i never once aimed for "not depressed" i was always aiming for "mildly less miserable" i had just accepted that i would always be a degree of miserable and that my default was going to be feeling bad and if i was very lucky there might be a few days where i felt a little less bad now and then. the goal was "bearable misery" which is nuts to type out like wow! bleak!

anyway something i noticed when they started me on the adhd meds was that all the Racket in my head just. stopped. for weeks i just said to people "it's so quiet in there" because i didn't have dozens of loud competing fast thoughts all the time. and it took a while to pin down why this effect made me less depressed and worked better than literally any antidepressant had. and it's bc it /stopped thoughts/ and when i was depressed the Thoughts did not stop and they were not pleasant ones so i'd get stuck in these awful mental doom spirals and nothing i did would make it stop. and then this medicine made it stop. and it turns out it's much easier to not be sad when your brain doesn't have the Sad Channel turned up to high volume and is forcing you to deal with it clockwork-orange style. bc historically it was like oh god do we really have to do this again do we have to listen to the you will always be alone and unloved and nothing you do will ever be enough and your life will never be fulfilling in any way spiral again?? do we really have to i'm so tired. but now that channel is muted. a lot of channels have been muted. no amount of cbt/dbt techniques or various other therapy tactics had ever managed to mute those channels before.

and it's just insane it's like the thing about how stunned people with chronic pain are to learn that the normal amount of pain for someone to experience on an average day is none. it's just that but emotionally. bc even with the challenges i still have for autism reasons, most days now i'm fine. the emotional pain is zero on an average day. i now understand what people mean when they say "i'm having a bad day" bc there's a difference. but you see. all my days used to be bad. all of them. even the "good" days involved a degree of visceral emotional suffering and dread. and you don't realize how pervasive the bad is until the bad is the exception and not just an ordinary day.

i do not sit around consumed by the same thought patterns and doom spirals and mental quicksand now i'm just going about my day like an ordinary person and it's amazing how much less life /hurts/ and that's the only way i can think to put it is that every day used to hurt and it doesn't hurt now. past-me was incapable of conceptualizing a life where my baseline wasn't "profoundly and painfully sad and aching at all times" i was 100% prepared to just live like that forever!!!! and now if i have a bad day that's all it is an outlier i thought people in movies were just doing a bit when they had a "bad day" and the solution was just have a big piece of cake and cry a little and go to bed early and you'll feel better tomorrow bc i never felt better tomorrow! now i just feel better tomorrow if i have a bad day! most days the emotional pain scale is a 0/10.

like this is so long already but those of you who have been around for a long time you know how nuts this is for me. and i'm a firm believer in everything happens for a reason even bad things and for a few years i've been like huh wonder what the reason is for the whole getting beaten in the head thing though. well. it exacerbated the working memory issues. and it got on my goddamn nerves. so i asked to try this medicine so i could remember to get my soup out of the microwave. and then it fixed all the problems that have plagued me since i was a small child. and now i'm able to conceptualize a day to day life that isn't just Hurting all the time when i once thought i would never do anything but hurt.

#this has been a useless text post you may now resume your normal programming #it's insane trying to learn how to live a life that isn't just suffering in varying degrees #i didn't think i'd get the opportunity and don't totally know what to do with it but i'm gonna find out!!#anyway that's enough rambling for one night #but for many years i used this blog to document The Horrors #so it only seems fair to document The Wonders now lol

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year ago

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For the Drabble!

How would Jake react if eve starting only asking for you and would cry if Jake picked her up?

Dad!Jake Seresin x female reader

words: 1250 (this kind of took on a life of its own and expanded way past the ask, but this is where my head went)

Oh Baby series

So I picture this under a very specific circumstance, that being like, Eve is three now and has a decent understanding of stuff.

She's in preschool and knows all about her parents' jobs and brags to her friends about how her daddy is the coolest because he's a pilot and she's going to be a pilot one day too. Basically believing her dad is the bravest guy and has the most important job in the whole wide world, until Jake and Mama sit her down one day and explain to her that Daddy is going to be gone for a bit, and he'll be missing some important event or something to Eve. Like maybe she believes in half-birthdays and convinced her parents to have a little three-person celebration for being three and a half. But now Jake won't be able to be there and so Eve is devastated and sobs all night, but that sobbing turns into anger because she just can't believe Daddy would leave her and Mama for so long (even though he has no choice).

Jake has a couple days before he has to go and Eve has pretty much been giving him the silent treatment, thinking he certainly wouldn't leave her while she's upset. So she's grumpy and stubborn all the time, especially when Jake tries to pick her up from school or tuck her in at night, and no way will she let him hold her without throwing a fit and asking for Mama instead.

Then it's like the night before he has to go. Jake's miserable because he thinks his daughter hates him though you tell him that's not true. And he's uncharacteristically terrified that something might happen to him, that he won't ever see Eve with a smile on her face the way he is so used to seeing his baby girl.

You tell him to go try to talk to Eve one more time, so he goes upstairs to her playroom where she's playing with her toy planes, and he crouches down beside her and says "Baby girl, I'm so sorry." He tries to touch her shoulder but she scoots away and turns her back to him and Jake just sighs, drops his head, and whispers "I love you, baby girl. Always." Then kisses the top of the blond curls, the same honey shade has his own, and leaves to join you again.

Immediately by the look on his face, you know your little girl did not cut her father any slack. And you're so heartbroken for the both of them (and yourself honestly, because Jake leaving destroys you each time). So you walk him to the door and he kisses you for what feels like forever. And you don't want to let him go but you know you don't have a choice, so you unwrap yourself from around him and let him grab his bag before he starts over to his truck.

But then you hear little, rapid footsteps, and you turn to see Eve carefully holding the railing of the staircase, moving down as quickly as she can while still keeping in mind Jake's stair safety rules. Then, like a little speed demon, she sprints past you out the door, screams "Daddy!" in such a desperate wail, and runs right into his legs, clinging to him like a koala to a tree.

Then you start sobbing because she's already sobbing and Jake's got tears on his cheeks as he drops his bag and lifts his daughter into his arms, holding her as tightly as she is him. And he's kissing her cheek and whispering in her ear, likely promises that he'll come back, because there's no way he won't do everything he can to return to his family.

When he looks at you, you completely lose it, because your husband is leaving, and you and Eve are really going to have to be each other's support to get through the coming months. So you walk over to them and kiss him and hug him so Eve is squished between you.

But then he has to go. He doesn't have a choice. And trying to remove Eve from him is as hard as prying a drilled in nail from a sturdy wall with only your fingernails.

When he's gone, Eve pulls on your hand so you can watch his truck drive away. She won't leave until she can no longer see it—not that you would dare leave either—and when you do finally get her inside, you give her the special ice cream you bought in preparation for your hearts hurting. You feed her a big bowl, and you watch her, knowing this is her first true heartbreak; the first of more to come.

At bedtime, you tuck her in beside you, because you don't want to be alone either. She manages to sleep, fully emotionally exhausted, but you just stare at her little face in the dim glow of the moonlight, and you run your knuckle over her cheek like you've done since she was born, and you promise your girl that you'll make it through this; after all, you'd both done it before, she was just too young to remember.

Every day. Every single day, Eve mentions her Daddy. Asks about him or tells a story about him or promises that when he gets back she's going to take him to Disneyland "because he should get a surprise present when he comes home." You agree.

When you get your first video chat with him, Eve is bouncing on your lap, waiting for his face to pop up. She tells him every little thing that's happened at school. Her best friend got a new doll and she wants the same one but only if it can also come with a pilot outfit. The butterflies they'd been taking care of in class were finally released. She tried to name them all after the Daggers but the teacher said the whole class had to agree on the names, which she thought was "stupid." You scold her for her language, but you're chuckling a bit too. Then she says her teacher is having a baby, and "when are you and Mama gonna have another baby?" She wants a brother.

When you tell her to go play—really so you can get a few minutes alone with your husband—he asks about that baby boy too, and you promise when he comes home, you'll work on it (after the surprise trip to Disney, of course. Or maybe during).

You tell him you love him so damn much. He tells you the same.

You meet him when he comes back, and when Eve spots him, she rushes off, weaving through other families to get to him. You catch up and you're crying because they're stuck together like glue, and that's all you ever wanted for them. He sets his baby girl down for a moment to kiss you in a way that manages to scratch the surface of all the pent-up need you have for each other. Then he picks his baby girl back up, and you go home.

You watch movies and eat ice cream and when it's bedtime, Jake tucks Eve in after about a half hour of her talking his ear off. He loves it though, because he loves her and he missed her sweet voice so much.

Then he joins you and you work on releasing all of that pent-up need and desire. And you're just about to fall asleep in each other's arms when you whisper "by the way, Eve is taking us to Disneyland."

---

A/N: this was my manic brain spilling thoughts

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @cinderellasmissingshoe @novagreen04 @multifandomlover4life @mayhemmanaged @memeorydotcom @ryiamarie

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faelapis · 1 year ago

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pmmm rebellion: the flower scene

*inhales*

i like pmmm rebellion. a lot. i'd go so far as to say it’s one of my favorite movies. but i've never liked the interpretation from some, of this scene. the flower scene. essentially, the idea is that homura was right in how madoka was "miserable" as a god. because madoka "agreed with her" in the flower scene.

as a baseline, i will say right off the bat that i think pmmm is a franchise where you can never fully escape tragedy. i think any ending to this story will be bittersweet, and there is a certain amount of sacrifice and misery inherent in its very concept.

that being said. i don't think madoka becoming a god was as tragic as homura makes it out to be. i don't think its just a hero sacrificing herself for the greater good. i think it's more. and i think this scene, as much as it is a conversation, is also an act of self-delusion.

this one-note interpretation of madoka as a tragic sacrifice (in how she herself feels) is ignoring... well. the context of the whole series. which homura herself is also ignoring. by which i mean, she was a quite the unreliable narrator in how she described the sacrifice / miracle madoka would go on to perform.

for the record, i think there is something both selfish and selfless to homura. i think she genuinely believes she is helping madoka. and i think homura thinks that's all she wants. this is not an attempt to slander her - but more about how i think she has an incomplete understanding of madoka, and what madoka wants in life.

basically, i'm not trying to argue here that madoka's sacrifice is just good "for the world." obviously, it is. we already know that. what i'm trying to argue is that i think it - in some ways - is also good for madoka herself. not in an uncomplicated way, but that its not all bad. that she gets something out of being this godlike being. at the very least, i think it is better for madoka than the world homura creates.

okay. so. flower scene. homura pretty vaguely just says “you’re going to be separated from everyone you love." which, on its own, is pretty sad. she mentions that there's something "only (madoka) can do". and that madoka, being selfless, would do this because she feels she has to. that it is a tragedy.

what homura doesn't mention is madoka becoming this godlike, conceptual being who is everywhere at all times. which is a pretty big fucking thing to leave out. homura might as well have said “you’re going to be separate from ME, and that’s going to make ME sad” for how honest she was about the context of the situation.

in short, homura is framing the situation as tragically as possible because she wants madoka to say what she wants to hear. she wants to be told that it was miserable. because homura was miserable.

essentially, what homura says will happen: you'll be away from everyone forever. it will accomplish ~something~, but i will not tell you what. it will make me very sad. please comfort me. (which madoka does, because of course. lest we forget part of what she says is she would never want to make someone as strong as homura sad.)

what actually happens: you will have the power to save every magical girl from suffering. you will become a conceptual god, which will remove you from your human life. but you will also be with every magical girl, always, and give them comfort. you will not only have your own agency, but make sure that the wishes of magical girls everywhere MATTER and don't end in despair. including your own. even when you would become a witch and despair, you will save yourself. and when i die, i will be with you as well.

i think by framing it this way, homura IS being honest about how it "felt" to her. but homura also misunderstands what madoka wants.

first of all, madoka's life as a regular human... well, i'm not going to say it was unhappy. but i think it was unfulfilled. i think madoka was an insecure girl without much sense of what she wanted in life. and it was also ignorant. ignorant of the pain of the world, of the suffering that other magical girls had gone through. it was privileged, but it was also, in this way, empty.

madoka’s self-actualization (in the series) has a lot to do with helplessness vs being able to make a difference. in short, she wants agency. what her wish does is give her that agency, which she trades for her life as a normal human.

what homura’s wish does is the reverse. it’s giving madoka her humanity back, but in return, she no longer has agency. she doesn’t get to do the self-actualization of becoming someone with the power to help others. she is, in that sense, suppressed.

so. like. yes, THAT “regular magical girl who knows zero context of her own character arc” version of madoka? of COURSE she doesn’t want to leave everyone behind. big duh. she isn’t told what it would accomplish (in any specific terms), she isnt aware of how it would create a version of herself with the power to change the world. nor is she acquainted with the non-magical girl version of her in the pmmm series, who had no agency at all until she chose to become a god.

in the series, that is not a moment of despair for madoka. that is when she finds hope. that is when she attains a world where she can give rest to all magical girls. and give herself a reason to fight. that hope and determination carries her, and she is with it forever.

it’s also worth noting, rebellion!madoka's not just saying it would make her sad. she is also doubting herself. she's saying she is far “too spineless” to do it. how she's this weak, helpless person who would never be able to leave people for a greater calling.

putting aside how she’s not really gone / at least exists in this abstract way - she is also demonstrating how she doesn't believe in herself. so even this "happy" magical girl version of madoka still has some of the helpless insecurity of her series counterpart. she may live a relatively peaceful life, but she is not fulfilled. she lacks the purpose, determination and hope of her series counterpart.

in other words, even this version of madoka needs to self-actualize. and part of her knows that. in homura's "happy" new realm, madoka "feels wrong." she seems shy and insecure. ill at ease. uncomfortable. like she's at the start of her arc, not the end. yet the godlike power within her refuses to be erased. it can only be held back. for now.

in a way, i see homura trapping madoka a bit like the symbolism of not letting someone grow up. sure, adulthood might not be as "simple and happy" as childhood, but it also gives you knowledge and agency in life. it allows you to learn & grow, understand the world as it is, make educated choices in who you want to be, and become that best version of yourself. THAT is what madoka is denied. that is how she feels wrong in this “happy” illusion realm that homura creates.

also. god madoka would definitely be a lot happier if she could be with homura in heaven and have the ability to save her lol.

but there's a problem with that, for homura. and that problem is, that would give madoka the agency in the situation, and leave homura the passive receiver of blessings. which is at odds with homura’s own desire for control. like madoka, she wants to not be helpless and have the ability to affect the story. after all, she did fail to stop madoka in the series. i think homura wants some of that agency, too. hence the imagery of her soul gem going from a pawn to a queen.

essentially, i see this as a conflict between two sides who want to be in charge of their own destinies. they've been stripped of their agency by the world, and they want to have it back - no matter what it would cost. this is what they have in common.

when homura refused to join madoka in "magical girl heaven", she was ultimately refusing happiness for the sake of agency. for the sake of being able to be "madoka's hero." that's what she always wanted to be, and failed to be in the original series.

tl;dr: there is something tragic in madoka's wish. for sure. but i think it gives madoka agency in the world, which she always wanted. i think being able to help others can be genuinely fulfilling for the individual, rather than just a sacrifice. it’s empowering, as much as it is the loss of old self. and i think homura wants to feel like that kind of hero, too - no matter what. they both do.

*exhales*

#pmmm #madoka kaname #homura akemi #madoka #puella magi madoka magica #not su /#long post /#for the record we all agree that in an ideal world none of this would fall on the shoulders of middle schoolers #but that’s not why these stories are written #in madoka as with any young anime protagonist it has as much to do with the world of being the burdened protagonist 14 yr olds want to see #and to the symbolic fears dangers and perils that come with being 14. learning about the world and shedding childhoods naïveté etc

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sissylittlefeather · 11 months ago

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How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 6

A/N: I'm sorry this one took so long! I have a hard time writing sometimes, but y'all keep me inspired and I thank you for it. ICYMI, this is the time travel/soulmate AU with Elvis and a fem!reader.

Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist.

Special thanks to @ccab for loving this series so much that I can't abandon it. This one's for you, baby.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, AND DRINKING, POSSIBLE ALCOHOLISM, and ANGSTTTTTT

Word count: ~3.5k

There's no way he's leaving you now. Not like this.

******

When your alarm goes off the next morning you roll over and groan, turning it off haphazardly. Elvis has been awake for a while, watching you sleep. He knows today might be rough for you, but he has a question that's burning in his mind and just won't go away. Seeing you last night has him worried about your wellbeing.

"You alright, honey?"

"Mmm. No." You groan and snuggle into his chest. Your hangover has your head pounding and your stomach rolling over. You want nothing more than to sleep in his arms for the next 24 hours, but he seems determined to wake you up.

"You need food. Come on." He tries to get you out of the bed, but you don't move.

"Later. I need sleep."

"Y/n, it's almost noon." You laugh.

"So much for my 10:30 class."

"Come on, honey. We gotta get up."

"Why??" You whine and snuggle under the covers again.

"Because we need to talk." This gets your attention. It doesn't sound like he has a good talk in mind. Has he had enough of you? You should've known this was coming. You've been a mess for almost two years now. It makes sense that he would notice it and want to cut ties as soon as possible. Making a portal will be difficult if he doesn't love you or even like you anymore. You sit up and grimace.

"Talk about what?"

"Let's just go get some food." Somehow, you manage to slink out of bed and get some clothes on. You know you must look terrible, but you don't care. It matches the way you feel, both physically and emotionally. He's not even gone yet and you already miss him.

About twenty minutes later, you find yourself in a booth at a local breakfast place and he waits for you to finish as many fried potatoes as you can stomach before he comes back to his question.

"Y/n, I told you we need to talk about something."

"I know. You're ready to leave and never come back, aren't you?"

"What? No. The exact opposite. I'm worried about you."

"About me? Why?"

"Are you happy?"

"Right now?" You look around the restaurant and consider your current level of happiness.

"No. When I'm not here. Are you... are you okay?" You look down at your hands. So he has picked up on the fact that you're not doing so great. You think for a long time before you answer him. Should you be honest and tell him that you've been miserable every day for almost two years? Or should you act like everything is fine, so he'll go back through the portal to his own life? You look back up into his eyes and know you can't lie.

"No. I'm not." He grabs your hand where it sits on the table and watches as your eyes fill with tears.

"That's what I was afraid of. It's my fault isn't it?" He rubs small circles on the back of your hand.

"No, Elvis it's not you. I just should never have left you alone. I know how much it hurt you. I'll regret it forever." A single tear slides down your cheek.

"Honey, no. You had to go. We didn't know any other way. I understand that. I don't blame you for anything." He stands up and scoots in next to you on your side of the booth as the tears start to stream down your face and your shoulders quake with the intensity of your sadness. You feel his arm wrap around you and he holds you as tightly as he can without hurting you. You cry and cry into his chest and it feels like all the pain from the last two years finally has some release.

He holds you and looks at the ceiling trying not to let his own tears fall. His resolve to never leave you gets stronger and stronger. How could he when he knows how badly you need him?

******

You spend the next week together and slowly you start to feel better. His presence is reassuring and almost healing. Knowing that he's forgiven you does wonders for your depression. Still, every time he ignores a portal, a small part of you worries that he might be missing his last chance. You know he has to go back. He has to become the man the world knows. And as much as you want to keep him here, you know he can't stay forever.

On Friday, one of your friends invites you to a party at his house. Elvis is nervous about you drinking again, but he agrees to come along just to be with you. Before you head over, your friends come over to pre-party like always. The shots of Fireball start to go around again and Elvis throws back two just to try to ease his nerves about how the night will go. He has a bad feeling, for some reason, but the Fireball helps.

By the time you get to the party, you're both pretty relaxed and ready to have a good time. You stay together and mingle with the other party guests. When you decide it's time for a second drink, though he tries to stop you gently.

"Y/n, are you sure? Remember how you felt on Monday?" You stop and look up at him surprised.

"I'm sorry; are you my dad now?" He rolls his eyes as you walk away to get another drink. He follows close behind you.

"No, I'm just sayin' maybe you don't really wanna do this again." He steps in between you and the bar. "You know I love you. I just want what's best for you."

"Ha. Okay. How about this: I'll listen to you when you start listening to me about leaving." The alcohol in your system makes you brazen. You can't ignore it anymore.

"That is not the same at all, honey."

"Except it is. I know what's best for you, you know what's best for me. Now, let me get a drink, please." The thought of sending him through the portal inspires you to drink even more, but you know it has to be done. Maybe if you push him away now, it'll be easier for both of you. He steps out of the way to let you walk up to the bar. To your surprise, he gets himself another two shots of Fireball. This may not end well for either of you. When you get away from the bar, he puts his arm around your waist and pulls you in close. You think back to your earlier plan to push him away. Despite the unbelievable comfort you find in his embrace, you know now is the time.

"You know, you don't always have to stay with me. You can walk around and talk to people. I'm fine." He looks down into your face, shocked.

"Doll, I'm perfectly happy to stay right here. Fore-"

"Don't say it." You interrupt him before he can. This whole situation is breaking your heart and you just need him to get it over with and go. Before either of you can say anything else though, your friend, Zach, that lives at the house calls to him.

"John! What's up, man?" He pats him on the back and shakes his hand. Elvis quickly rearranges his face to hide everything he's feeling as a result of your conversation. Sometimes you forget he's such a talented performer, but watching him change like this brings it all back to you.

They chat for a bit about music, since Zach was present for Elvis's karaoke success and he plays the guitar himself. Somehow the conversation ends with Zach fetching two guitars from his bedroom.

"Hey, yo, cut the music!" Zach hollers to no one in particular. The party music stops and the jam session begins. Luckily, Zach is an Elvis fan and there's a good number of songs they can play together. When Elvis starts to sing, you notice something you haven't before: the other girls. He certainly has their attention as they stand in various states of attraction. Some giggle, some blush, and some simply stand with their mouths slightly open. You look back at him and he's eating it up. Maybe it's the alcohol, but maybe it's just who he is. You shouldn't be surprised. You've read about him and his ways with women. It's different to see it in action when he's supposed to be with you, though. A few of them come close to him and sit down around him and he sings directly to them with a flirty smile. When he winks at your friend Stephanie, you turn away and head to the bar. There's only one guy back there, since everyone else is busy watching the music taking place in the living room.

"What're you drinkin'?"

"I don't care. Give me a shot of anything."

"A girl after my own heart." He smiles and you notice he's actually really cute with his round blue eyes and sandy brown hair fixed in a faux hawk. You take the shot that he hands you and smile in return.

"Thanks. I'm y/n." You reach out to shake his hand and he kisses yours gently.

"I'm Jeff. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He's a little dorky, but you're kind of into it.

"You're not an Elvis fan, I take it?" He asks.

"Ha, no that's not exactly... I just... it's hard to explain."

"No worries. We can talk about something else. What's the best concert you've ever been to?"

Your conversation continues while Elvis plays in the living room. He looks up from the throng of girls that has gathered around him to try to find you, but you're nowhere to be found. He turns back to Zach and hands him the guitar.

"Thanks, that was fun. I've gotta find my girl, though." The party music starts back up and the girls close in on him to try to get him to dance, or more, but he gently brushes them off. He's getting more and more nervous about your whereabouts. When he finds you, you're doing another shot with Jeff. After you finish it, you lean your head on his shoulder and laugh. You've had more than enough alcohol and you're clearly not thinking straight. Elvis stands there in shock for a good thirty seconds before he walks up to you.

"Are you having fun?"

"Oh shit, it's my boyfriend." You giggle and pop your head up.

"Something like that." He wraps his arm around you and pulls you over to him. "Come on, it's time to go."

"Maybe I don't want to leave. Maybe I want to stay here with Jeff." You gesture to the guy at the bar. Elvis's eyes burn with something you haven't seen before. It's a kind of possessive anger and jealousy and you should know not to push him. But you're drunk and sad and want to push him away, so you double down. "Maybe you should take one of your fangirls home."

"Oh shit." Jeff says and laughs out loud. Elvis turns to him and grabs the front of his shirt.

"Give me an excuse, fucker." This sobers you significantly and you step in between them facing Elvis.

"Babe, don't. Okay? I'll go with you." You almost called him Elvis in front of all these people, but you caught it at the last second. Still, the pet name seems to pull him back down to earth and soften him. He lets go of Jeff's shirt and puts his arm around your shoulders.

"Let's get the hell outta here." He guides you to the exit, forgetting that you drove and shouldn't drive home. He digs your keys out of your purse and gets you settled in the front seat. Then, he slides into your seat behind the steering wheel. He knows how to drive a car, obviously, but this is not any kind of car he's familiar with. It takes him a good ten minutes, but he eventually figures out the push-button start and how to adjust your mirrors and seat with the electric controls. While he's doing all of that, all you can do is look out the window and cry quietly. You know what needs to happen tonight. And more importantly, you know what you're sending him back to. Or rather, who you're sending him back to. He'll fall in love a few times and none of them will be with you. And then he'll get married. That won't be you either. You can't live like this anymore. You have to let him go. And the very thought of that damn near breaks you.

"Hon? What's wrong?" He's finally figured out how to drive your car and noticed that you're crying.

"You have to leave. Tonight."

"What the hell? Because of the other girls? Look, I'm sorry about that. But I don't want any of them. I don't want anyone but you." He reaches out and touches your face and it just makes you cry harder.

"No, not because of that."

"Then let's just forget about it. I'm not going anywhere." You ride the rest of the way in silence with his hand in yours, tears still sliding down your face.

Finally, you get back to your house and you've managed to stop crying. He comes around to your side to help you out of the car. You're so exhausted from the events of the evening that he half-carries you to your room.

When you make it inside, you stand in your room just looking at each other. He leans down and kisses your mouth gently. You grab the back of his neck and pull him into a deeper kiss, putting every emotion you're feeling into the movement of your tongue against his. He snakes his arms around your waist and holds you close, pushing your hips into his. You feel his erection growing and swallow the lump in your throat. He pulls back and looks into your eyes.

"You're not too drunk for this?"

"I'm really not. I promise." He sees how clear your eyes are and knows you're telling the truth, so he goes back to kissing you. You know you'll need to have sex with him to do what needs to be done. But the fact that this is probably the last time you will hits you squarely in your chest and settles there.

He pulls your shirt up and over your head and you do the same with his. He presses his chest to yours and puts his hands behind your back to undo your bra. For the first time, he manages to get it off all by himself.

"Ah ha! I got it!" He's so excited that he tosses your bra to the side and lifts you so that your legs are wrapped around his waist. You grab onto him and hold him a little too tightly. He lays you down on the bed, climbing in next to you, and puts his hand on the side of your face.

"Doll, what's wrong? Please tell me." You search for something you can tell him that won't give away your plan.

"I'm just sad again. Ignore me."

"You know I can't do that. Do you not want to do this?"

"No! I want to! I need it. Please." He remembers how you were there for him when he needed you and nods.

"Just tell me if you want me to stop." He runs his hand down your neck to your chest, massaging your breast gently. Then, he keeps going down to your hip, pulling you into him. He kisses down your neck and slides his hand under your pants and down to your center. Teasing your entrance with his finger, he gathers some of the wetness gathered there and begins to massage your clit. You moan softly and your hips buck forward into his hand.

"Does that feel good, baby?"

"God, yes."

"Good. I just wanna make you feel good tonight." You whimper as he pulls his hand out to unbutton your jeans and slide them down your legs and off. He makes his way back up to your center, pressing hot kisses to your legs along the way. When he gets back up to the place where your thighs come together, he presses a kiss to you through your panties. He pulls them off too and pushes his mouth onto you, settling his tongue on your clit. He licks up each side and then begins to move over and around it in the way that only he can.

"Yes! Elvis!" You moan loudly and run your fingers through his hair.

"That's my good girl." He says it quickly and goes back to licking you. You feel the pressure of your orgasm gathering in your center as he laps at you, moving down to slide his tongue into your slit periodically. Finally, he slips two fingers into you and pushes them in and out quickly while he tightens his tongue and drags it over your clit repeatedly.

"Oh God! I'm gonna come!" You whisper breathlessly.

"Do it, baby, come for me. I wanna feel you." Just as he ends his sentence, you feel the burst of your orgasm take off and reverberate across your body.

"Ohhhhhh, fuck, yes." You moan through gritted teeth as you pulse around his fingers. He smiles and kisses your clit one last time before taking his pants off.

The thing that's settled in your chest threatens to come screaming out of you and you feel the tears begin to gather again. As he climbs back up your body, you grab him and pull him into a kiss, hoping you can distract him from the fact that you're almost crying again. You press your forehead to his with your eyes closed and whisper.

"Make love to me, Elvis." He pulls back and looks you in the eye. Something is wrong and he knows it.

"Do you know how much I love you, y/n?"

You nod and lose control of the tears as they run down your cheeks. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"Yes, please. I need to know you love me." He lines his cock up with your entrance and pushes into you slowly. When he fills you fully, he pulls back and slides into you again.

"I love you more than I ever thought was possible." He kisses your cheek and thrusts into you again. "I love you so much that I don't even feel like I'm fully myself without you." Your voice catches in your throat.

"Please don't say that."

"Y/n, I love you with everything that I am." He continues to push into you slowly, picking up speed with each thrust. You grab him and hold him tightly while he moves against you. You wrap your legs around him and try to get as close to him as possible. If you could, you'd melt into him completely and stay with him forever. But you can't and you know that. So instead you hold him and cry silently as he drives into you as gently and lovingly as possible.

"I'm gettin' close, doll." You nod and he kisses the tears on your cheeks. He begins to pump in and out faster before he reaches his climax and moans loudly, shuddering into you. He pulls out of you and rolls over, cradling you against his chest.

When you hear the buzzing sound, you squeeze him tight and then stand up. Your hands are shaking and the tears continue to flow.

"Get up, Elvis. You have to get dressed."

"What? No. I told you-"

"Do you want to go through naked?!" You yell at him and he stands up ready to fight you on this.

"I'm not going! I'm staying here with you forever, y/n! I can't leave you. You're the love of my life."

"No. I'm not. You have to go back to her. You have to get married and be a dad. I can't take those things from you." You toss him his pants and he puts them on without thinking.

"Then I'll marry you. I'll have babies with you. That's what I want anyway!"

"You can't. Elvis, God, I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry. You know I will always love you, right?"

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"For this." You shove the rest of his uniform into his hands and push on his chest with both hands as hard as you can. You manage to catch him off guard just enough and he stumbles backwards, falling through the portal.

"Nooo!!" You hear him yell as he disappears.

The portal closes with a pop.

You fall to the floor and sob openly.

******

Back in 1960, Elvis falls backwards onto the floor of the train station and scrambles into the bathroom. He manages to get his uniform back on and then slides down the wall, tears streaming down his face.

What will happen to you without him?

Will he ever see you again?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Will there be a next chapter?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #how the web was woven

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speedycoffeedelight · 7 months ago

Note

Yeah that was a FNAF reference, for some reason I just kept picturing Vox in security since he does a lot of surveillance in the actual show and that just evolved from there. The problem with Vox is that he probably wouldn't listen to your warning and take the job. (Also Angel and Husk are both waiters at the same cafe in this narrative)

Vox: READER! THE ANIMATRONICS! They're... They're ALIVE! T-They tried to KILL me!

Reader: I did try to warn you, that place having murderous animatronics is like this towns worst kept secret.

Vox: HEY! You didn't warn me about SHIT!

Reader: Like you'd believe me if I said 'Hey Vox, you shouldn't take that job. Why? Oh no reason really, just that you'll have a high chance of being killed by the fuzzy singing robots that's possibly possessed by the spirits of murdered children.'

Vox: Huh, point taken. Anyway... Fuck that place, I'm never going back.

Reader: Ah, Vox. You might have to.

Vox: WHAT?! WHY?!

Reader: You're in a contracted position, you're kinda forced to.

Vox: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!

Alastor: Reader, my dear, please allow me to explain in was that even he will understand. *Clears throat* By signing that contract, you have essentially signed this world version of a Soul Deal and are forced to uphold your end of the deal either until you're work is done or allotted time runs out. If you try to break said contact before either criteria is met, you'll be handing over your soul and forced to work that position. Forever.

Vox: *Having not been here long enough to know that Alastor's making stuff up* W-Wait. R-Really?

Alastor: Oh ho! Now you get to have a taste of what your poor lowly Voxtek security guards have to deal with for the rest of their miserable lives. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Vox: Wait! You're contracted too! So's Husk and Angel! You're all in the same position as me!

Alastor: That might be so but none of our jobs can result in a slow, painful yet comical death at the hands of showtone mascots, now do they?

Vox: *slight whimper*

Alastor: Oh cheer up, old fella. Look on the bright side! You finally succeed in making me wish I had a camera.

Sbajjanna-

Alastor don't bully poor vox like that he'll overheat!!

And here's to praying that vox is skilled enough to not get killed so he can still be a part of reader's harem 🙏🙏

Maybe reader will go help him out and vox is in awe from how easily she survived and falls in love even more.

Also, love your scenarios 🥹🥹

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #vox x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #vox #hazbin hotel vox

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ask-turnedtechgodhead · 9 months ago

Text

this thing on

fuck yes aight check this shit out-

DAVE, I'VE BEGRUDGINGLY COME TO UNDERSTAND THAT STANDING IN A CORNER ALONE SPEWING THE TYPE OF NONSENSICAL BABBLE ONE MIGHT EXPECT FROM A WRIGGLER IS WHAT PASSES FOR ENTERTAINMENT IN YOUR EMPTY THINK PAN.

I'VE EVEN BEGUN TO APPRECIATE IT, IF ONLY BECAUSE WE NEEDED *SOMETHING* TO FILL THE AGONISINGLY LONG SWEEP WE WERE STUCK ON THAT OTHERWISE SILENT AND YET SOMEHOW JUST AS MISERABLE FUCKING ROCK HURTLING THROUGH SPACE TOWARDS CERTAIN DEATH. BUT WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING SHIT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH THAT BULBOUS FUCKING OVERGROWTH JAMMED AGAINST YOUR RIDICULOUS EYEWEAR?

damn man i thought we covered this in our human tech 101 lessons. its a camera- I KNOW ITS A CAMERA. I WAS TRYING TO LOWER MYSELF TO YOUR LEVEL SO THAT MAYBE YOU WOULD DECIDE TO GRACE ME WITH YOUR ATTENTION AND ACTUALLY LISTEN TO WHAT I HAD TO SAY. try harder SHUT UP. AND ANSWER THE QUESTION. how the hell am i supposed to answer the question if im shutting up? cant have it both ways bro. cant just have your cake and eat it too you either eat that bitch or shut your mouth forever and starve to death- HOLY SHIT WE BOTH KNOW YOU AREN'T GOING TO SHUT UP EITHER WAY. COULD YOU AT LEAST DO ME THE MERCY OF TELLING ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE DOING BEFORE I DROWN IN THE PUTRID STREAM OF BULLSHIT CASCADING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH?

documentary CARE TO EXPAND UPON THAT? OR AM I NOT WORTHY ENOUGH TO GET MORE THAN ONE WORD OUT OF YOU? SHOULD I BE PROSTRATING BEFORE YOU THANKING YOU FOR DEIGNING TO GRACE ME WITH ONE WORD FROM YOUR TIGHT ASS LIPS? 'DOCUMENTARY'. TRULY A HOLY WORD. RELIGIONS WILL FORM AROUND THIS ONE WORD, DAVE. HOLY BOOKS WILL BE WRITTEN ABOUT THOSE ELEVEN LETTERS. TODAY WILL BE CELEBRATED NOT AS THE DAY WE CREATED A NEW UNIVERSE, NO- TODAY WILL BE FOREVER MARKED AS THE DAY DAVE FUCKING STRIDER SAID 'DOCUMENTARY'-

AND GET THAT FUCKING THING OUT OF MY FACE YOU NOOKWHIFFER

holy shit check it out im being censored already

karkat do you support censorship

is this what this is karkat

is this where we find out that this entire session has been your master plan to create a new world for you to go stalin on its ass

because dude im so down to create some propaganda for supreme leader vantases glorious reign

just let me finish this shit first cmon man

HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO AGREE TO THAT WHEN I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT 'THIS SHIT' IS?

i told you man

IF YOU SAY DOCUMENTARY I SWEAR-

documentary

about the creation of the new universe

no big deal or nothing just thought it could be mildly interesting to get on camera

idk ill probably tape over it later for some shitty sitcom rerun

do you think theyll have the simpsons on the new planet

god i hope they do

AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THAT IS.

troll the simpsons

YOU CAN'T JUST PUT 'TROLL' IN FRONT OF SOME PANDEAD EARTH THING AND EXPECT ME TO KNOW WHAT IT IS AND HONESTLY, I'M DOWNRIGHT FUCKING INSULTED THAT YOU'D THINK THAT ALTERNIA HAD ANYTHING EVEN REMOTELY COMPARABLE TO YOUR EYEGOUGING EXCUSES FOR 'MEDIA'. MY PLANET ACTUALLY HAD STANDARDS, UNLIKE YOUR MISERABLE PILE OF DIRT.

says the guy that was responsible for that pile of dirt

and didnt even record its creation

imagine being an absent father to a whole universe karkat. what the fuck man

thank god im here to break the cycle of abuse

OH, I'M SORRY I COULDN'T RECORD YOUR WASTE OF SPACE PLANET BEING CREATED - I WAS TOO BUSY NEARLY GETTING MURDERED BY THE MURDERBEAST *YOU*-

oh shit idiot shuts up now

thats you youre the idiot

STRIDER I SWEAR TO FUCK

dude seriously shut up

hes doing it man

hes making it hapen

#turntechgodhead #homestuck #dave strider

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buckyarchives · 2 years ago

Text

Domestic Life Of a Living With a Runaway Assassin. [Intro.]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader

Summary: you hate many things in life. you hate soulmates. you hate the avengers. you hate guns. you hate loud snorers and complicated relationships.

Bucky Barnes is associated with all of those things, yet you can't find yourself hating him

W.c: 2.1K

Series playlist linked here

Author note: this was actually one of my first long form fics I wrote in many years, its carrys a nostalgic feeling and means a lot to me. i wrote it like last October and thought abt kinda rewriting some stuff and posting it here! I thought some of you guys woudk enjoy this story. this is only a short darbble that teases the story, next chapter shows how they met and everything after that. It takes place right after CA:TWS and it’s a soulmate AU!

Masterlist

Soulmates.

The legend goes that when the universe was created and whatever higher power you believed in created humans to have two sets of legs, two sets of arms, and two heads. Now because the world is cruel and no one can have nice things, whoever is in charge up there split us up into two beings but forever being connected by our souls. Spending the rest of our life waiting and searching for our other halves. Never being our true whole selves without them. How poetically tragic.

It turned into a weird way to make money nowadays, you felt like no one really cared about the reality of soulmates now. It was made into shitty romance movies, or stupid scientific searches for your one and only soulmate that was definitely an internet scam. People literally faking soul marks towards celebrities for their one chance with them that their delusional minds make up.

All just a desperate attempt to feel whole and loved but your one and true person. Always and forever destined to be.

What a touching story. Too bad you think it's all bullshit

No genuinely, you were supposed to believe your life's purpose was to find this one person in the entire universe that matched you, and without them, you what? you were going to be miserable for the rest of your life? The universe is a scam. You had given up on the whole mad search for your other half years ago, you didn't understand why you couldn't go out and find your own partner without having to match up those stupid words on your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, you probably don't feel very safe with me.”

Those stupid words. You hated the idea of soulmates but you couldn't stop yourself from the hours of wondering just what the hell that was supposed to mean. You had no interest in seeking out your soulmate but you could wonder what type of person they may be. Were they really a dangerous person? Would you genuinely not feel safe with the said person when you first meet? Would you even meet them?

Questions had swirled through your head since the day you got it. Those questions had died down a little, you were getting older and most of your peers had already met their soulmates. You noticed soulmates were not just romantic, they came in friendships, some didn't work out, some came between children and parents, and some came through your fire escape at night, covered in blood and knocking down your favorite plants.

With a loud crash, your feet carried you through your new york apartment to your living room. You saw the outline of him crouched down on the floor. “I'm so sorry, I know that was your favorite plant.”

Okay, spoiler. You had found your soulmate. You weren't excited about it as the rest of the world expected, but it happened. You weren't some hypocrite that would suddenly abandoned all beliefs and fell head over heels for your soulmate once you met like one of those stupid romance movies you mention earlier, you were not some cliche. Especially not with a poor excuse of a runaway-brainwashed-assassin soulmate, at least you would try convincing yourself that.

“My god Bucky, how many times do I have to tell you to just go through the door.” you pinch the bridge of your nose as the tired old man scrambles to clean up the dirt and scattered pot beneath him. “I mean, you practically live here now.”

“I'm not using the door, someone could see me.”

You think Like that's better than having someone see you climb through the fire escape, asshole. You scoff and shake your head and begin dragging yourself to the kitchen. You had a slight quirk at the end of your lips, an amused smile, you hoped Bucky didn’t see in the dark. Maybe he did, you didn’t really have enough time to ask him the deets on the effects of the serum.

You swing open the cabinet door and grab a trash bag and first aid kit. God only knows how bent out of shape bucky is tonight. Making your way back into your living room, Buckys still muttering under his breath about your stupid plant and “god dammit it's fucking freezing out there.”

throwing the trash back at him, he looks up at you. His eyes are beautiful. His hair is sopping wet and you were hoping to any god above that he wasn't bleeding out on your floor. You were not losing your security deposit for your reckless runaway assassin soulmate. God, that's a mouthful, you need to give him a new nickname.

“So, what's the damage?”

“s’ nothing, I'm just cold. It started raining hard.” he looks like a wet shaking dog. Your heart aches.

You look him up and down. Noticing the water dripping from all his clothing. “I see that.”

You sigh and take a few steps toward him. Bucky eyes follow your moments precisely. He has a bit of a staring problem. You snag the hair tie off your wrist and swiftly tie his brunette wet mop of a head into a little man bun. Cute. you shake your head.

“Stay, I'll be right back.”

Bucky watches you in awe as your body ascends back into the darkness of the room and around a corner. He's uncomfortable and his socks are wet. The leather vest is wet and he feels like he's trapped in his own skin, and Bucky feels too heavy.

Slowly, he begins to unstrap all weapons on his body and toss them to the side so you don't have to see them. You didn't like guns. He had a designated place where he hides them because god-forbid Bucky messes up your apartment aesthetic with his dozen of unsettling and quite scary weapons. Your words, not his.

Unzipping the leather top and peeling the fabric off himself was less than a nice feeling, it made him cringe and sent a quick shiver down his spine. Bucky tossed it to the side, he’ll deal with that tomorrow. His hands feel the thin black shirt that's left, it's wet too. Fucking hell. He doesn’t remember the New York weather being this bad in September, he also barely remembers anything so his memory isn’t too reliable. Bucky slowly peels the fabric over his head, he hopes he doesn't mess up the bun you did, he never did it right.

Bucky hears your feet pad against your floor. He pushes back a smile. You're holding a towel and some clothes. He watches you as you crouch down next to him on the floor, he notices that your eyes are squinted and your bed head is apparent. A twinge of guilt hits him now knowing he had woken you up. Bucky whispers, “I woke you up.”

You sigh, again. “I was having a bad dream anyways.”

“About?”

You inhale, scoffing to yourself. “I was being chased by Jimmy Fallon with a jar of pickles – because you know, I hate pickles – and he was yelling at me about the importance of eating vegetables, but he sounded just like my mom.”

Bucky didn’t remember who Jimmy Fallon was, “you must think you’re so amusing, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Bucky curls his toes and is unfortunately reminded of his very wet socks. He leans forward to untie his hefty boots. Your eyes trail along his naked back, his muscles flex and suddenly you are just a little more awake. You watch his left arm in all its glory, taking note of the ragged and scarred tissues where metal meets skin. Scratch marks are littered around the edges, and you feel sad for him, imagining how those got there. The moonlight highlights his metal arm, making it shine and look quite beautiful. You could never tell Bucky that.

“It's been a week.” you finally breathe out. Bucky freezes in place as his fingers wrap around his laces. He feels guilty again. “And you didn't leave a note this time either. I thought...”

Trailing off, you stop yourself before you say something you were going to regret. Your mind wanders, you felt so incredibly stupid right now. Truth is, you didn't agree with the whole soulmate ordeal but it seemed like ever since your unconventional first meeting with Bucky, he has stuck to you like glue. He just kept coming back and then leaving again.

It took you many of his overnight stays and weirdly domestic mornings making scrambled eggs together and then turning into a worry machine after he leaves. You realized had grown to care for him deeply. Bucky always came back, but you were scared for the day we might not.

Bucky is– literally, a lost puppy. He had been on the run and actively avoiding the few stray agents that knew he was still alive when he met you.

Bucky remembered back when he was a kid, dreaming about the day he would meet his soulmate. He and Steve would stay up all night talking about their soul marks, or just words (as they used to call it), and what they thought their soulmates would be like. Bucky was obsessed and simply put, a hopeless romantic.

Then Steve met his soulmate, Peggy. And then he technically died and Hydra happened, Bucky thought his soulmate would have been dead because he was out of his time now. After being brainwashed and having been broken and put back together by Hydra, Bucky could still never shake the feeling of you still being out there, it was like some instinctive feeling in his bones, he had hope and it was one of the only things keeping him going.

And he was right.

Bucky had many doubts when he first met you, given his situation. But you were not scared. And that was enough for him at the time.

But now he just feels guilty for giving you the burden of being his soulmate. He was trying, really.

“I'm sorry, doll.” his voice didn't sound like his own, he shrugged the rest of his boot off and followed with his socks. Finally. “I should have left a note. I'm safe, you're safe, and I'm here now.”

Bucky heard you sniffled and you turned your head with an embarrassment look and glossy eyes. Like you were ashamed for caring.

“sweetheart...” he scooted closer, hoping you wouldn't mind his damp skin on yours. Bucky reached for you, wrapping his flesh hand around yours and giving you a small squeeze. Your head turned to him, a small smile hidden on your face by the darkness of the room. He saw it. Bucky might even think you're an angel. “I won't leave without saying something next time, I'm sorry.”

“Do I even want to know what you were doing out there?”

He hated lying to you but his life was complicated. “Just trying to fix some things I did.”

You nod. “Good.”

The silence between the two of you isn't uncomfortable, the past few months have been silent– at least with bucky. He is your soulmate. He is also the winter soldier, and the winter soldier is always moving and hiding. Bucky Barnes is always moving, always. He had been that way even way back in the Howling Commandos.

You were his safe haven. Your relationship was on and off but your bond was strong, it was wordless and tentative and strung together by patching wounds at midnight and soft, domestic glances over coffee. Your house– just you were his place where he could just stop, pretend as if nothing mattered and sit on the couch and watch reality television that you loved. Bucky found it questionable but you said “it will help you get with the times.” Bucky just watched it because he knew it made you happy.

Bucky Barnes had been moving all week, fast. He had almost died, twice. He was never going to let you know that though. Bucky was due for some Hell's Kitchen or dance moms. He was also not going to tell you that.

The moonlight was fading and you could hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside, barely silenced by the bustling city life of people leaving for work. You are still sitting next to Bucky, and you nudge him with your elbow. His attention is now drawn to you. You bite your bottom lip, a horrible habit you had, bucky hated it. Bucky brings his thumb up to your face and pulls your lip away from your teeth. He wants to kiss you.

“Go take a shower, you stink.” That works too. He smiles and you laugh. Yeah, Bucky thinks he can stop for just a little longer this time.

Feedback and comments make the work go round, comment to be added to the tag list!

Tag list : @ivywasmaroon @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky fic #sebastian stan #bucky barns imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader #sebastian stan x reader

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justrainandcoffee · 2 months ago

Text

The sound of silence (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) + (Alfie Solomons x Tommy Shelby)

Summary: Why did she agree? To make Alfie happy. Why did Tommy accept? Because love is blind. For two years they've been living under the same roof. She and Tommy sharing the same man... And the same misery. Love makes you feel happy, people say. They know it's not always true.

Warnings: Angst. ANGST. || Alfie is bigamous.|| Everyone here is miserable. || Mentions of killing and political corruption. Period typical homophobia. || Did I mention ANGST?

Words: 3.6k || Alfie masterlist

"Put a number."

There she was in front of a man making business with him to save her husband and his lover from a catastrophe.

"The newspaper is not for sale."

"Everything is for sale if you know what is good for you and your family. Put a fucking number."

The man was around 45 years old and that money was synonymous with an earlier retirement. Silence had a price and his newspaper, too.

"Twenty-five grand."

"I'll make 27 and I'll guarantee that your ass is safe, as long as you learn to keep your mouth shut. Do we have an agreement, Mr. Donovan?"

"Yes, Mrs. Solomons."

"If you open your mouth, a bullet will open your fucking brain. Do you understand, right?"

"I do, Mrs. Solomons. I do."

First she signed the papers that made her the legal owner of the most important newspaper in London and then, she gave him the cheque. If 27,000 pounds didn't make him be quiet and understood the kind of people were behind her, then violence will. But that was the last choice.

Two policemen started their days with a bullet in their hearts and an inspector appeared drown in the Thames. But they were just isolated accidents: thieves and a suicide. That's what the newspaper was going to say the following morning.

No mentions of the fucking party.

Solomons-Shelby was an alliance that could make the King shit on his throne. And the leaders of both bands were fucking in the same bed.

-Two years ago-

Alfie liked him. Rose knew it the moment her husband started to talked nonstop about the Birmingham man as soon as they met and for the first time ever she experienced jealousy. Until Thomas Shelby appeared, Alfie never put his eyes on anyone else but her.

"I love you, Rosie."

"…but you also love him."

Alfie didn't like him. Alfie loved him.

"Do you want the divorce?"

The words shattered her own heart. The idea of a life without her Alfie sounded like millions of knives in her soul. They were always him and her against the world, since they were kids. Always. Silent tears started to run down her cheeks, but she kept looking at him.

"Fuck! No! I can't live without you, Rosie. Don't ask me that again! I love you."

"Do you?"

"Like always."

"Did you cheat on me with him?"

"No. Not even once."

"Did you fantasize about fucking him?" she continued asking. But this time Alfie didn't answer. Rose bit her lower lip and nodded "You did."

Rose demanded to meet the man in question. She didn't expect to see what she saw. The man in front of him was the kind of person that God put on Earth to make other doubt about themselves. And Rose, was one of them. Took her little to nothing to understand why her husband for years, her forever love, suddenly appeared in their house with someone else in his mind.

She agreed because she didn't want to see Alfie lost in a world where he craved for a touch she couldn't give him. She agreed because the last thing Rose wanted was to see the person he loved the most being sad. She agreed because she didn't want to lose him.

The first night Alfie spent with Thomas Shelby, Rose did it crying in their bed praying for that was just a bad dream.

"I'm not going to leave you. I'm not going to leave you," he said over and over again when he returned the next morning. She was laying on him, both of them in his favourite couch, while his arms were around her. "I don't know how to say this anymore, but I love you, sweetheart. I swear I love you."

Rose nodded "I know."

She was a proud woman and even when it was Alfie, Rose didn't want to show weakness. She wasn't weak, even if she was broken.

Seeing her, Alfie promised himself that the previous night with Tommy it was going to be the first and last at the same time. Rose could put her mask of strong woman, but Alfie was the only one she couldn't fool. The woman next to him, was once the little girl that committed shenanigans with him. Alfie grew up knowing how she lied. He knew how to read her easily. And she was lying.

The man cupped her face and kissed her. Slowly with tenderness. He loved her and the last thing he wanted was to make her suffer.

"I love you. Tell me you believe me, Rosie."

"I do."

No, she didn't. She didn't believe him.

"Just give me time, Alfie," she said reading his mind.

"How could you doubt that I love you?"

"I don't know what I believe anymore... I'm still trying to understand why did you slept with someone else. And why I agreed."

Because Tommy Shelby is a demigod, her mind said. Of course Alfie chose him.

"It won't happen again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

Tommy couldn't deny his feelings anymore. The amount of prostitutes he slept with, because supposedly that was something men did, couldn't be compared with what happened with the other man in that house he bought in London. It was a small, cozy house that was bought with the sole purpose of fuck with Alfie there. And that was what happened the night before.

He was smoking still in bed, alone and thinking about him. Alfie was married to a woman and Tommy knew Alfie could kill for her. Tommy knew very well that his friend never was going to leave Rose, not for obligation due to the marriage vows, but because he was still in love with her.

To society, she was his wife. Rose was the woman he could walk through the city and no one was going to ask a thing. Alfie was free to hold hands with her and kiss in public. They even made a cute couple. The way his eyes shone when he talked about her and the special way he had to say "My Rosie."

But him, Tommy, he was a fuck in a house after midnight when no one was in the streets. And during day he was Solomons' business partner, the gangster leader of Peaky Blinders. The one who never was going to be anything but a pal.

Tommy started to dress to return to Birmingham. Suddenly he felt like a whore, too.

Nothing but a whore, his mind said.

But Rose was right. Alfie couldn't keep his hands off Tommy. Even if he resisted the temptation the first weeks after their first encounter, Alfie and Tommy found themselves in the same situation more than once. And the most time they spent together, the more in love they fell.

Alfie never hide it from her. Alfie was ready to stop if she didn't consent that anymore. In her whole life, Rose never wanted more to yell at him, to beg him to stop seeing the other man. To even shook him. But she lowered her head and agreed once again because his husband was happy. And also agreed to receive Tommy in her house, to live with them.

Agreed to share the meals with him. To see Alfie's eyes looking at him with love.

Agreed to divide the time she shared with Alfie, and that once was only hers, with another person.

In the next two years she lost her husband as such, her self-esteem, her voice and her smile.

Now

"I bought the newspaper," Rose said entering the house. Tommy and Alfie were in the same table, drinking tea. Or at least her husband was drinking tea. "Donovan won't be a problem. I'm sure."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me, Alfie. I hope next time you two decide to go to a party, at least check that it's not a fucking trap," she left her coat on a chair and removed her shoes. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired I don't want to be mean… I'm tired. Just that. Don't mind me."

Both men saw her go upstairs to her and Alfie's bedroom.

"Maybe you should go too and check on her," Tommy said. "She's upset."

"I know that. She's my wife!"

"Well, then do something. Today is her turn, after all. And she started her day saving our asses. My ass, especially because she saved me just because of you."

Her turn.

Alfie followed his wife's steps upstairs hearing Tommy's voice. He was right, but doesn't meant it was pleasant to hear. It never was Rose's turn, same way it never was Tommy's turn like if his heart switched to one person to another. One could say that it was perfect to have two people to love living under the same roof. If one got mad, then the other could be willing to open the arms. The double of sex. But it wasn't the case, real life didn't work that way. And lovely as it sounded, it was also tiresome. And not just physically.

"I'm not in the mood," she said when he entered the bedroom.

"I know, sweetheart."

Two years passed and she learnt to be in silence when she wanted to scream. At him. At Tommy. At herself for being so stupid.

The daylight contributed to her bad mood so she closed the windows and let the darkness embrace her. Rose sat down in bed and let out a deep sigh, rubbing her face with her hands.

"I miss you, ya know?" Alfie said sitting at her side. "I miss you, Rosie."

"Mmh. I'm right here, Alfie."

"You're not."

It took them a while to make an agreement. Alfie could spend one week with each of them, doing whatever they want. Watching movies, having sex, killing people, whatever they wanted to do but away from the other part of the fucked triangle they now belonged. It was a great deal for Tommy because he was free to be with the man he loved in the big city that London was, and had time to return to Birmingham to take care of his business. But it wasn't so great for Rose who had to spend her week alone surrounded by her own thoughts in a house that was too big just for her and the dogs. And when it was the time to be with her husband, she felt exhausted.

Alfie touched her hair with his fingertips and caressed her jawline, too. It was hard to think that for him, but he couldn't ignore it anymore, although it was easier to think she was just tired. But Alfie had to come to terms with himself and admit that he didn't see her smile in a long time.

She was always a happy person, anyone who knew her for sure heard her laugh. How many times the two of them were reprimanded by teachers because they couldn't stop giggling? And not so many years ago, the quiet hours together usually were interrupted by Rose's laugh because he told her something that happened in the distillery or because they were commenting something they heard in the radio. Or Cyril's shenanigans. But now, even if he tried, Alfie couldn't remember seeing her smiling.

And they didn't make love in months.

"My women killed the policemen and the inspector. No one will suspect and no one will ask a thing. But I expect that next time you be more careful, Alfie."

"Tommy will repay you the money you waste on us."

"I don't want it. But if it makes him feel better he can make a donation for the school."

"A donation will be, then. Luv, I was thinking that we can go to a pretty restaurant tonight. There's a kosher one, it's new. Ollie told me that it's quite good."

"Okay."

Alfie kissed her cheek "no matter what you think, I still love you and I'll love you till my last day."

Rose gulped to make disappear the knot in her throat and nodded. Don't cry. Don't cry.

"I know, Alfie."

The man hesitated for a second before putting an arm around her. She was so tense that it felt like moving a piece of furniture to him. For a moment she didn't reciprocate the embrace, but when Alfie moved his body to let her go, her hands grasped to his shirt and hid her face on his shoulder.

"Don't leave me," her voice was broken and the tears she was holding were wetting his chest.

"You know I would never leave you."

"I don't know anything about us anymore, Alfie. But please, don't leave me."

Downstairs, Tommy was smoking. Last thing he wanted was to break the precarious situation the three of them were in. The invitation was on Ada's table when he visited her earlier that week, probably belonged to Ada's roommate. It seemed to be harmless and when he commented it to Alfie, he agreed. There were no places for them to go as couple and for once, it seemed to be a good opportunity, only it wasn't. Homosexual parties weren't uncommon but it was risky. Numerous times, men ended in the gallows thanks to the laws. But that was London and his partner wasn't someone else but Alfie Solomons and he could buy freedom because of money or because of fear.

Tommy didn't dare to see the faces of the other men who were still in the police station, when both of them left the building. How many of them were going to die just because they were experiencing happiness one night in their lives?

Tommy remembered Rose's face when Alfie woke her up at 4am when they arrived at the house. She didn't say a word and to be honest with himself, Tommy never heard her say a lot although it was well known by people around the Solomons, that she was talkative as much as Alfie was. The woman went to her office in the house and made some phonecalls. She had her own people, all women, behind her to protect the school she founded. And those women never hesitate to follow her orders.

Killing the cops was a way to say the rest of the police department that better they keep their tongues tied. Same with the former owner of the newspaper.

Tommy lighted up another cigarette. What was he next to her? Alfie's wife sent three men to hell and a fourth one was threatened, just to protect her husband's name. And his. He was part of the man she married now and Tommy didn't know if she was going to do something like that for him, again

Or how much time Alfie was going to be able to bear with that kind of life. In Tommy's mind, if Alfie was going to choose someone then it was going to be her. But he didn't want that.

Allowing Alfie to touch her again, it felt good. Especially because he was sweet with her. Maybe it was true he missed her.

He was on top if her, kissing her neck and stroking her sides. That was the life they deserved to have but after knowing Tommy, after tasting him, she wasn't sure if she was enough for Alfie.

How much self-esteem was a man capable destroy?

Outdoors she fought for women's rights, freedom, fuck the patriarchy, down with men.

Indoors, she was ready to share her husband if that meant to remain on his side. And the only thing she had to sell was her own happiness.

"You promised me a life full of love," she said, later, in his arms. "We were kids. We were in love and I believe you."

"I promised you a lot of things and I'm fulfilling none."

"Not true. You did but I'm not the only one in your heart anymore. It's not your fault that you fell in love with him, too."

Alfie kissed her once again. It wasn't fair for her, among the three of them she was the one who gave in the more.

"I'd give my life to see you smile again, Rosie. My Rosie."

"How's she?" Tommy asked when Alfie went downstairs, once his wife finally fall asleep.

"I don't know."

"I did tell you or I didn't that this was going to break her? It was a fucking bad idea from the very beginning."

"What do you want me to tell ya, Tom? Eh? I fucking love you! And it didn't seem that bad the first time to you, not even last night. Fuck off!"

"I love you too, Alfie. I do, but this is not working. Your wife is a ghost of the woman I know she was, you don't know how manage two partners and I-… I feel like a homewrecker."

Alfie sat on his couch and petted Cyril's head who seemed to be the only one happy in that house. "You're not."

"Are you sure?"

"There's a reason I gave you a ring, Tom."

Tommy looked at his hand. It happened around eight months ago. No one were going to notice that he was using another ring, considering he wore several ribgs all the time. They were in bed when Alfie pulled out a little velvet box from the nightstand table and gave it to him. That was the moment Alfie became bigamous. One marriage was legal and open to society, the other no and belonged to the shadows and the solitude of their room.

Only Rose noticed the extra ring, but she didn't say anything. Like it was usual. Tommy too remained silent in several occasions and even Alfie didn't let his mind speak as it was common to him.

In the Solomons-Shelby household, most of the time the only thing that could be heard was the silence.

It was midnight that same day when Rose heard noises downstairs, but neither Cyril or Beast were barking, so she asumed the one making noises was Tommy. Rose put her nightgown on and went to the living room, she found Tommy packing.

"To Birmingham?"

"Yes." Tommy looked at her, before closing his suitcase. "Forever."

"You can't."

"Tell me why can't I, Rose. It's my fucking life."

"He loves you."

"No more than he loves you. Let's be honest, Rose, you want me out of your lives." Tommy put his coat on and searched his cigarettes in one of his pockets.

The woman embraced herself and nodded. "I do. But Alfie could be miserable again because no matter what I do for him, I'm not you. I'm not God's best creation, I'm not smart as you are, I don't have your eyes, I can't be all you are even if I reborn a thousand times. He chose you and if roles were reversed, if you were the spouse and me "the other one" I don't think he'd do all the things he did for you."

"Then, you're belittling yourself. Your husband is capable to fight the Devil for you."

"Because I'm his best fr…"

"Because you're his fucking soulmate, Rose!! And that's something I'm never going to be. Don't underestimate yourself anymore, because I know very well the way he talks about you when he's with me and that's something he doesn't do when he's with you… FUCK!" Tommy threw the cigarette on the floor. "Rosie this, Rosie that… and I know he doesn't mention me when you two are together because he doesn't want to hurt you. But he hurts me."

She sat on a chair and looked at him. "I don't think he does that on purpose."

"No, he does not. But he still does it. So, I better leave before it's too late to leave."

"If you go, he'll go after you. He's also your husband, right? The ring. You don't need a legal paper to prove that. Not in front of me."

Tommy shook his head.

"Go to bed," she said. "Tomorrow it'll be a new day."

Rose turned around, not waiting for an answer. She entered the bathroom before returning to bed with Alfie. She stared herself in the mirror. The woman looking at her wasn't the one she knew once. That one was a pathetic version of the woman she used to be proud of.

But she wasn't there to feel even more pathetic. She was there to do something else. Rose looked at the mirror again and she practiced how to smile. For Alfie, she thought, trying once again. And her eyes were filled with sadness, but she kept trying until got a smile like the ones she used to have.

The next morning when Alfie went to the dinning room he found Tommy reading the newspaper, the one under new management, and Rose having her usual breakfast.

"Good morning, Alfie," Tommy said.

Alfie greeted him too and sat next to Rose who was looking at him.

"Like you practice…" the woman thought and gave Alfie her best smile she could. "Morning, Al."

Alfie kissed her forehead. No, she couldn't lie to him, and Alfie felt miserable because he knew she didn't want to smile but was trying to make things easier.

For a moment they shared a normal morning but despite their efforts, the silence return to the house. Except in their own heads.

Alfie overheard the conversation the night before between Tommy and Rose. That wasn't a good life for any of them.

He loved them, but he wasn't selfish, not when it was about love. Alfie made a decision, now he needed to say it, even if his own heart was going to end broken, probably forever.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie solomons x oc #tommy shelby #alfie x tommy #tofie #alfie x rose #rose coldwell #my oc

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