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socheckitout-mikey · 1 year

Note

do u think u could do something where johnny and the reader aren't officially dating or anything but she keeps stealing and wearing his clothes, and the gang starts teasing them for it, which eventually leads to him actually asking her out? i'm sorry if this is too much or anything but thank you so much!!

ahhh this is so cute! idk how i missed this one. my apologies for taking so long writing it out. it came out waaay longer than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy what i came up with. (': <33 - mae

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Title: The Shirt Thief

Pairing: Johnny Cade x reader

Summary: A cold night with Johnny Cade in the vacant lot brings you an unusual sense of warmth in the form of his denim jacket. What starts off with said jacket, causes you to end up with multiple articles of Johnny's clothes. It all seems harmless until the gang starts digging their noses into Johnny's business. Are you guys friends or are you more than that?

Word Count: 9,472

Disclaimer: THIS IS EDITED! I fixed the spelling mistakes and some of the grammatical errors. I also added a few new things to it, mainly in dialogue. I hope you like it though! :)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse in Johnny's home (with his parents), animals hunting and fighting, Soc's bullying the reader - vice versa, almost attempted assault, the gang coming to the rescue, rough housing with the gang (banter mainly) and a whole lot of sass! Johnny is somewhat ooc here because he's more talkative and sassy, but it's just how the piece came along! Let me know if I forgot anything else.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The story of our pesky shirt thief begins in the vacant lot under the sparkling night sky. This night was a relatively clear one in the cusp of autumn’s frost. The full moon was ample, a stunning silver glow that hypnotically danced, shrouded slightly from the wispy clouds sent onward by the chilly fall wind. Amber, golden and burnt brick red crumpled leaves tumbled noisily across the sandy dirt in a mini whirlwind. A toasty fire was being nurtured timidly upon the outskirts of this deserted place, courtesy of Johnny Cade. Underneath the jagged canopy of an almost bare tree, losing its wrinkled leaves, our greasy raven haired boy’s fingers quivered around the spindly stick in his hand. Gave an experimental poke to the half snapped branch swarmed by the smouldering, orange flames. He did not shiver from the cold, but from rampant nerves that pertained to someone he was particularly fond of being there beside him. That person being you.

In a gloomy haze, stretched over sixteen years, the dependent vacant lot with all of its decaying junk left to rot had become his home away from home. It was somewhere he could come to in order to escape the harshness he had just down the street, riddled with its cluttered and intense violence. The one he had with his parents – if he could ever really call them that – had never been consumed with even an inkling of love or nurturing. It practically rotted away from the inside out with its creaky floorboards, dust riddled insides and the damp lining the walls like a thick winter scarf. A location where he was destined to be neglected in, for the only attention he obtained was to be hollered at by his mother when she was hacked off at whatever or whoever it was that particular time: Whereas his father brandished anything he could in hand to pelt him with. The thought made Johnny shudder, a sick nauseous feeling welling up inside of him. Slimy and cold.

However, not all was lost. There had been some silver linings in teaching him things such as love, loyalty and camaraderie: His gang of reliable buddies that would stretch to the ends of the Earth for him were the culprits. Although they had nothing too, they gave him everything he’d been missing. Well, almost everything. They were the sole reason he had not run away about a million times by now. They grounded him, created a net of safety and support that he never would have experienced otherwise if he had not been born in this very downtrodden neighbourhood. Yet they could not save him from everything – a harsh reality he came face to face with daily. Nothing and no one could ever replace the lacking love of his parents.

Nevertheless, the youthful greaser that looked as if he were a puppy that had been kicked one too many times had grown used to bumming around most nights on the busted leather car seat left to waste away in the lot. A frequent bed he now sat upon to gaze up at the glittering stars in the midnight haze of the dark sky. He pondered to himself, watching it while his most favourite person in the world sat off to his right. The silence between you both wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Just off experiencing your own inner worlds whilst you enjoyed the other’s presence. Johnny wasn’t much of a talker as is. You understood the chips he had on the table and didn’t mind in the slightest, but you had your ways of getting him talking.

Despite the fact that he had a warmer and much more benevolent destination to crash at nightly: The Curtis House. He felt an immense pang of guilt and shame engulf him entirely at the thought of taking up that space. This house did not consume the same dreamy and abundant riches that one would desire at the core. Instead those fantasies were only destined for reality on the Wicked West Side of Tulsa, Oklahoma. “The home to the rich and greedy,” as Sodapop loved to put it.

Although the Curtis House lacked in material volume, it oozed a charm in its bare necessities and rundown appearance, with its peeling papered walls and well played piano that needed a miracle of tuning. What it lacked when it came to standardised beauty was made up for by its glowing warmth of love, companionship and acceptance of all the inhabitants that nestled under its rickety roof. It was a safe haven for anyone needing a place to lay low to avoid getting into trouble that could be avoided; a.k.a trouble with the law. Dallas and Steve were also regular inhabitants of the well loved couch perched up against the wall by the front door of the home: A product of powerful tempers that needed quenching. They found solace on that old, brown cushiony hunk of junk just as Johnny did when the nights grew too cold or unbearable on his lonesome.

Johnny stared up at Orion's Belt wondrously, remembering the time he'd heard Ponyboy rattle on about how he'd woken up to find the notorious Tim Shepard occupying his couch, reading the morning paper.

'Now, what in the hell was someone like Tim Shepard doin' on the Curtis’ couch?' Johnny thought silently.

Never had he bagged the likes of the eldest Shepard to reach out for a lifeline like that. It was almost unheard of, unfathomable. Tim was a handsome young man with a gnarly looking scar running from his temple to his chin. He was hard, cold and twisted. Jail, booze and all the criminal endeavours he had under his belt were like a morbid toolkit of how to be the best hoodlum out there. He looked about as capable of accepting charity as a lost soul in Hell. Then Johnny supposed that he never really knew him like Dally did. Johnny's silent disposition made it challenging for him to get close to anyone outside of his gang of buddies. Sometimes he preferred it this way, but usually he loathed it. Loneliness was easy in warping the soul of a good man.

From what Dally had told him of Tim Shepard, it'd be an immense knock to his swelling pride to reach out for help and have everyone aware of it. Inflated prides and fragile egos didn't do wonders for people with big mouths. Hence why Johnny kept his damn trap shut about it after Pony had told him.

'Man, he's gotta be pullin' my leg or somethin'.' He said internally before shaking his head.

Expelling a breath, Johnny settled back into the leather seat as comfortably as possible. He swore he'd get a bad back after opting to take the lumpy side of the car bench with the springs gnawing their way through. It had been the gentlemanly thing to do after all. He was a good guy with a good heart.

Warmth pervaded nicely from the reasonably sized fire he'd established in front of you both, but the chilly wind licked at any bare bits of skin daring to peer through tiny cracks in clothes. He hardly shivered outside of a nervous twitch. Perhaps that was only due to the fact he'd grown accustomed to the elements no matter the weather – unlike yourself.

Instead his charcoal eyes were doe-like, shakily flickering to his right where you sat. Only then in this moment did he fully come to the present moment, understanding the cold bit at your nose, ears and fingers in a way that looked cute. Yet despite your shivering that you so desperately attempted to hide, you sat there in all of your beautiful glory with only a few inches of space between you both. A comfortability you bathed in that seemed so raw, as if you were merely sitting on your living room couch with both of your knees and feet tucked under you and just off to the side. Peace prevailed from the tender smile gracing your features. A subconscious practice, you definitely seemed to be lost in your own thoughts. Johnny stared at you, and wondered what kind of movie was flashing behind those pretty eyes to have the sun dawn across your face like that. To him, all he could see was the vacant lot – a desolate place where only hoodlums would hang in droves, drawn in by its trashy grounds.

"You starin' cuz I got somethin' on my mug or it's just that ugly?" You grinned like a chessy cat, turning to look him directly in the eye. Thinking that being a wise cracker was funny.

Damn you and your perceptiveness.

Instantaneously Johnny ripped his gaze from yours, stiff as a plank. Embarrassment dashed across every cell in his body and left his lungs flat of oxygen. Man, if he thought his usual heartbeat was fast, what was happening inside of his chest right then must have been the speed of goddamn light!

All he could do was stammer out, "U-u-uh n-n-neither!" The poor guy sounded like Porky The Pig.

Your eyelids fluttered in astonishment at the stuttering mess of a young man he was. So jumpy. A mouse scuttling around on sharp eggshells. Part of you would've felt proud of your handiwork if it had been anyone else, but it was Johnny, your best friend. "Awe shucks, Johnny-cake," you offered him sheepishly, "I didn't tell you to stop. I was just messin' with ya. Gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

Messing with him? That was evident. He wasn't cross with you for pulling on his leg, just bothered by himself for getting caught out in the act. "S'okay, I g-get it." He shrugged, trying to play it cool whilst he stared into the portal to the Underworld.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You tried again, bumping him softly with your shoulder.

"Nothin' much," He lied smoothly, picking at the hole in his tennis shoe.

"You sure you ain't developin' the cure for cancer or somethin'? You're pretty smart." You inquired with a cheeky beam.

"Shoot! Do I look like I know what two plus two equals?" Johnny was getting a little bit sassy.

"Okay okay, I get it. I'll back off." You chortled.

'Yeah, thank goodness for that…' Johnny thought to himself. Suddenly he was uneasy with the idea of you ever discovering his little moments of staring at you because he loved the way you looked in candid moments like this one just passed. How did one go about saying these kinds of things? Johnny didn't know a lick. He was a dejected lost cause in the romance department. An awkward bump on a log. Felt he looked cruddy right about now too so he scratched the back of his head fervently for a second. No one really gave him a second glance. He was invisible and too quiet to be noticed.

Yet he failed to realise that you noticed him.

His forlorn expression had been obscured by his shaggy bangs that hung on his forehead. In fact, they no longer existed. You watched him struggle with something akin to wrestling a twenty foot gator inside of that skull of his. It made you feel funny on the inside, as if you were to blame. Diligently Johnny picked up the jagged stick he'd used to poke the flames with earlier. Started drawing in the dusty cold dirt at his feet. Back and forth, left and right, then round and round. A tedious therapeutic cycle.

'Yup, he's off to the moon again.' You thought. 'I'll give him a sec to recoup. I think I made him short circuit a little too hard.'

Just then the bleakness of the night pressed its breathy lips against you. You shivered in response, huddling unconsciously to Johnny for his radiator heat. Part of him was shaking too. The flames jolted haphazardly. A violent twirl of dead leaves kicked up into the air before the wind relented altogether and they fluttered into the fire that engulfed them. It was a beautiful sight indeed, albeit destructive. The elements typically were unforgiving. That was the cycle of life. Mother Nature worked in wondrous ways that went beyond the mere perception of the human mind. Ever evolving and always there. It had put a smile on your face, and Johnny looked at you once more.

"Now, you wanna give me a penny for your thoughts?" He asked.

You slowly turned to look at him, your smile unwavering, "And cash in my trade secrets when you won't give me yours? That don't tally up to me."

Johnny shrugged, trying to hide a ghost of a smile on his features, "You just caught me off guard that's all…"

"Oooooh so I got the element of surprise on my side?" You wiggled your eyebrows. "Who knew I was mighty smooth!"

Johnny rolled his charcoal eyes, shook his head with a laugh, "Don't get too big headed now," he warned.

"Why, cuz I'll float away?"

"Naw," Johnny shook his head, "You sound like Two-bit."

Your countenance fell from grace then; all of the humour drained completely, replaced with a sulk. "Now you just went and ruined it."

Johnny laughed heartily, "I dunno why you got it against him, yn. It was only fifth grade-,"

"Don't remind me of fifth grade! He put gum in my hair and you saw it." You warned with a finger pointed at him. “I looked like a coconut headed bum for two years, Johnny Cade! Two years I ain’t ever gonna get back.”

"Alright, alright! Don't shoot." He mumbled with a half smirk on his face.

"And don't laugh either. Who's side are you on anyway?" You mumbled with your arms folded over your chest.

Johnny met his match in attempting to swallow the laughter down, "Who knew you were this much of a sore loser," with a shake of his head.

"Sore loser my ass…" You retorted, looking off to the side like a petulant child.

All Johnny could do was laugh.

The sourness of your mood forced you to realise the lateness of the night. The cold showed its first signs of frost that danced mistily away from the firelight. You quivered fully this time, rubbing your nimble hands up and down your arms. "Are you cold?" Johnny finally had the courage to ask.

"Uh-huh! But I'll be okay."

"You know you don't have to tough it out for me, right?" Johnny said sincerely. "You shoulda brought a coat. It's November not August."

"I forgot, mom." You mumbled wryly.

"Man, don't call me that. It sounds strange." He pulled a face as he spoke.

"And why not?" You demanded.

"Cuz you sound like T-," He began, but you cut him off.

"Don't even think about saying that name!"

Despite himself, Johnny was laughing something awful. A grin spread across his face akin to a mixture of pride and victory. He'd bested you in the end and even you knew it. "You asshole-," You muttered, but it all bled through into your own sense of laughter that mingled with his.

Then it seemed to die down, a comfortable glow encasing you both. In the midst of it you hardly realised Johnny shimmying beside you – too caught up in the afterglow. But then an uncanny warmth of freshly worn denim was draped over your shoulders. Ghosts of fingertips touched the nape of your neck as it was laid there. Your head turned to find Johnny retracting his hands shyly and passing it off without a word. The gesture touched you, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Why?" Your better judgement couldn't stop the question from flying out of your mouth.

Johnny squirmed uncomfortably under your focused stare, "I dunno…" he shrugged. "You were cold and didn't have a jacket. It was the right thing to do I guess."

The right thing to do. It made you beam beautifully then. Johnny Cade was always doing the right thing. Well, maybe not all the time when he was with his buddies, but usually he did. A good guy with a good heart that made yours flutter at the touch. The act of giving you his most prized possession really touched you in ways that made your eyes begin to water. You needed a second to blink them back. Hoping he hadn't noticed. Luckily he hadn't.

You thanked him in the only way you knew how to, by leaning your head on his shoulder. He stiffened to the touch, unfamiliar with it. Johnny wasn't much of a hugger, so physical contact was reserved for special moments. He allowed it this time and you felt his body shake, unsure with what to do with himself. Your fingers wrapped around his bicep, a reassuring squeeze so light it helped him realise you weren't going to hurt him. You never could. He was too special, too gentle, but wild in his own way when he let himself out freely. Yet the person he was now, the boy that gave you his jacket and talked with you the most; that was your Johnny Cade.

"Thank you, Johnny-cake." You whispered into the air, gently holding his hand and squeezing softly. It was sweaty.

"D-don't mention it." He swallowed, giving you an experimental squeeze back. "It's just my jacket, softie."

"Who you callin' softie?" You look up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"You."

Silence befell you, and it was laced in a tranquil dose. Hushed whispers reverberated off of the caverns in your hearts, growing more prominent. All the giggles filled with the springy frolicking of baby lambs. Clumsy and endearing. Johnny lit a fire in you unmatched and vice versa. Young love that was mutual, but unknown to the other. You stayed with him for quite some time, until he walked you home. You'd sent him off with a wave after him shyly telling you to keep it. Made him promise not to sleep out in the cold, and Johnny kept his word. Slunk all the way to the Curtis House three hours before sunup to fortunately find it free. Rest was his, all with a smile screwed on tightly to his features.

Many more instances of thievery occurred with your pesky little fingers and the growing feelings that possessed you like a restless spirit. Time spent with Johnny became your drug of choice, and you could not get enough of him. No funny business was happening, it was just your personalities melding well together. You brought out a sassy part to him, and surprisingly he could keep up with you. Each meeting was set in colder conditions than the last. Forcing Johnny to bring in what little reinforcements he had. You either seemed to forget a jacket or your layers weren't nearly enough. His jacket was a chameleon's skin, bouncing from his shoulders to yours. His shirts were a comforting reminder of him when he wasn't around – shields against the bleakness of winter. His grey sweatshirt was your favourite. Everything began to accumulate.

One day you were both coming from the tracks in the Shepard outfit where a little creek was running through another vacant lot by an old abandoned factory. The water was still frozen and the trees were barren. All sorts of junk stuck to the frosty ground. It was kind of niche-like, a quiet place that seemed abandoned when the sun shone its rays upon Tulsa. It had been an accidental find during a summer day the year before. A superb place to explore when things were warmer and less soggy. Though it was apparent that neither of you had the courage to explore the dangerous insides of the abandoned warehouse in its entirety. Anyone could be lurking there, boobietrapped the innards to protect their stashed hoards. So the pair of you stuck to the outskirts towards the vacant lot beside it.

There you both were, sat upon a crumpled wall, admiring a winter's afternoon like a pair of Humpty Dumpty’s. The sun was bright in the sky, threatening to melt the world entirely. The first inklings of spring graced reality. The robins were chirping, hopping around in search of food nearby. Adorable feathered critters, so fluffy. They reminded Johnny of Christmas as one turned its neck beside him, curiously looking up into his black eyes. Both were inquisitive of the other.

"He looks like you-," your half whisper broke out into the air too loudly. The disturbance made the robin jolt and fly off.

Johnny sighed, "Man, he got so close this time. You just had to go and ruin it didn't you?"

"I'm sorry. Was there a spiritual connection happening? How rude of me!" You gasped with a hand over your heart.

He shook his head, grinning because he wasn't angry about it at all. "He was a cute little guy though…"

"Hence why I said he looked like you." You clarified.

Johnny exploded with a blush, shaking his head again, "You must've hit your head when you fell on the ice earlier."

"My head is not any worse off than it was before, thank you very much!" You defended yourself.

"You know, the first sign of someone tellin’ porkies is denial, right?"

"I am not tellin’ porkies!"

"Are too-," Johnny countered, nudging you with his elbow.

"Am not!"

Falling back into that effortless banter made you both grin like chessy cats. It was silly, but very much needed. You knew Johnny got extra embarrassed whenever you'd start complimenting him, especially in the looks department. You didn't say these things just to throw him off, but because you truly meant them. Johnny was cute. One of the cutest guys you'd seen in a longtime. Maybe he wasn't moviestar handsome like Sodapop, but girls were missing out when they overlooked him. He had his own things to bring to the table; loyalty, kindness, abiding the law… Just to name a few. You suddenly shook these thoughts out of your head, deciding if you went too deeply down this path that it was best not to be done in Johnny’s presence. Lest you were to blabber about it like you'd done to your other friends who'd told you to ask him out already. They just didn't understand how delicate the matter was really. Johnny wouldn't say yes anyway.

"Hey look! Those cats are back," Johnny quietly hissed by your side, pulling you out of your daze.

You followed his line of sight and sure enough the two male felines were there. Lithe in nature and mean looking. A skinny orange tabby trotted forward, a snaggle tooth protruding from his mouth. By his side was his black Bombay counterpart, scraggy bodied with dirty fur and a distinct chip taken from his ear. They were silent, far from their former glory days when they knew what a good home was. The Bombay was a little bigger than his cheddar companion, and it was easily understood by any human looking in that a pact had been formed between them through a necessity to survive. The pair of you had spied them before, a distrusting set that initially hissed and growled. They were all claws and teeth so you kept your distance to avoid any surprise visits to the clinic. However now they seemed to tolerate your presence, acting as if the silence you exuded exempted your existence. Johnny and you admired them, goofy grins on your faces, because the cats were ready to commit their timely crime of hunting for some grub of the day. You knew who they reminded you of.

"Well if that ain't Dally and Tim," You consciously made the effort to whisper.

Johnny nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I can see it."

"Which one's which?" You asked, genuinely curious about Johnny's take.

He was reluctant to take his eyes off the cats, watching them begin prowling forth towards an unsuspecting robin. "Huh?" he hummed, finally looking at you just as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

"Which cat is Dally and which one is Tim? You know 'em better than I do." You pressed softly.

"Oh, that's easy, Dally's the ginger tabby and Tim's the Bombay." He offered with a nod of his head in the felines direction.

"What why?" You demanded it up at him.

“Well if we’re goin’ off their looks for a start, Tim looks like the Bombay cat. Guy is a real alley cat – got a lot of street smarts and carries himself well. Besides, he's tougher than a bag of nails.” Johnny did have a point – Tim looked just like that black cat with his curly jet hair.

Speaking of the black cat, it had entered a state of hunting, kneeling down with coiled taught muscles – just ready to pounce on that unsuspecting robin below, pecking at the seeds you and Johnny had left behind earlier. You hoped it wouldn’t be eaten, couldn’t stomach to see something so savage. However, you supposed that was only the way the circle of life worked.

“The orange tabby’s Dally cuz of that cool look in his eyes. The way he carries himself so freely. Out of the two, the tabby’s the one that’s in charge somehow. He writes the rules that the other cat’s always tryna best.” Johnny offered with a brief shrug before continuing, “Not that the black cat is following any rules. Both have minds of their own.”

Boy, you could really hear the way he admired Dallas Winston from the way he spoke about the orange tabby. It was wholesome. Dally was Johnny’s hero — the kid practically worshipped the ground the guy walked on. You didn’t see why. To you, Dallas Winston was a rotten hoodlum with a track record of breaking the law in every way, shape and form that he could. He frightened you like The Boogeyman had when you were nine. Where you both engaged with each other somewhat cordially, you preferred to keep your distance. You supposed that you had no room to judge after all. There was a deep friendship that had developed between him and Johnny; you’d seen it in Dally’s cold hard eyes… affection. It made you grin then, wondering if Johnny thought strangely of your heroes too.

“And both of them are jackasses.” You countered, bumping his shoulder mischievously.

Johnny laughed a little, looking at you for a few short moments. “Yeah alright, I’ll give you that.”

You liked the way he’d described the two though. It was a statement that fit the pair of hoodlums in a peapod together. Yet the orange tabby did appear to be the leader as it licked its wonky chops delectably. Inched closer by the second, a silent assassin to carry out its hunter gatherer lifestyle. It was intelligent, mimicking the movement of the robin that had caught onto it. It lured the bird on a swift and winding course, swiping for it good and hard but missed. Never mind. The robin fluttered up and into the line of sight of the black cat, a moment of fear in its beady eyes. Yet just as the night-like feline swept its razors at it, the robin burst into the air and flew off in the opposite direction. It had missed its meal by a feathers length. Every other robin in the vicinity flew off instantly, leaving the two cats dumbfounded.

In frustration, the orange tabby yowled and darted forth. Its clawed paw zipped out and popped the mouth of the black cat. The black cat hissed, stunned for a mere second before it lunged for the only comrade it had in this god forsaken world. The two tumbled together in an infuriated Halloween special of blurred fur. A gasp floated from your mouth as they rolled back and forth. A genuine cat fight unheard of. They sounded like two ghouls trying to out spook the other – alien and loud.

Johnny couldn’t help but laugh out of nervousness. He wasn’t trying to be cruel whatsoever. Didn’t like to see animals fighting and hurting each other, but it humoured some sick part of him. “Just like Dally and Tim, huh? Buddies one minute then at each other’s throats the next.”

“Amen to that.” You found the humour of the situation, only because it was too similar to the real life hoodlums you both knew.

You’d seen your fair share of those guys beefing it out in the past together in The Dingo parking lot, let alone practically in your own backyard. They were a strange duo – too competitive and cut from the same cloth. They’d never find another person just like them, that was for sure.

Just then an icy gust came throttling through the area, reminding you both that it was still winter. A tremor ran through the pair of you, and you huddled together for warmth. By now the cats had slumped off to their own corners of the lot, hissing and growling as they went. Sore egos and bodies made them sulk and mewl in the shade whilst they licked their wounds.

“Dammit-,” your teeth chattered, moving closer to Johnny. “March my ass…”

Johnny breathed a laugh, shaking his head. He scanned your features humorously, those bushy brows hidden by a thick blanket of his black greasy bangs that flopped onto his forehead.

“What?” You mumbled, your fingertips unconsciously reached for him in the space between you both. Johnny didn’t notice.

He stared at you for a good three seconds before opening his mouth to speak, “How can you be cold with all those layers you got on?”

“Well I mean it’s obvious, it’s winter.”

“Uh-huh-,” Johnny sassed, smirking slightly, “As if you ain’t wearin’ my shirt, my sweater and my jeans jacket too. Got the whole department store on your back.”

Abashment took hold of you as your gaze dropped down to inspect yourself. There was Johnny’s jacket on you, and underneath his tattered grey sweater, that black t-shirt poking up above the collar. And Johnny? He was adorned in a wrinkled white shirt with a blue and creamy egg yellow flannel over the top you guessed was one of the gang’s. Worn over that was Dally’s brown leather jacket with the cosy sheepskin lining. You pouted with a bruised ego, looking off to the side, “It’s not like you’re naked or nothin’…” you murmured petulantly.

Johnny chuckled breathily, your joined hands jostling as he tugged on it without any semblance of awareness, as if to gain your attention. “Not yet, but I’m gonna be! Man, do you know what I had to say to get this jacket from Dally?” He was teasing you.

“Mmmppppffff…” you grunted, crossing your legs on that wall.

“The guys are askin’ questions and I dunno what to tell ‘em any more!” His voice broke a bit before he continued, “Two thinks I’m preparin' to run down the centre of town butt naked!”

That made you burst out into fits of giggles. The thought was so unorthodox it was hilarious. “You’re tellin’ him that’s the truth right? God, could you imagine? I can see the news articles now: Johnny Cade, Teenage Delinquent Gone Buck Wild!” You beamed, throwing your free hand out to elaborate some unseen picture.

Johnny shook his head again, laughing with you, “Man, you’re just as bad as Soda!”

“I’m twice as good looking too!” You offered with all the cheekiness you could muster.

All he could offer was an entertained roll of his eyes. Your shoulders bumped together, old comrades turned into something more. His soft gaze fell onto your interwoven fingers, and his heart fluttered like dove wings. A widened gaze, then that notorious blush exploded under that tanned flesh. His mind was incapable of functioning. It was wholesome, but you read everything wrong. Made a move to release his hand and he stopped you.

"Don't." It was the strongest word you'd heard from him as he held your hand tighter than he ever had before. Not enough to hurt you, but to let you know it was real too.

"Y-you sure?" It was your turn to stutter.

The look he shared with you may have been wavering to some degree, but there was certainty in those eyes. His mouth opened to speak, "Yeah, I don't mind one bit."

I don't mind one bit. It ran round and round in your head. A starstruck expression invaded your beautiful countenance. The reassurance was a bonus that made your belly fill with a plethora of butterflies. Cloud nine had nothing on this moment.

Johnny explored the expressions flitting across your face with a newfound sense of wonder. That pleasant delight racing through you was infectious as you stared off into the junk riddled vacant lot, your mind preoccupied with his hand in yours. The sun dawned across your features once again, like that autumn night you'd spent with him in your neighbourhood's vacant lot. The understanding that he was the source of that made his belly squirm, a giddiness overcoming him. He could no longer deny the fondness he had for you so blatantly.

With him leaning a little closer to you, he whispered, "How about you give me at least some of my stuff back?"

"Mmmmm maybe,"

"yn-," there was an uncommon sense of sternness in his voice.

"But-," You tried objecting.

"No buts-," he rushed out with a shake of his head, "At least give me one! I've been wearing this shirt for three days now!" He was hilariously incredulous.

"Is that why you stink?" You taunted him.

"Not funny-," He made his best attempt to be cross with you.

"Okay, okay! I'll give them back." You said begrudgingly.

"You better bring the cavalry with how much you have stolen from me, you little shirt thief."

"In my defence, you did give them to me… But I'll have them for you next time I see you, scouts honour!" You spoke sincerely with your free hand held dramatically over your heart.

"Uh-huh, that's what you said last time and I still didn't get 'em back." He bantered.

"Well, that wasn't a real scout's honour." You admitted with a diffident rub to the back of your head.

"yn-," he shook his head.

"Hey! I'm serious this time."

"Good…" He trailed off, his other hand beginning to play with the rings banded around your fingers absentmindedly.

Blissfulness carried upon the wind, a promise of returning what wasn't yours already settled. Golden light broke through the clouds, catching Johnny in the face directly, which made him grimace evidently. You grew lost in his handsome physique, feeling the pad of his thumb drag up and down the back of your hand. The sensation was special, because Johnny had warmed up to you so much.

It was a lively Saturday night, and with the determined honour of a scout member, you showed up like clockwork with a bag filled with Johnny's things. It was just as the crowds at The Nightly Double encroached upon the Tulsa streets in boisterous droves. Everyone was high on the giddy delight of the movie they had just watched – the late night viewing of two specials before the drive-in closed its doors for the night. Previous arrangements with another friend had you missing out on the fun, but here you were wearing your very own leather jacket with Johnny's denim one bunched up nervously in the palms of your hands. Speaking of Johnny, he had tagged along with the gang – minus Darry, because movies seemed to bore the older man to death.

A pair of scrawny looking Socy guys stalked out of the front doors, acting like big shots, cutting in front of a dark green Corvair on its way out and into the oncoming traffic. The driver of the same social class hung out of the driver's window whilst his girl attempted to pull him back in.

"Hey watch it, wise guys! If you're lookin' to get your asses run over, then be my guests and step back in my line of sight!" He snarled aggressively before his girlfriend won the battle and pulled him back inside to tell him to "knock it off".

A line began to form behind them as the couple argued incessantly, presumably over the guy's foul temper. Car horns honked on the spring breeze, forcing the guy to nervously step on the gas. They almost crashed into a Chevy Impala before zipping off home. You could see the animated scowl of the girl refusing to talk to her boyfriend in the side view mirror as they retreated. She glowered at you as if you were the scum of the earth. It didn't make you feel too hot.

The two wisecracking Soc's cackled at their attempts at being hard, stalking forth when they caught sight of your lonesome form. Vile cackles were shot your way as they walked past you before deciding the better option was to encircle you like a couple of hammerhead sharks.

'Boy, these dingbats don't know what tree they're barking up.' You thought, stiffening your body up for any form of unexpected physical contact. You weren't gonna let yourself get blown over that easy.

"What's up, greaser? You lookin' to bum around on our streets?" The six foot tall pencil with the sour breath sneered down at you, bumping your shoulder, making a come around to your left. When he disappeared behind you, the other one with chestnut hair the texture of straw invaded your face.

"Yeah, who said you were allowed round these parts anyway?" He jeered, smacking his gum obnoxiously.

Typically these dorks wouldn't have been graced with so much of your attention, but being on your own with a whole sea of onlookers made you weary. However you sure didn't show it. No one was there to stand up for you so you had to do it yourself. All you could do was raise your eyebrows, feeling the burning sense of humiliation rise from the pits of hell beneath your feet. It felt toasty, but the wrong kind. A glower of pure vexation was sent up their way. 'Who are these cocky jackasses, anyway? I've got the same right to use these streets like anyone else!' You contemplated.

"Oh really? I never knew white trash chequerboards like yourselves owned the streets everybody walks on." Your lips flapped wryly before you could even say a word.

The entertained gazes of onlookers of every social class stopped to stare. Murmurs of speculation broke out: Two against one didn't typically seem like a fair fight, but with the sheer scrawniness of the socially elite, it seemed to look like the chips fell in your favour. Though you knew appearances could be deceiving, harbouring a surprising sense of physical strength.

In a rift of the crowd, six pairs of familiar eyes honed in on your shining moment of unprovoked confrontation.

"White trash chequerboards?!" The pencil growled out, sharing a glance with his straw haired counterpart. For the most part they were dumbfounded, not having expected you to stand up for yourself.

"If anyone's white trash, it's you, greaseball." The second one jutted his finger in your face.

Nothing about your countenance betrayed you. Cold and detached you stared at that finger in your face with a deep sense of boredom. Then an almost smug smirk etched your features as you stared up into his grey eyes.

"Oh my, my!" A dripping sense of mocking venom entered your tone. "Seems like I got more class than that finger you got pointed at me. Seriously, you got a licence to be armed with carryin' that thing? You better watch what you do with it before it falls into the wrong hands. You know, because with great power comes great responsibility and all." You were armed with so much sass it made you invincible.

The crowd surrounding you burst into a fit of laughter so potent that it burnt these punks into a startled pile of ash. The pair of Soc's were so vapid that they were a bore even to themselves, which is why they were acting out as if they were five times their sizes. You were lively, armed with a silver tongue that could slice just about anyone to pieces who tried to humiliate you.

"Oh yeah, you little punk?" The first one growled, invading all sense of your personal space.

You took one step back, your eyebrows raised, "It's his responsibility, not mine. Whatch'yu gettin' all riled up for, eh? Can't take a joke, Mister Funny?"

"I'll show you a joke when I knock your two front teeth out." He barked.

Oooh's and aaah's broke through the crowd on a symphony of guffawing. You cocked one eyebrow up at him, a cockiness overcoming you. What could you do otherwise? If no one had your back, you had to have your own. That was just the way the cookie crumbled when you were a greaser – if there was a cookie at all.

"Oooooh~ Don't threaten me with a good time, pencil dick." You snorted. "I will bend your ass like a goddamn pretzel before you can even have a chance to beg for your mommy to save you."

The two guys shared a look, the degradation burning their senses of pride to withering embers. Their faces were pinkened beyond recognition, boarding on a fiery red. Your insults only poured gasoline on the fires. They couldn't back out now with the engrossed mass around the three of you. Your body stiffened as they went to grab you, preparing yourself for a fight that would no doubt cause the fuzz to come shutting it down. The image of yourself being cuffed in the back of a cop car had you overcome with a sense of terror. You weren't made for jail with your sharp tongue and sass. Wouldn't last two seconds flat in a grim place like that.

Before any contact could occur, a boisterous New York accent throttled into the air, a familiar arm slinking over your shoulders, "Hey Dumb and Dumber, you really wanna go gettin' your asses handed to you by a girl in front of all of these people?" Dallas was snickering with a smoke hanging out of his mouth, leaning against you smoothly as he patted your upper arm, but he wasn't your only saviour.

The other five lean and hard looking members of the Curtis gang had rolled up in all of their greasy headed glory. Pony and Johnny were Dally's flanks whilst Sodapop and Steve jammed themselves on either side of the pathetic turkeys that had bothered you. Two-bit prowled like a cat, that smug, wild grin carved onto his handsome features. The oldest of the six came in the centre of the perpetrators, an arm slung on each of their shoulders. It was overly friendly, even for Two.

"Well, well, well, if it ain't the socially elite barking up a tree they didn't know was a mountain! I'd get your eyes checked if I were you." He laughed, squeezing them together under his impressive arms. The others joined in.

"I think it's time these tuff lookin' sons of bitches got in the ring with the big shots." Steve yipped sarcastically, clapping the straw haired guy on the back a little too roughly.

"Lookin' like a bunch of heavyweight champs, am I right?" Soda leered, his once kind blue eyes filled with a mischievous malice.

The two Soc's looked at each other, realising they'd made a mistake in targeting you. "We don't want any trouble." The first one said, fumbling.

"Yeah! We was only just jokin' around." The other made a pitiful attempt at joining in on the laughter.

"Oh really now?" Dally quipped through dragon's breath, plucking his smoke from his lips and wiping the back of his index finger under his nose like he was annoyed. "I call bullshit, beanpole. Ain't that right, Johnny?" Dally asked Johnny, motioning towards him.

With a black gaze as cold as obsidian, Johnny nodded his head, "Sure thing, Dally." He refused to take his gaze off of the perpetrators who recognised that hoodlum's menacing name anywhere.

"Pony?" Dally turned, looking over your head at the fourteen year old greaser with the greyish green eyes. He put that smoke back in between his lips and inhaled sharply.

"Yup!" Pony popped the 'p' at the end of the word.

"Great, it's settled!" Dally exclaimed, pulling his arm from over your shoulders and rubbing his hands together like a fly with an evil plan. He stepped forward, his face a mere couple of inches from theirs. "You dumbasses get to go toe to toe with me for fucking with the wrong person, and then my buddies will have what's left of you. How do you like the sound of that?"

The way Dally seethed it even had you shaking in your boots. There was almost a sense of honour riding on your guts. It wasn't everyday that Dallas Winston was standing up for you, but when it happened you took it willingly. The two guys had become pale ghosts, shuddering with sweat dewing their foreheads. Dally meant those words, but it seemed he was mainly toying with them. So were the rest of the gang too. With matching Cheshire grins plastered on their faces they watched as the two shoved past Soda, tripping over the boot Johnny had stuck out and shot in through an opening in the crowd to salvation. Sent to faceplant on the ground with a series of laughter as the drama seemed to be over for the most part and people lost interest.

"Where are you goin'? Wait until we set her on ya!" Sodapop called, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders.

"Yeah, she may seem like she’s all bark, but she's got one hell of a bite!" Steve cackled.

Lost in an ocean of chaos, Johnny's inquiry of concern for you slithered back down his throat. He bled into the background, admiring the way your eyes rolled as the wisecracking descended upon you.

"The hell was that, kid?" Dally said between inhaling his smoke. Rubbing the top of your head with his ringed fingers awarded him with a generous shove from you. His treatment hurt, but he was happy to see you, which was unusual.

"Get offa me-," You grunted and he eventually relented.

Before Steve could chime in about you being a smart ass or wandering around on your lonesome, your most dreaded member of the gang came blundering on over. A half drunken stupor holding him up by some invisible string, "Haha! Where did you learn to talk like that? Dare I say you got some inspiration from somebody in particular?" He waggled his eyebrows at you.

"Oh, well ain't those the biggest words you’ve ever said! Ugh, don’t make me sick, two cents." You bit at him.

"Eh, at least I'm worth somethin' in this world." He chuckled, clapping your shoulder.

"That was meant to be an insult." You retorted.

"Really? That's a whole compliment and a half!" He exclaimed with his arms thrown up.

"Yeah yn, I sure can hear the church bells ringin' right now!" Soda grinned at you, cupping his free hand over his ear. In fact, to seal the deal he wrapped his arm around your shoulders as the seven of you began walking to your neighbourhood.

Steve came up on the other side, walking the tight line of the curb, "From haters to lovers!" He beamed, spreading his palms out in the open space before you like he was presenting a far away picture. "It all started when you were in fifth grade and he was in sixth, gum to the hair, a pop to the mouth and the rest was history!"

Johnny listened and observed, laughing halfheartedly along with his buddies. Something about Soda's and Steve's words tugged on his heartstrings in a plucking fashion. It was uncomfortable and didn't sit right with him. Yet he couldn't be too mopey about it, it wasn't like anybody knew his growing feelings for you. By now there was a confusion in your friendship, as if all these special moments you'd experienced together had evolved the friendship into something else. He was afraid of what that meant. Things would never be the same ever again, and he found himself eyeing up the bag full of his clothes on your shoulder and his jeans jacket wadded into your hand.

Well, at least your promise had been genuine this time.

If you weren't riled up before you were now. A sucker punch to the gut was minutely dodged by Steve, who hopped to safety behind Dallas like a kangaroo. Being surrounded by people you knew was nice as the mood settled somewhat. Johnny found his natural place to the left of you, keeping in time with your easy pace.

Sodapop raised his eyebrows and asked the question everyone had been wondering, "Hey yn, what were you doing there all alone?"

"Ain't that Steve's line?" You quipped.

“Gettin’ to be more and more like Ponyboy everyday, yn!” Steve warned, messing up Pony’s hair for comedic relief.

Pony was certainly not pleased, pulling his comb out of his back pocket and using the sideview mirror of a car to fix his hair in the dark. “Stupid Steve…” grumbled past his lips.

“What was that?” Steve barked next to Soda.

“Nothin’, said I looked stupid…” He lied with burnt cheeks and ears to match.

"That's what I thought, little guy." Steve stared at him.

Once the commotion had somewhat settled Dally eyed you up and spoke through his smoke, “Soda’s got a point. What were you doing there?” He noticed that bag over your shoulder and whistled, “Did your goody two shoes ass get kicked out or are you just droppin’ by to bid your farewells on us common folk before you skip town?”

Put on the spot, you hesitated for a second, “Uh, I just came to see Johnny.”

“With the entire mall's inventory?” Two grinned wickedly, pressing for more information. "Johnny's become quite the charity case lately." He teased, noogying Johnny playfully who shrugged him off with a small laugh.

“Hey wait a sec, isn't that Johnny’s jeans jacket?” Pony spoke up once his precious hair had been rearranged.

Dallas’s pesky fingers swiped the jacket in your hands with a mind of his own – and like a chimp, he examined its authentication closely. The five other members gathered around him as if he held the fifth wonder, which left you and Johnny with the liberation of simultaneously backing up at the edges of the throng. “You wanna make a break for it?” You hissed your suggestion at Johnny, who nodded his head.

That’s when five heads whipped up with dumbfounded expressions. This was Johnny’s jacket! The one he said he’d lost. Soda’s eyes were the first to eye up that bag strapped to your shoulder, a familiar grey sweater poking out through the zipper that wouldn't close properly. “Hold on one stinkin’ minute.” Realisation hit him with a dopey grin.

Two caught on next, his hand grasping the bag strap and pulling it from your shoulder. In the same motion he’d freed the grey sweater from the confines, only to find more clothes underneath. “Haha!” He cackled noisily, “You’re the one who’s been swiping his clothes? You sly fox!”

“Johnny and yn sitting in a tree-,” Steve cackled, only to get cut off by Dally who smacked him in the chest.

“What are you man, four?”

“Four?! I’ll show you four!”

“Oh glory-,” You mumbled, looking at Johnny, “I think I made a mistake.”

“You think?” He hissed, his tone was somewhat biting, looking scared stiff for the incoming of terrible teasing.

"Johnny's got a girlfriend! Johnny's got a girlfriend!" Soda and Two started chanting, patting and shaking their pal with enthusiasm. It wasn't long before the other three started in on it too. The chant of the year belted out from strong chests on shrill wails of hyena laughter.

"Check him out, famous ladies man! I knew you had it in ya Johnny." Dally clapped his back.

"Should've known you were stealing my girl, Johnny." Two teased. "You can have her the first five days of the week, but I call dibs on weekends! That's when she gets extra sassy."

"In your dreams, two shits." You barked.

"I dream of sixth grade every night!" Two swooned, making you laugh.

Johnny was as red as a beet, even Ponyboy couldn’t contain his laughter. 'Boy, do we have something to tell Darry!' Pony's and Soda's eyes gleamed dazzlingly.

"Eh, guess you won't be needing this!" Dally grinned from behind you both, softly tugging on his leather jacket Johnny was wearing. In one fell swoop it was off of his shoulders and draped over Dally’s humble forearm.

“Here you go, young sire!” Sodapop bowed with a roll of his hand, an English accent flawlessly executed.

In came Steve on one knee, holding up the humble denim article he'd swiped from Dally's pesky digits. “Oh Johnny, with all of my love for you, will you take this humble offer?” he exclaimed dramatically.

Johnny snatched the jacket from Steve’s gripey hands, along with the bag of his shirts you’d brought along from Two-bit. He was embarrassed, that was evident. Wished you’d done this at a different time, but hey, duty called; a promise was a promise. Scout’s honour, right?

Without even thinking he grabbed your hand in his, reeling you away from the madness, all sassy. “Alright, that’s enough now!”

A chorus of wolf whistles expelled into the air. Wildness evident in the five guys who'd grown up with the both of you. They were just playing of course, excited that Johnny finally had a lady in hand. It wasn't often the raven haired greaser picked someone up, let alone initiated any physical contact – romantically of course. Johnny had always been quite reserved, but here he was taking the initiative, pulling you around in the opposite direction of them. Surprisingly assertive despite him shaking like a goddamn ghost.

You guys got maybe a few feet away when Dallas called out on the wind, “Hey yn, you better not be takin’ off the clothes on Johnny's body or he’ll be arrested for public indecency!”

"I said that's enough!" Johnny called back, heat vivid on his cheeks.

With that you both escaped around the next corner, the gang's calls and laughter fading into the background. Dipped into an alleyway to lose them for good. Glory knew they'd follow you both, and Johnny couldn't bear the thought of that. There was exhilaration in your chests. Johnny's hand was hot and sweaty in yours when you wound onto Pickett and Sutton. The air felt tight and you were afraid you'd just made an inconsolable mess of everything.

“Honest to God Johnny, that wasn’t planned-,”

He was sour, scrunching up his face, “Shoulda just let you keep these things.” He said with a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “They looked better on you anyway.”

“Johnny Cade,” you gasped, stopping in the middle of the street, the yellow light from above illuminating you both, “was that you flirting with me?”

Albeit clumsy, he was endearing. “Maybe, I dunno.” His cheesy grin warmed your heart.

All you could do was gawk at him.

“Look, all I know is that I kinda don’t mind you stealing my crap, okay?”

“So I have special authority to steal? What is this, a secret mission for your girlfriend?” You grasped onto his arm, leaning into him.

Girlfriend settled in the air in a peculiar fashion. It had never been uttered before, you both had just been friends up until this point. The confusion between you both seemed to fizzle away. The term sounded right. Johnny didn't want to be your friend any more, the guy on the sidelines dreaming of being with you. He swallowed thickly, looking at you.

"I'm sorry I-," he cut you short.

"Nah don't be." He shook his head softly.

"So uh," you breathed a laugh, "that means we're like dating? " You tested the word on your tongue.

He exploded with a blush, and a sense of pride swelled in your heart. "Y-yeah-," he nodded softly.

It went quiet, but nothing was awkward about it. Two hearts galloped like wild horses through summer filled fields. You found the courage to speak first, whispering mischievously into his ear, "So what about that secret mission?"

Johnny rolled his eyes, but breathy humour expelled from his lips, “Operation Shirt Thief!” He said in his best movie man trailer voice.

You burst out in a fit of giggles, the walk home feeling bountiful and warm.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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#johnnycade #johnny cade #johnny cade x reader #johnny cade imagines #johnny cade headcanons #the outsiders #the outsiders imagines #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders johnny cade #the outsiders johnny cade x reader #the outsiders johnny cade imagines #the outsiders johnny cade headcanons #i hope you enjoyed!!

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seelestia · 1 year

Note

Dunno why I felt compelled to do this, but-

Here's some dialogue I just thought up regarding that angsty af Zhongli oneshot that a certain someone requested (who could it be I wonder 👀👀)

The ones talking are Ganyu and the Reader.

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Your love."

"..."

"I regret not being born earlier."

"I regret not being a goddess."

"I regret not being the first."

"I regret not having the long straight hair he so misses."

"But most of all, I regret not being her."

"But you had no control over any of those! It's not your fault!"

"...That's exactly why it hurts."

We love angst 😩💅💅👍✨

- Ever so sadly yours, 👹✨ Jae (also hi Lia :D been a while since I been in your inbox huehue)

— 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.

a continuation to do you love me? choose a decision at the end! only 1/2 endings available as of now.

summary: a cracked heart is like a cracked jar; it can only hold so much within before it shatters — what if you've come to terms that you cannot take the pain of the truth any longer? (1.2k+ words)

genre: angst, "loves you but not most" trope, lovers to ???? (open-ended / cliffhanger i'm sorry.) + read the alt text on the header for extra summary!

characters: ganyu, zhongli, guizhong (implied).

cw: descriptions of crying, one pet name.

thoughts: you came into my inbox after a while and you brought pain with you. i'm not particularly proud of this but here you go, i cannot be blamed for these buckets of tears any longer. (/j)

✰ main masterlist. // series masterlist.

The night was young in Liyue, the breeze was gentle as it swept across the lands — but oh, how you wished the wind could also blow the sadness in your heart.

Blurry sight, soaked cheeks, sheer and pure numbness. For how long had you been like this? Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. Whatever perception of time you had left just seemed to crumble to dust.

You couldn't help but wonder why? Ha, what irony when you knew very well why.

Wasn't it the truth that was relayed to you some time ago? Wasn't that why you decided to sneak away whilst your lover was sleeping, why you were crying in the company of a concerned friend, why you were here right now?

"I'm so sorry—" you choked out an apology to Ganyu through bated breath.

Your friend was out for a midnight stroll when she saw you and upon seeing how red your eyes were, she didn't leave your side out of worry ever since. You tried to reassure her that you'd be fine alone, really — but she looked so devastated, equally as sorrowful as you were like the very sadness in your heart was her own.

But you felt pathetic; so pathetic and so pitiful.

Nothing had been the same after that day, as much as you wished to deny it. Curiosity did kill the cat, after all; in your case, curiosity was what condemned your soul to a void of nothingness.

They said love was what filled a human's soul and if that were true, then you would be nothing but a shell of a soul. Zhongli gave you a love that you wished to cradle with your all forever — but he was never yours, never completely yours. Yet, how could you blame him? How could you ever blame him for experiencing a love so great he wasn't able to forget it?

"I'm not her. I could never be her," you finally forced the words out, clutching onto the railing of Liyue Harbor until a stinging pain greeted your hands. It had been the simplest conclusion, yet the hardest pill to swallow. A fate you couldn't change even if you wished you could so bad, someone unrivaled you could only imagine holding a candle to. Bitter and self-deprecating were the quiet laughter you let out at the realization.

Never was, never will.

"[Y/N], you don't have to apologize," was all Ganyu could afford to utter. She knew she should've said more, but the words escaped her barren mind; perhaps, it would be better to listen instead of saying something that could make matters worse. You could tell that Ganyu was disappointed in herself for not being able to provide you with profound wisdom or the right words of comfort.

Truthfully, you couldn't help but feel terrible for putting her in this situation, for possibly ruining her night with your mood. But when the Adeptus placed her hand on the crook of your elbow as a physical reminder that she was here for you, you smiled. Then, you turned your head towards the ocean and closed your eyes.

Finally, the pain of crying finally caught up to you, hoping that the blowing night breeze could somewhat soothe the stinging dryness and heavy bags underneath your eyes. As you did so, in the corner of your mind, a single thought passed by and you caught it by its tail.

Was it a thought meant to be voiced or buried? Either way, you brought it to life and wondered out loud.

"...Would it be better if I broke things off instead?"

Your question seemed to take Ganyu by complete surprise.

You knew why so; before your relationship with Zhongli came to be, Ganyu was one of the listening ears to your constant rambles about him. How much you admired him, how flustered you were when he smiled at you, or how you felt like you could float to the skies whenever he spared you a single glance. You recalled the surprised look on Ganyu's face when you first told her about your feelings for her Lord, but she was supportive towards your endeavor.

Now, here was where both of you stood. Oh, how time flew.

"Do you remember when he accepted my confession?" Even with your eyes closed, you could almost feel Ganyu nodding at your words. You were the same, you felt as if you could recall it like it had only been yesterday too. "I was so happy I felt like I could float to the clouds and never return. The man of my dreams is finally mine! I thought," you laughed, but there was no hint of mirth evident in your tone.

"What was it like? Being loved by him?" That sort of question sounded foreign to Ganyu but still, she asked, a willingness on her part to indulge in your nostalgia.

"Warm like having someone wrap a blanket around you and comforting like feeling the steam from a cup with your favorite tea on your face after a long day," you hummed. If loving Zhongli and being loved by him were a feeling, it would've been one that you'd never let go of... but you knew this feeling was no longer the same after the truth.

"I am not his greatest love, yet he is mine," it was something you stated solemnly, having come to terms with that fact yet not being able to fully withstand the ache that came with it yet.

When you continued, your voice broke and you frowned, "Why does it have to hurt so much? I want to stay with him, I want to pretend I didn't hear anything that day, I want to go back to the time where I knew nothing about her — but I couldn't."

The corner of your eyes began to sting once more, welling up with tears at a possibility of euphoria which you could never go to. "If only I could, then I wouldn't spend all my nights awake, wondering why I wasn't her or thinking of ways I could somehow be better than her in his eyes. If I could, I'd be sleeping happily in his arms right now and... I wouldn't feel this pain anymore."

There was no stopping the waterfall running down your cheeks now and you could feel that stinging pain again as a result. "But that's a fantasy," you breathed out. You were just so tired and your knees were beginning to feel weak — but still, you looked at Ganyu through your blurred vision.

"...What should I do? Should I save myself or dwell in blissful ignorance?" You whispered with a smile that was unbefitting of your melancholic question. Ganyu hesitated but before she could formulate an answer, a familiar spoke from behind the two of you.

"...My love," a voice that was all too familiar and a nickname that caused all that was going on in your brain to halt.

You froze, veins running cold.

"R-Rex Lapis?"

Ganyu's shocked yelp confirmed it all.

There Zhongli was, standing there. A few strands of his hair looked amiss as if licked by the wind from a fast-paced trip, as if he had just gone places, as if he just went everywhere searching after waking up with you nowhere to be found in his arms. Maybe, that was exactly what he did.

His amber eyes were downcast and the way he was standing so fixedly instead of looking like he had just arrived instantly made your heart clench — because that could only mean one thing.

He heard everything.

[ WHAT IS YOUR NEXT DECISION? ]

↪ Stay quiet and dwell on your thoughts of breaking up with Zhongli.

↪ Wipe away your tears and put on a smile as if Zhongli didn't hear anything. — COMING SOON!

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

#genshin x reader #genshin x you #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin angst #zhongli angst #seelestial.inks #dylm.series 🍵

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blueisquitetired · 1 year

Note

When you got time, do you have any tips on writing Ingo and Emmets dialogue? I really like how you write them but I can't seem to get their speech down. It's mainly Ingos which is annoying since he canonical has more dialogue than Emmet.

Oh thank you!! I’m glad you enjoy- writing these boys dialogue is one of my favorite parts of writing and has made me seriously consider how I write speech for every character I do. It’s been great practice!

Okay, actual advice time lol.

HOW TO WRITE INGO AND EMMET

(According to me, Blue)

(Now, keep in mind that there isn’t one true way to write the boys, and this is just how I personally write them. Take this with a grain of salt)

When you’re first starting out writing the boys I recommend writing dialogue in your own voice and then submasifying it.

For example, let’s take this dialogue and transform it:

“Sorry I’m late for work! My dog chewed through my nice pants so I had to find some new ones! It’s been a bit of a rough day today, not gonna lie.”

So starting with Ingo-

Ingo talks extremely formally and is super long winded. When writing dialogue for him, try to imagine a fancy British butler who uses long words and long sentences. Replace normal words with more “fancy” ones and use more words then you really need to. (A thesaurus can be extremely useful for this)

“My sincerest apologies for my tardy arrival!”

Then, pepper in train terms as much as possible. If he goes three sentences without saying something train related, find a way to stick one in. If you’re stuck, look up a list of train words and take inspiration (I’ll include a list of train expressions I commonly pull from at the bottom of the post) (Make sure to use “Bravo!” and “All aboard!” whenever applicable as well)

“I awoke to the unpleasant surprise of joltik holes in my trousers this morning- which delayed my cab significantly as I was forced to find an undamaged pair!”

I personally strive to use consonants (stuff like I’d, we’ll, don’t) as little as possible with the boys. For Emmet it’s to add to the choppiness of his dialogue and for Ingo it’s because that man would rather use fifty words when one will do. (It also makes them sound more professional!)

“Honestly, after a morning like this one, I pray that the remainder of today’s tracks prove to be much smoother.”

Another thing to keep in mind is that Ingo is extremely polite while Emmet is a bit more blunt. Try to use titles like “sir” and “miss” when writing Ingo- and then just don’t bother with Emmet.

Next up is Emmet, who I personally find much harder then Ingo! Unlike Ingo who’s dialogue you need to add words to, Emmet you need to subtract and simplify! This is the post I originally read to kinda get the jive of things, but here’s my pointers!

First off, figure out what concepts the are being expressed in your sentence, and split those apart.

“Sorry I’m late for work!” has two parts- an apology and an acknowledgment that the person is late. For Emmet we would want to split this single sentence into two.

“I am Emmet! I am late! Sorry!”

Next is vocal ticks! Emmet has several, and they should ideally be sprinkled in sparingly through his dialogue. (You can see that I used ‘I am Emmet’ in the previous section)

‘I am Emmet’ should be used when he is joining a conversation or when he’s about to say something about himself. It CAN be used more then once in a single conversation- but try not to overdo it.

‘Verrrrrrrry’ is another one! Other submas authors have him roll the r on other words as well, but I stick with verrrrrry. This one is easy to use- just extend the word very with extra Rs and use very whenever naturally applicable.

‘Yup’ is one as well- and one I admittedly don’t use often. It rarely jives with the way I write Emmet so I usually don’t bother- but you should definitely keep it in mind!

And of course, train terms! Less often then Ingo of course (since he says less words in general) but if you can find a way to fit it in, go for it.

“The joltiks chewed holes in my pants! Verrrrry naughty. Had to find new pants. Holey pants do not pass safety checks! Yup!”

Finally, the man likes his patterns! When writing Emmet it’s a good idea to have his Blubapedia page open nearby so you can just steal chunks of his script from that. (You can, and should do this for Ingo too!)

“Bad morning. Oh well. Follow the schedule! Everybody smile! All aboard!”

Of course, the man is perfectly capable of speaking longer sentences- but when and where he does so is up to the author.

All that being said, it’s important to remember that you’ll likely have to attempt their dialogue a few times before getting a sentence to flow right. Even for these examples I had to do a couple takes until I found one that really worked!

Here’s a couple of other notes for writing Pokémon characters in general:

Watch out for expressions and words that use animals. (like beeline or ‘in the dog house’) Try to replace those words with their Pokémon counterparts- (such as combeeline [which I’ve typed so many times I’ve started using internally in my day to day life]) or something that sounds close enough (like if your censoring f***, ducklett doesn’t work nearly as good as duck. So try muk instead!)

Do your best to replace religious swears with Pokémon religion! Instead of heavens, or the big G word, use words like, ‘Dragons!’ Or ‘Sweet Swords of Justice!’ (Of course, these are Unovan swears. For Hisui you should be using things like ‘Sinnoh’ and ‘great Time!’. Other regions have their own legendaries as well)

And finally, my list of train terms I pull from regularly!

Cab (or car): To refer to one’s body

“I am afraid my cab is in need of repairs.”

Tracks: A plan or intended route

“Very well! I will follow the tracks you have set!”

Destination: The goal or like, the actual destination

“Bravo! Your talent has brought you to the destination called victory!”

Station (or terminal): A location

“Very well! Let us set our tracks to the Pearl Clan’s station!”

Two Car Train (or three or four or whatever number you need): Friends or a team

“Emmet and I are a two car train!”

Couple (opposite being uncoupled): To join together

“I must ask that you couple your car to mine as we make our way through here. It can get quite dangerous!”

Engine: Another term for your body, but more specifically in regards to energy or drive

“I’m afraid I must rest my engine.”

Refuel: Eat.

“It is getting quite late- let us take a break to refuel.”

Conducting: Guiding

“I look forward to conducting you on this endeavor!”

Derailment (or collision, wreck, trainwreck): Something that has gone wrong.

“Apologies. It appears I have been derailed.”

Unscheduled (opposite being scheduled): Something unexpected

“Ah! A cave in! It appears we must make an unscheduled stop.”

Passenger: Person (or Pokémon)

“It appears we have picked up some unexpected passengers!”

Conductor: Ingo sometimes uses this to refer to himself (works especially well in Hisui)

“Passenger, please refrain from stabbing the conductor”

Delay: Something happening later then scheduled

“Apologies for the delay! Let us begin!”

Sidetracked: put off course

“Ah, but now I have sidetracked us with this talk.”

All aboard!: Good conversation ender 💙

“ALL ABOARD!!!”

#submas #blue askbox #blue’s writing #subway master ingo #subway master emmet #writing tips

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dduane · 1 year

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Diane, I am wondering something about writing and you are very wise and very kind.

For context, I've been seeing a therapist for a few months and just saw a psychiatrist Sunday night and they both used the phrase "dissociative daydreaming". It started when I was about 13 and I'm 28 now and it is getting in the way of my life. I'll be having a one-on-one conversation with someone alone in a quiet room and completely miss a few seconds of what they say, and I zone out a lot when eating at restaurants and it creeps people out. The psychiatrist says we are going to work on getting this under control in the next couple months.

The thing is, I like writing fiction and I do a lot of my imagining while I'm in this "zoned out" state. You know, that being a major part of dissociative daydreaming. So I'm wondering, sorry for assuming (assuming makes an ass out of you and me), but if you do not also dissociative daydream, or any other fiction writers here do, how do you think about your stories? Do you just sit down at your desk and say to yourself "I shall write a story now" without leaving your unoccupied body staring at a wall?

First of all: my apologies for having taken so long to get to this... my ask box is so piled up with overdue stuff right now. (sigh) And thanks for the nice words. I don't know about the "wise", and sometimes I screw up the "kind", but I do what I can with what I've got.

Anyway, re: "Do you just sit down at your desk and say to yourself 'I shall write a story now' without leaving your unoccupied body staring at a wall?"

...Yeah, pretty much. Here's how the story-building process usually goes for me.

First I outline. (As detailed here.) The outlining is for me the equivalent of drawing a blueprint, or doing the measure-twice work that comes before taking a saw to the materials you're going to use to build a bookshelf. For this part of the process, as I assemble the underlying framework of the story, I've found it vital to be as completely present, alert and aware as possible. This is where the order of physical action gets laid out, errors of reasoning get caught, blind alleys get erased from the blueprint, useless character transactions get identified and thrown away, and hunches / incomplete ideas get incorporated.

While assembling the outline, if I find my concentration drifting or somehow compromised, I stop work as quickly as possible and put it aside until I can find time to deal with it when I won't be distracted by other stuff. Much experience has taught me that if I get sloppy about this, I may well wind up being really annoyed about it later on... secondary to having missed something vital about character interactions, or screwed up some important sequence of physical action. The writing time lost in fixing careless errors of this kind infuriates me... so I take my time with the outlining.

It's after the framework of the story is in place that the vaguing-out stages of both writing and thinking about the writing come into play. Over many years I've found that the shower, in the morning, is one of the best places for this. Usually when I'm in active writing mode on a project, the first thing I'll do after waking up (while still in bed) will be to look over the writing done the previous day, and—if there's need—check the outline to see what I was planning to do next. Then I hit the showers.

That's where the ideas really start to flow while I'm unfocused: scene descriptions and action sequences in particular. I don't know what it is, but running water really seems to do it for me. (One time I was up at this place for a writing trip, and plotted about six novels one after the other, over a week. Those tubes in the picture dump a liter of hot water per second onto your head. Very, very effective for me.)

...I'm also absolutely horrified to have to admit that one of the very best places for me to be in order to have dialogue arrive is at the kitchen sink, doing dishes. Possibly because there are few other situations in my day to day life where I more desperately want to have my mind be somewhere else. Anywhere else. (But also: running water again...)

In between these two modes of composition lies a hybrid "full-spectrum" writing mode in which I can switch pretty much seamlessly from total immersion in the scene presently unfolding to a more analytical examination of what's going on: a constant realtime adjustment of format issues, timing, pacing, and a lot of other things. When in this mode I can vague out when necessary, inventing new stuff as needed or refining material that was already there, and then snap back into the mode where I'm keeping an eye on paragraph lengths or whether there are too many em-dashes popping up. :)

...Anyway, that''s how it goes for me. The usual caveat applies here: other people's (entirely successful!) processes will not necessarily look anything like this. ...Meanwhile, I absolutely wish you good results in your upcoming brainwork, and the better management of your own process.

#writing #writing process #also #hot water #LOTS OF HOT WATER

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anneangel · 1 month

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Because I imagine this scenes of The Hobbit book with Elrohir and Elladan, you know, Elrond's twin sons. And it looks like this:

Elrohir: What brings Mister Baggins. Elladan: And Balin and Dwalin. O! tra-la-la-lally Elrohir: down into the valley. O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly. Elladan: in June, ha! Ha!

So they laughed and sang in the trees; and pretty fair nonsense.

“Well, well!” said Elrohir.

“Just look! Bilbo the hobbit on a pony, my dear! Isn’t it delicious!” said Elladan.

Elrohir: “Most astonishing wonderful!”

“Don’t dip your beard in the foam, father!” they cried to Thorin, who was bent almost on to his hands and knees. “It is long enough without watering it.”

“Mind Bilbo doesn’t eat all the cakes!” they called. “He is too fat to get through key-holes yet!”

“Hush, hush! Good People! and good night!” said Gandalf, who came last. “Valleys have ears, and some elves have over merry tongues. Good night!” And so at last they all came to the Last Homely House, and found its doors flung wide.

Bilbo would have liked to have a few private words with these people that seemed to know his names and all about him, although he had never seen them before. He thought their opinion of his adventure might be interesting. Elves know a lot and are wondrous folk for news, and know what is going on among the peoples of the land.

-The Hobbit Book - Chapter III, A Short Rest ⤴️

P.s: They are silly, but are intelligent enough to know the visitors' names and that Bilbo is with them on a mission where he will have to enter through a lock, and they still don't know about the map, and the secret door. Which only proves that Elrond's sons are so much intelligent.

...And then, I imagine it's them singing this, in that scene on Bilbo's journey home, when he and Gandalf stop again in Rivendell:

"Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!The wind’s in the tree-top, the wind’s in the heather; The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower, And bright are the windows of Night in her tower. Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!" (...) [Elrohir and Elladan sing the song].

“Well, Merry People!” said Bilbo looking out. “What time by the moon is this? Your lullaby would waken a drunken goblin! Yet I thank you.”

“And your snores would waken a stone dragon—yet we thank you,” they answered with laughter. “It is drawing towards dawn, and you have slept now since the night’s beginning. Tomorrow, perhaps, you will be cured of weariness.”

“A little sleep does a great cure in the house of Elrond,” said Bilbo; “but I will take all the cure I can get. A second good night, fair friends!” And with that he went back to bed and slept till late morning.

-The Hobbit Book -Chapter XIX, The Last Stage ⤴️

And so, in me headcanon, Bilbo kindly chose not to mention in his accounts when Elrond apologized to him about his children, with a certain guilty pleasure, because after all he loves his children and likes to see them happy. And Bilbo understands perfectly, because he also loves Elrohir and Elladan.

And somehow Bilbo thinks they look like Kili and Fili, and it brings tears to his eyes, and Elrond feels like he should be offended that his children are compared to dwarves, but in fact he is smiling kindly.

After Bilbo left Rivendell, Elrohir and Elladan fully told little Estel/Aragorn about him, who was eager to meet him ever since.

Years later, Elrond reads Bilbo's drafts about his adventure, and wonders if Bilbo left so much of his relationships out, just narrating and telling the basics, because it still hurt him to talk or write about it in more detail.

And anyway, everyone in Rivendell loves Bilbo, for reasons we will never know because Bilbo left out of his writings most of the lovelly dialogue and cute and greatest interactions he had with the elves (and also with Thorin's company).

Because it hurt him to put it on paper, or even talk about it, and that's why it took him years to write the most succinct and summarized book about his adventure.

#the hobbit #bilbo baggins #elrond #lord of the rings #lotr #elladan #elrohir #elrond peredhel #elrond sons #gandalf #aragorn #jrr tolkien #tolkien books #headcanon

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adelaidedrubman · 3 months

Text

What if the strap could prematurely ejaculate? (Or, Jestiny gets knocked down a peg.) read on ao3.

notes: if i ever accidentally posted something good enough to trick you into following this account, i truly apologize. anyways here’s part two of the john/jestiny failstrap series. set hl&s adjacent and spiritual sequel to mine’s bigger. also new year’s eve themed, i meant to get it posted then but ironically didn’t finish in time. wordcount: 3.8k warnings: explicit sexual content, toxic relationships, emotional manipulation. (neg ’em and peg ’em, the jestiny rook method.) i feel like secondhand embarrassment and cringe dialogue is something of an implicit blanket warning for all my stuff, but. i feel the need to explicitly flag it in this one. that should tell you something. (please also see ao3 end notes or post tags for disclaimers.)

As with all holidays, Jestiny would ideally prefer to spend her New Year’s Eve outdoors.

She would gladly take her midnight kisses whilst guzzling craft beer and watching fish leap from the water over sipping champagne and watching pixelated footage of a ball dropping — if only the temperatures of December bleeding into January in Montana would agree with her preferences.

And sure, a sharp chisel and thick jacket could guarantee she would still be taking home her share of trout from a frozen solid pond. A good set of crampons strapped to her favorite hiking boots was all she needed to scale the highest mountain peaks, even covered in ice. A durable tent and well-insulated sleeping bag meant she could still feel wind-nipped cheeks warmed by the flames of a real campfire no matter the season, instead of settling for the store-bought logs currently crackling in the hearth behind her.

But even a rugged outdoorswoman the likes of Jestiny had to admit the blistering, unforgiving cold of Big Sky Country winter required some activities be strictly indoor-only until the first wildflowers of spring poked up from the hard, frozen earth.

And even with all the proper equipment packed, when it came to the activities that required removing clothing…

“God, I’ve needed this so fucking bad,” John whined against her jaw, pulling her along by the arm as his other hand impatiently finished her work of centering her strap-on properly in its harness. “I want you to fuck me all night long, right into the New Year. I want you to fuck me in every room of this house, until I can’t look anywhere without thinking of you.”

What Jessie didn’t have to admit — at least not out loud — was that the spacious yet cozy faux rustic interior of Seed Ranch, with its pervasive scent of leather, pine, and woodsmoke wafting from the fireplace; the vista of sprawling snow covered mountains offered up by its grand far-stretching windows; the lurking presence of hoards of taxidermy animals around every corner, made it the best substitute she could imagine for the thrill of fucking outdoors.

Yes, it was all blatantly, dreadfully fake — but fake was better than nothing.

“I want you to take me right here on my dining room table,” John continued to lustfully monologue to himself as his thighs hit the edge of the table on his path backward with Jessie in tow, turning from their embrace just long enough to sweep an arm along its length and knock all the stray clutter atop it to the floor. “Don’t hold back. Be rough enough to break it. Just give it to me and don’t stop.” He hopped atop the table to sit, then wrapped legs around Jestiny’s waist to pull her into place. “Then I want you to lay me down in front of the fireplace. Hold me close and take your time with me, give it to me slow until I’m fucking begging. Then drag me upstairs and bend me over the railing. Pound me until I can’t stand, until I cry. Then I want you to carry me into the model plane room and…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she shushed as she pushed him back to his elbows, popping the top off of the bottle of lube clenched in her fist. “I’ll fuck you on every tacky ass piece of furniture in this ugly fucking house.” She forced an extra grumble of irritation to hide the tremor of desire threatening to slip into her words from the sight of him laid back for her with legs spread, brow slick with sweat and the dew of melting snowflakes still clinging to his eyelashes. “I assume you want me to lube it up first, though…”

“Let me,” he cooed, grabbing the bottle from her just as it had begun to drip onto sleek silicone. “I want to do it…”

She shrugged in disinterested agreement, placing her hands behind her head and jutting her hips forward as he poured along the length, palm cradling its underside and sliding along to catch the excess.

“Fuck,” he cursed, biting down on his lip as he began to pump his hand faster along the attachment. “Already so fucking hard for me.”

She crinkled her nose and cocked her head to the side. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she questioned. “It’s a fucking dildo, John — it’s always hard.”

“It’s — It’s a turn of phrase,” he huffed, tightening his grip and jerking towards him so that she near-stumbled into him. “Are you not familiar with the concept of dirty talk? Not everything has to be so damn literal. Use some imagina —”

“And why the hell are you jerking it off?” she demanded, thrusting a hand against his collarbone. “You know I can’t feel that, right?”

“Well, I’ll try to be more realistic, then,” he snapped as he leaned forward and shoved a hand between her legs.

Fingers spring-loaded with lingering fury moved to roughly pull her harness to the side, barely stilling or softening their touch before sliding inside her. His other hand remained stubbornly wrapped around silicone to pump it at a now comically harsh pace, as if to prove just how aware he was there was no delicate flesh and blood to be concerned with suffering beneath his vice grip — beginning the spectacle with a rough shove forward of its base to press against her with a pressure that did incidentally send a rewarding flicker of pleasure through hungry nerve endings.

“Fuck,” he ground out in repetitive correction, his tone wilting midway from a sarcastic hiss to a reverent whimper as he curled his fingers. “Already so fucking wet for me.”

Well, it wasn’t her fault he looked so good flushed and panting, even through the ridiculous theatrics.

“Like you got room to fuckin’ talk,” she scoffed as she reached to quickly coat her fingers with lube, sliding inside him and finding right where they needed to be with a practiced ease that made her cheeks warm with satisfied pride at her own expertise. Her thumb traced a line up his cock to find and leisurely smear the precum dewing at his tip. “Fuckin’ dripping the second I get my fingers in you.”

The surrender in his next whimper was complete, paired with a bucking of his hips to beg for more as he mirrored her steady pumping in the pace of his own fingers, thumb tucking itself beneath her harness to find and stroke her clit properly — all while still uselessly jerking off the dildo resting atop it, of course.

Well. Maybe it was useless, but she had to admit — privately — his hands did look nice doing that.

Even if the curve of his spine restyled itself into a distinctly unnatural, exaggerated arch as he regrettably regained the faculty for words. “God, yes, do you — ah, do you like how it feels inside me?”

Another stupid question. Reaching past the contrived, polished exterior to find the depths at which he was all warm silk fluttering to the touch? Delving inside him to feel the promise of all the power to reduce him to a stuttering, pleading mess pulse beneath a single fingertip?

How could she not be positively intoxicated by it? How could the rush of adrenaline it stirred be contained to anything less than electricity prickling along every inch of skin until the air itself felt charged with the intensity of her desire?

“It feels like an asshole, John,” she deadpanned, dragging her finger to tease shallowly. “Felt one, you’ve pretty much felt them all — and until science finds a way to implant a g-spot in the human finger, I’ll be getting just as little out of it every time.”

She gave a swift upward thrust for one last prod of his prostate in punctuation before she slipped fingers out entirely in the same fluid motion of her shoulders shrugging. “I’m more interested in finally getting to fuck you so good you can’t even talk to ask dumbass questions like that.”

She used the hand sticky with lube to smear a last glob onto the head of her strap as the other cradled his face, smoothing a thumb over his pouting lip as she added, “Just as soon as you ask nice.”

His pout deepened. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb now, baby. You know the drill.” She pushed him to lay with back flat on the table. “Beg me for it.”

“No,” he said testily, lifting his chin to give her a look of pure defiance. “You beg me.”

Her breath caught, for a moment — as if his words sank to snag in her chest before her mind even processed them, lunging back up as sharp barks of laughter the moment it did.

“Alright,” she sighed, breathless, as she dropped her head to rest against his collarbone and reached down to line up her attachment. “That was funny enough I’ll let you get by without the begging, this time.”

Her hips barely canted a single centimeter forward before they were stopped by a rough fist grabbing at the base of her dildo to hold her in place.

“It wasn’t a joke,” John hissed, eyes icing cold with determination, like a pond freezing over. “You’re going to beg to fuck me, or you won’t fuck me at all.”

She allowed her confused blinks to pick up pace into a sarcastic batting of her eyelashes paired with a sweet, dimple framed smile. “John, darling. My most cherished love. Light of my life, fire of my silicone sporting loins. Could you, kindly —” she scrunched her face into a scowl, “tell me what the fuck it is you’re talking about?”

“You’ve done nothing all night but mock and belittle me, and act as if you’re somehow begrudgingly doing me a favor,” he snapped. “Now you’re going to admit you want it as badly as I do,” he said, allowing his tone to melt and soften as he circled a finger around delicate, rosy skin. “If you want this, you have to beg for it.”

Oh, he was serious.

Heat flared in the pit of her stomach at how serious he was.

All the better. She loved a challenge.

“Now is not the fucking time to be a brat, John,” she growled, threading fingers in his hair and tugging in the way that pulled a needy moan to the surface to tremble in his adam’s apple. “Now is the time to be a good boy and spread your legs.”

“Oh, and I will,” he moaned, craning his neck so the pull of his hair was tautened — a dare, a meet and raise of a bet. “I’ll be so good for you, as soon as I hear that magic word.”

This time, the hand around her strap stayed still as he reached down to wrap one around his own cock.

“Say ‘please’ for me, Jessie,” John begged with wide eyes as he began to stroke himself. “I’m already so close — don’t make me cum from touching myself alone. I want you to fuck it from me. I need your strap.”

That bastard. But two could play that game.

“Are you begging me to beg you?” she scoffed as she began rolling her hips in steady rhythm, the tip of her strap just barely bumping against him as she fucked the grip of his hand in a promise of what she could do. “Why would I beg for something I won’t even feel?”

“Because you want to take me, don’t you, Jessie? Don’t you want this ass to be yours?” Fuck, he did not play fair — spreading his legs wider and pushing forward to rub the head against slickened, puckered skin, make it look so easy to slide home and fuck the attitude out of him. The sight alone made the friction of grinding against a held still strap-on swell to an unexpected thrum of ecstasy trickling through her veins. “God, I want it. I want to feel the way you move inside me. I want to belong to you, every part of me. I want to cum for you, only for my Jessie.”

Christ, when did the cheesy, unnatural porn lines start working on her?

“Must not want it t-too bad,” she grunted with a particularly harsh snap of her hips. The electricity in the air had heavied, absolutely saturated it. It fizzled with that strange feeling of being up high during a thunderstorm, everything so strongly charged that hair stood on end. “Since you won’t just let me —”

“Oh, I will, Jessie,” he panted, training his eyes on her impotent thrusts as he stroked himself faster. “I’ll let you do anything you want, as soon as you’re ready to —”

“Just —” She glared, thrust harder as if she could break right through his grip and end the standoff, only managing to increase pressure. “Move your fucking hand, and I’ll —”

“You’ll what?” he teased, squeezing the thighs wrapped around her waist. “Please tell me, won’t you? At least talk me off the way I like, since you’re not going to —”

“You’re not going to get off at all, until I —” Fuck, how was this happening? How could she feel every fiber of authority she possessed suddenly unraveling to slip from her fingers? “Say you’re fucking allowed —”

“I’m so close,” he gasped, tossing his head back and arching towards her — the tip of her strap just barely disappearing as he did. “But feel so empty. Oh, Jessie, won’t you —”

“Can you just —” Her cheeks were scalding as she fumbled to grab his hips and grumbled, “For the — the fucking love of god, could you please just —”

She found herself falling forward before she’d even realized the damned word had fallen from her lips, his hand pulling away the second it was spoken and his legs flexing to pull her in, sliding inside him as her knees smacked against the table.

And every volt of electricity hanging overhead came suddenly crashing down with her as she buried to the hilt as the coaxing of his eager rocking hips — as if lightning finally crackled through the air to ripple down her spine and spread through her body. Spread so forcefully she could taste it in her mouth, feel it tingle along her tongue and shoot down her jaw as the current seemed to hone on the place the base of the strap pressed just right against her clit — suddenly overloading from the sensation, short-circuiting into blissful oblivion.

And it felt as if she really had been struck by lightning — the way her flesh crawled with searing heat, the way her insides turned and convulsed, the way every muscle twitched and trembled in pure surrender to its force.

“Did you, um —” he shifted beneath her, pausing and clearing his throat as if for once in his life he realized what a ridiculous thing he was about to say and managed to think twice before saying it, “did you finish?”

“Did I —” she coughed weakly against his collarbone, wishing it had come out closer to a scoff than it did. “I’m genuinely fuckin’ curious — do you even bother to try to make the shit that comes out of your mouth make sense? Or do you just start flapping your jaws and see what happens?”

She did not wait for an answer before summoning her remaining wisps of strength to wind her hips back, forcing wobbly legs pleading to collapse beneath her to instead power a proper thrust forward.

She yelped, a jolt of pain shooting up through sensitive, overstimulated nerves as the base of the strap pressed against her clit at the full extension of her stroke.

John craned his neck, eyes scanning far too knowingly along the flush of pink sprawling along her cheeks and chest. “We can stop, if it’s —”

“I’m fuckin’ fine!” she barked. “I just —” She coughed, reaching down to slip a thumb beneath rubber ring and wedge under the dildo to put space between its base and her sore clit. “Gotta adjust a bit — you put this thing in at the wrong fuckin’ angle, fucked everything up.” She wriggled her hips back with a final grumble of, “Why you should never trust a man to do a woman’s job.”

She began rocking forward with hand still in place to lighten pressure against nerves pleading for rest — she could do this, she just needed to fake it through a few minutes of recovery period. She just needed to —

“Shit!” she cursed, jittery thumb pressing too hard against the base to push it free from the ring with a taunting pop, staying lodged stubbornly inside her lover as she reeled back. She lurched forward, hurrying to retake her place, looking down to gauge position and hopefully reattach herself before he noticed. “Goddamn…”

“Seriously, are you alright?” John questioned as he pushed himself up to his elbows. “Would you like ten minutes and a glass of orange —”

He was interrupted by a thud as he rose to sit fully upright and meet her face to face, Jestiny’s eyes barely catching to follow the shiny black blur that shot from between his legs to land heavy at her feet.

“Fuck.”

Her clumsy rush (since when was she clumsy? first saying ‘please’ and now this?) to turn and reach for the fallen dildo (was her sleight of hand good enough to reattach it without him noticing? what skills did she still have?) resulted in her kicking it with the heft of her combat boot (was it not a good idea to wear them during sex? who even was she?) before she’d even managed to bend down.

She whipped around, finding hardwood bare save for a slight glistening streak. When she lifted her head to follow the snail trail of lube, she found the strap-on had rolled itself across the greater length of floor — losing little momentum as wood broke into granite.

The slight rise of the granite platform barely impeded it at all, in fact, as it rolled right past the wrought-iron guard that had been haphazardly left ajar by Jestiny as she built the fire, tenderly welcomed into the roaring inferno of the fireplace.

The dead lump of a scream in her throat seemed to creep down to spread its decay, making her insides shrivel into brittle rot. As the stench of burning plastic filled the air, her eyes began to water from the sting of chemical smoke. She wondered if she might actually cry for the first time in her adult life.

“Wha — ! Aah,” A confused, devastated noise caught in the back of Jestiny’s throat, withering there to die at the first crackle of silicone as her prized strap-on went up in flames before her eyes.

The world swirled around her, buffeting at her senses like the cruelest of snowstorms.

Past the whistle and crackle of flame devouring silicone and the whoosh of her own pulse in her ears, Jestiny heard the muffled garble of a television set she hadn’t realized was on blare suddenly loud from the recesses of the ranch, cheers of ‘Happy New Year!‘ over discordant symphony of paper horns blown in celebration conjuring images of ceremonial ball reaching the denouement of its annual journey to the base of its pole into her mind unbidden.

On cue, somewhere in the background, a grandfather clock solemnly chimed to announce the turn of the hour.

And there stood teary-eyed, gaping mouthed Jestiny — some bizarre sex toy Cinderella whose impressive phallus turned back into a puddle of cheap plastic polymer at the stroke of midnight.

“Well,” John’s bemused hum pierced through the cacophony rattling around inside Jessie’s brain as he peered past her to the spectacle of silicone bubbling down to black ooze in his fireplace. “I guess it isn’t always hard.”

“Fuck!” Her shout crumpled back into a weak whimper as plain splintered through her knuckles before she even realized she’d swung to strike the table.

She kept fist loosely clenched and eyes glued to the grain of the table as John turned back towards her.

She caught in her periphery the falling of his sly smile. His brow pinched inward as he looked back and forth between Jessie’s flushed, scrunched face and the empty rubber ring at the front of her crotch, his eyes softening with the most genuine look of sympathy she thought she’d ever seen him wear, a level of earnest compassion she would have thought him incapable of even faking properly.

The kind of condescending pity that made her stomach curdle, made her blood boil hot as a melting strap-on. That she would normally lash out to reject, were she not already so thoroughly defeated and stripped of pride.

“It’s alright,” John whispered softly, reaching over to give a few comforting pats to Jessie’s curled fist before bringing his hand up to cup her jaw and lift her chin, guiding her to look into gentle blue eyes. “It happens to everyone, sometimes.”

“That —” she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder in gesture to the strap-on cremation still blazing strong behind her, drawing in a ragged breath, “has literally never happened to anyone before.”

“Well, it was... innovative,” John innovated the world’s first performatively horny purr that doubled as bland diplomacy to reply in, throwing his arms around her neck in embrace.

“We —” Her voice sounded so uncharacteristically small to her own ears as she stumbled over her words. “We can do other stuff. I can still finish you —”

“That’s alright. It was enough just to feel close to you,” John shushed, nuzzling against her neck. “All I want now is for you to carry me to the fireside and hold me.”

God, it was such obvious, manipulative fawning; such a poorly disguised consolation prize. She should storm out in offense.

In no position to refuse consolation prizes, Jessie slid an arm beneath the bend of his knees, wrapping the other around his middle. She gave a slight grunt as she hoisted his weight, at this point truly just grateful she managed not to drop him on the short walk over to the bearskin rug she lowered him to sprawl atop.

“You —” The impulse to counter with a comment that the firelight made him look much older from the shadows cast into the creases of his face extinguished itself as quickly as it sparked. “You would look even prettier by the light of a real campfire,” she muttered as she fell limp, allowing John to tangle their limbs as he saw fit. “That’s what we should do next New Year’s Eve. I hate being cooped up inside.”

“You always look so beautiful, bathed in firelight,” John sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“And do you envision our rugged adventures would begin with a first-class flight to the southern hemisphere?” he asked with a soft laugh, a hand smoothing along her sides. “I don’t have your outdoorsy expertise, of course, but I’d say it’s hardly pleasant camping weather around here.”

“It’s not so bad, actually,” she sighed pleasantly. “Pitching a tent in the dead of winter,” she continued, absentmindedly threading fingers through his hair. “So long as you —”

She coughed, clearing her throat and hiding her face and its burning cheeks against his chest as she finished the statement. “So long as you have the right equipment.”

She definitely should have just gone fishing.

#nsft #otp: stop bothering these nice folks #oc: deputy jestiny ellen #writies and wordies #hey at least i did manage to post it before january ended. still kinda the new year #i think maybe. they are good for each other #plot twist: SHE gets brat tamed. mostly by her own hubris but still. john dom moments they said i couldn’t do it.#also: jenna would reprimand me if i did not mention pure silicone will not melt like that.#assume jestiny is wearing a cheap blend regardless of how she refers to it #i also took some liberties with ranchsion redesign for this #in the actual game the platform of the hearth is raised and the guard does not have doors so this could not have happened #these are the only unrealistic parts of the fic.

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to-kazuha · 4 months

Text

: ̗̀➛ as long as we meet again

ft. kazuha, beidou makes a brief appearance

wc. 1.1k

cw. intentional lowercase ; unedited ; dialogue might be slightly awkward since i’m not good at it

an. from an ask on my previous blog.

disclaimer; this is a restart of a previous blog of the same name. all works published are my own.

the waves crashed against the wooden poles of the docks you were situated on, salty ocean breeze ruffling your clothes ever so slightly and providing a small bit of relief from the hot evening sun.

to pass the time – and to also make it seem like you aren’t completely impatient – you reread the final letter that you had received from the one and only kaedehara kazuha. your boyfriend had left just over two months ago, venturing aboard the crux, captained by the infamous beidou.

you’d had no qualms about kazuha leaving without you, albeit feeling slightly lonely at the residence that the both of you shared whenever he was in inazuma. beidou had happily offered you a spot on her ship, stating that it might do kazuha some good to have a more familiar face among the crew instead of sitting up in the crow’s nest being broody and melancholic all the time (her words, not yours). alas, the universe was just not on your side and you had duties elsewhere.

throughout his journey the both of you communicated via letter mail, although infrequently since you had to wait until the crux had docked somewhere. kazuha had labelled each letter with a number, signifying how many days were left until they would make their return to the land of inazuma.

all of this led to now, you rereading the letter with the number two written neatly in the top right corner. a promise of his return was hidden within a poem that he had written for you, knowing you would read his words until you could recite them from heart, and would dissect the meanings of each and every line.

you folded the letter up gently, placing the piece of paper in the small bag you had brought along. you had packed a small container of fish that you had carefully made that morning, hoping that kazuha would enjoy the meal since he complimented your cooking each time you had the pleasure of cooking for him.

you closed your eyes, leaning back on your hands and letting the breeze card its fingers through your hair, the sound of birds flying overhead and the chatter of people enveloping all your senses.

after what felt like an eternity – when in reality it had probably only been an hour at most – a child’s exclamation had brought you out of the peaceful mind state you had been in. you looked over your shoulder, following the direction the child had excitedly pointed to. a ship was approaching, and you could spot a familiar silhouette situated up high on the crow’s nest.

you breathed a sigh of relief, hands slightly shaking in anticipation of getting to see your lover once again. you stood up, collecting your bag and dusting your clothes off, attempting to make yourself more presentable instead of staying in the disheveled state the wind had caused you to be in.

the crux had finally docked, a couple of crew members rushing off the deck and onto the wooden pier of ritou, a few greeting you as they passed by. in the distance you saw beidou in what seemed like a lighthearted conversation with another one of her crew members. your eyes searched for the maple leaf clad man, but coming up empty.

you furrowed your brows, a slight frown tugging on the corners of your lips. surely you had seen kazuha, or had he been a figment of your imagination after all?

your thoughts were interrupted as a pair of hands gently grabbed each of your biceps, a voice you knew all too well making itself known in your ear,

“are you looking for someone?”

your heart felt as if it wanted to jump out of your chest, propelling your body around to lightly smack the shoulder of your anemo-gifted lover,

“don’t scare me like that!”

he muttered out a halfhearted apology, one you wouldn’t have heard had he not been so close to you, before pulling you into an embrace and resting his chin on your shoulder. your arms automatically wrapped themselves around him, returning the embrace as if it was second nature.

“missed you,” kazuha spoke, his breath lightly tickling your neck and the skin on your shoulder that was exposed. at that moment, it felt like only the two of you had existed, the rest of the harbour erased from your mind as you took in the feeling of kazuha’s comforting embrace after being apart.

“missed you, too,” you replied, before gently pulling away to cup his face, rubbing your thumb soothingly along his cheekbones. kazuha’s eyes closed, unconsciously leaning into your touch.

like all things, the sweet moment between the two of you had to end. you were once again frightened as a strong hand grasped your shoulder, a certain captain coming into your peripherals. kazuha’s eyes slowly opened, your hands falling down from his face as you turned to look at the one who had interrupted the both of you and brought you back into reality.

“sorry to interrupt the moment, lovebirds,” beidou spoke, “but i wanted to greet y/n, and get your thoughts on a get together i was thinking of hosting. any places you’d recommend, since you are the inazuma native, after all.”

you’d recommended a few places, with kazuha chiming in with a comment here and there, although he remained mostly silent and in his own thoughts, as he usually was. beidou left shortly after to scout out a couple of your recommendations, leaving just you and kazuha once more.

the weight of your bag on your hip reminded you of the container you had packed that morning to give to your lover, letting out a quiet “oh!” before reaching into it, and bringing said container out.

“i made this for you earlier,” you said, thrusting the container into kazuha’s hands, “i hope you like it. you’ll have to heat it up though.”

he opened the container, eyes sparkling when he saw the meal you had carefully prepared for him. he closed it again after inspecting it for a few seconds, slowly meeting your gaze,

“thank you,” his soft voice spoke, a hint of adoration making its way into his words.

“you never have to thank me for anything, kazu,” you raked your hands gently through his wind-tussled hair, leaving a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. a very subtle blush tinted his cheeks, eyes looking anywhere but you for a moment.

after he had recovered from his flustered state, he gently intertwined his fingers with yours, “i think a shared meal is in order, don’t you agree?”

you let kazuha lead you in the direction of your residence, sharing details of your adventures along the way.

dividers from @/cafekitsune.

i do not condone the reposting or translating of my works anywhere. if you like my content, please reblog it instead.

#🖋️ ; raine’s poetry #⛅️ ; clear weather all around #to-kazuha #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #genshin kazuha x reader

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writingquestionsanswered · 6 months

Note

Hello,

I'm writing a romance fanfiction with an alternate identities twist (characters know each other in real life but also fall in love when they're in their 'alter egos' mode).

It's going decently well, except it's really hard for me to get the two characters to start talking in the first place.

One of them pours wine on the other and they begin a conversation, but I don't know how to go from "sorry for dumping wine on you' to actually talking.

I'm sorry if this question sounds long winded, but do you have any tips?

Thank you!

Sparking Interest (and Dialogue) After a Meet-Cute

We interact with new people all the time. We accidentally get in their way at the grocery store and laugh it off. We share a laugh at the gas pumps over something random that happens. We hold the office door open for them or vice versa. This is just living in a society. If we struck up a relationship with every person we interacted with, we'd be swamped with relationships. So, what takes an otherwise run-of-the-mill social interaction from that to the start of a relationship? A mutual spark of interest.

When two people interact for the first time, in order for something more to develop, there needs to be a mutual spark of interest. It could be as simple as mutual physical attraction, but more often it's the realization of some commonality or recognition of compatibility. For example, in a run-of-the-mill social interaction, Character A would spill wine on Character B, Character B would fret and Character A would apologize profusely. Character B would wipe it up and try to wave it off as no big deal. Character A would probably apologize again, Character B would reiterate that it's not a problem, and that would probably be that. They would go their separate ways, Character A feeling bad about the mishap, and Character B probably off to the restroom to deal with the stain.

But, if we want this to become something more... if we want the dialogue to be more than profuse apology and "don't worry about it," we need to find something to spark the characters' mutual interest. For example, maybe as Character B is wiping away the wine, they joke that it's a shame to waste even terrible, inexpensive wine. And then Character A laughs and says they're glad they're not the only one who thought the wine was terrible, adding that they were afraid they'd become a bit of a wine snob after visiting some wineries in France. This perks Character B's ears, because they also spent some time in France. "Where in France?" and Character A responds with wherever, to which Character B says, "What a funny coincidence! I spent a year there in college, and just went back to visit two years ago." And there you have it... a spark of mutual interest because they have something in common... France, or this particular region of France. Now they have something to talk about, and talking about the time they both spent in France opens up other likes, dislikes, interests, etc. Maybe it comes out that they both studied European Literature. Or maybe it comes out that they both grew up in New York. Maybe this leads to the realization that they're both theater geeks... and the rest is history.

So, that's the key... find something one of the characters can grab onto to start a conversation that leads to the discovery of mutual interests, or even just compatibility--liking the same thing, disliking the same thing, sharing an opinion on something. These things spark discussion, which leads to more discoveries of things in common, and pretty soon they hit it off and bond a little. Next time they meet, they're practically old friends, which makes it even easier to talk, and even easier to take things to the next step... deciding to hang out or go on a date, exchanging phone numbers or e-mail addresses, etc.

Happy writing!

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ezlo-x · 11 months

Text

god ok i need to get it off my mind or it will eat me alive or I will forget my actual thoughts abt it sooo here I go

Hi...soo this is me talking abt the current Dragon Tears that I obtained. Yesterday I got Dragon tear #5 and today I managed to get #6 and #7 and...yeah. I was originally planning to hold on my thoughts until I completed the Gerudo Region but what I saw in those memories I have things to say and idk how long it would take me to complete it so I'm starting with the dragon tear memories. (also sadly no in-game/cutscene screenshots this time around cause I kept forgetting and didn't took any </3)

So Tear #5 we got more to "know" abt Ganondorf. Where he apologizes abt what he did in Tear #4 to Rauru and Sonia. And I think I'm just going to share what I said last night abt it

Sooo I wasn't expecting this type of writting with Ganondorf. I obviously sound very emotional in these messages cause I was heading straight to sleep after I got the cutscene, I don't think totk Ganondorf is worse than oot Ganondorf. I think he's a different kind of badly written meanwhile with OoT I can cut him some slack where he's technically the first Ganondorf from an old console game yada yada. Also worldbuild of Zonai?? No? Ganondorf is just gonna casually throw that dialogue that Zonai were once gods or smth like that and never mention it again ok. And like I said in those messages I think what Ganondorf said abt Rauru marrying Sonia was so ughhhhhhhhhh like really? We're gonna make him racist cause you couldn't add depth to a villain really? And his motives abt wanting to become king is just...that he has no motives he has no reason on why he wants to do it just cause he's EVILLLL and he has EVILLL intentions OOOOOOOOOOO like fuck off. How is it possible that nintendo was able to give him depth in Wind Waker and then water down his character to "ummm cringe that YOU as a Zonai married a Hylian Woman you're a beta 🤓" Nintendo says, "we don't want people to like him or find him interesting he's the bad guy! make him say something racist and give him no clear motive on why he wants to do what he wants to do he's EVILLL you're not supposed to root for him!!"

But sure give him no motive on why he wants to do this other than being evil. Nintendo is honestly better off writing comedic villains with dark lore (Kohga) I knew that they would never reach WW Ganondorf levels of good but from what im seeing like wooowww

anyways to add a glimpse of hope Tear #6 came clutch w Sonia and Rauru. I loved the dynamic they both have with Zelda they're like parents to her...wah and I simply adored how Sonia mentions Link like a mother asking for who's that cute boy you've been talking to? and Rauru being so curious to meet him. This memory was so cute I would love to wish blissful of this family living happily.

Final memory I currently got is Tear #7 and ohhhhh this is the one that just drained me.

So Sonia dies, I was honestly like surprised or shocked idk I was not expecting it good ol gotcha moment. and YES I SAW GANONDORF'S NASTY SMILE THAT ACTUALLY FREAKED ME OUT LIKE EW

AND I was sad that we're not going to see Sonia anymore rlly loved her I was hoping for more of her as a character. But yeah I was in shambles when that cutscene happened, like once I got the cutscene I just closed the game cause I just wanted to process what happened.

And that is all I have, sorry if I sound more pessimistic and negative this time around. Just realizing where they are going with Ganondorf just put me into the 10 stages of grief. Looking forward more to the story and the characters just not Ganondorf

#totk spoilers #txt

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2aceofspades · 1 year

Note

Is that “Leo in the afterlife” comic cancelled? I understand if it is, things happen.

An interesting and good question…

So. I thiiiink you’re referring to my comic called Purgatory…which I only posted on Twitter. I have no idea whether it made its way to Tumblr or Pinterest…etc. Anywizzle! Uh, I don’t think I will finish that comic…unfortunately. This is for a few reasons, which I will do my best to explain.

I usually make comics to project my thoughts and feelings. Expressing through art is definitely my preferred medium. And whenever I have something I just need to get out of my system…I usually turn to comics. That said, whenever I make a comic, I am in a certain…headspace…usually an angsty one. So, if I’m not really in that headspace…I find it a bit more difficult to articulate what I’m trying to process through my comics. Long story short, I move through my feelings a bit too quickly sometimes, which ends in unfinished comics *cough this isn’t my only unfinished comic cough*

This comic isn’t really ‘old’ but it’s old enough in my eyes that I only sort of see my style in it. I find that sketching really helps to loosen up my style, and I’ve kind of just been sketching for the time being.

Speaking of sketching…this comic was lined, which, poses one particular problem…I hate doing line art. You’re basically drawing the same thing TWICE AAUUGH. It also takes longer and it makes my art look more stiff and not as expressive. But most of all…it takes FOREVER. And I am lazy…my deepest apologies/gen

Lastly, I am kind of using Tumblr as sort of an ‘escape’ from Twitter…in a way. I understand that, given my following on Twitter, I may get a bit more ‘traction’ on there. But…I want to make art…not shallow art…and that’s what I felt I was leaning towards on Twitter. I feel a lot freer to post pretty much whatever little sketches I make in a day, week, month on here.

So, with that very long-winded explanation…no, I don’t think I will finish that comic. I am also disheartened by this as I really liked making that comic, and I spent hours working on it. I even have a few pages of sketches that I never lined or did the completed dialogue for. Here’s one of them that I was particularly fond and proud of (I wanted to line this one so badly gah):

Also, if any of y’all read this whole thing…thank you 💙✨ I really appreciate it, and I really appreciate your curiosity! 🤗

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ciagent8 · 4 months

Text

UNDERTALE YELLOW TECHNICALLY NOT LIVEPOSTING. PART 2!!! SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

part one here if you guys like my rambling

we're back! we must continue the journey after . killing a lot of people.

this reminds me of that thing in undertale with the uhh. lesser dog snowmans. HONEYDEW RESORT ENTRANCE!!:

interesting. i wonder who runs this place? it looks cozy

(will ruin the atmosphere via murder) oh my GOD WHY IS THE WIND BLOWING. thats horrifying!

What.

I KNEW THERE WOULD BE A HIDDEN ENTRANCE IN THE BACK AHAHAHHAHAH

oh my god

who the hell killed everyone LAST time???

well. not for long. (slowly pulls out gun)

you dont FUCKING say huh

how is coffee better than ice.... oh . it isnt. nvm

so wait why would i use the coffee ammo??????? is there a reason or

oh man, im so happy i finished that puzzle!

(realizes i have to do it again) fuck

we are struggling YAY WE DID IT martlet fight(?):

oh you poor poor soul

girlie we are a Homicidal Child

Killing you

WHY IS STILL TRYING HELP US. WE ARE GOING TO KILL YOU

unfortunately, yes martlet, we DO try to kill everyone

yeah

HER MUSIC IS SO GOOD??? BUT AHHHHHHHH WHAT THE HELL ARE HER ATTACKS AHHHH-

oh my god

it took me 7 TRIES!!!! YAHOOOOO.

fuck. she retreated. is that supposed to happen?? i feel like maybe im on a neutral route now. im not sure if she was supposed to retreat or not, she also mentioned how like. shes glad we attacked early cause she would've told us where everyone else is. you know what i think im gonna retry the battle

interesting... if i apologize multiple times i get new dialogue. is she gonna spare us?

nevermind it doesnt do anything special it just. skips her boss and puts on neutral i suppose?

im gonna try apologizing and getting to her LAST line of dialogue and just. shooting her . eheheh

update: almost gave myself spoilers trying to see if there were any strategys (specifically for the part with the falling objects. god i hate that part)

so i just wasted time repeating the bossfight AND almost gave myself spoilers!! ..uwahhh

so. since i wasted so much time on martlet. i'll give some personal insight onto how the attack is.

God awful

most of her attacks are easy, *especially* since if you look at the crosshairs, it shows you what direction the attacks will go in/come from.

so all you need to do is just stand there.

with the boxes, you just have to stick to the ground. its safest, just make sure not to get crushed by objects/incoming boxes. the WORST attacks in my opinion would be the feathers exploding into 3 extra feathers attack, and the wind attack with falling objects.

the first of the two is easier, just stay away from the big red feathers and treat it all like a bullet hell.

i still havent figured out a strategy for the wind attack, i honestly just hope i dont get a bad combination of objects and usually heal right before the attack arrives.

but, yeah! i also noticed if you apologize and then attack right after, she seems to skip a line of dialogue and also maybe an attack? its hard to tell.

so yeah! apologies for rambling

moving on!

i like the fact you can see flowey during this cutscene

too bad we. crash. the boat.

whoops

YEAHHHHHHHHH desert!

i'd also like to ramble once more; i like how all of these locations and characters clover meet are kind of implied to exist at the same time as the other monsters?

like, the dark ruins: frisk wouldnt encounter it because she never falls into the dark ruins.

the other part of snowdin? it makes sense it exists; we took a different exit out of the ruins, and if you look at the base game, you can overlook a HUGE forest. who knows how many more monsters there are around?

i think im gonna feel the worst about killing him. look at him. a little guy

OH NO I JUST REALIZED

HIS ATTACKS ARE AFFECTED BY HOW DAMAGED HE IS..

CAUSE ON THE ATTACK WHERE HE GOES UP AND DOWN THE SCREEN HE JUST. STAYS AT THE TOP WITH A SAD EXPRESSION..

NOOO-

also for some reason they remind me of. binding of isaac enemies. i dont know why.

one mORE thing i'd like to wonder: where is mo????

is mo gonna like.. come back? im just curious cause like he got a whole intro, theme song, everything. so surely hes gonna come back right??

you've gotta be kidding me

this. this is just sad.

the singular tree in the desert

on a lighter note i love the sprite artwork though!!!

OH MY GOD MO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MO- DID HE JUST RIP OFF HIS SLEEVES??

hes like. trying so hard to be cool. and its kind of cool in a way if that makes any sense at all

hell yeah mo time

wait does he know we killed everyone

hell yeah mo

love how he doesnt care that he killed everyone he just wants money. i love mo. fuck i do NOT want to kill him

damn i just realized he leaves when you buy his stock. i wonder if maybe on a pacifist route that'd be how you befriend him?

too bad he's gonna. erm. probably die. damn i do not wanna kill him

i have one again reached my image limit so i am taking a break. thats all folks! hope you enjoy my ramblings

#undertale yellow #undertale yellow spoilers

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rosanna-writer · 5 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Putting this one under a cut because there's some discussion of the murder of Rhys's family

This scene is still rough but I jotted down bits of it the other day because I couldn't get some of the dialogue out of my head <3

...The grass around the graves was well-kept. "I'm sorry," Rhys said, and I almost asked what he was apologizing for before I realized he wasn't speaking to me, "for going so long without visiting. I was— It's over now. I'm back. And I didn't come back alone. This is Feyre. She's my mate, and I kept my promise, mama. Feyre got the ring back all on her own." I reached a hand out for him, but Rhys didn't take it, just wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. For a long moment, everything was quiet except for the distant sound of birds and the wind blowing through the pines.

And also

But I wasn't finished, and I forced myself to keep going. I'd fulfilled a promise today, but I had a new oath to swear. "The male who got you killed ripped me from my family and manipulated me for his own ends. If Rhys and I hadn't found each other…my blood would have been on Tamlin's hands, too. He will not endanger a Night Court female again. I'll make sure of it, even if I have to slay the beast myself."

#i think about rhys visiting their graves all the time #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

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alixinwwonderland · 1 year

Text

(I had a TMMM-themed dream the other night, and the bit of dialogue in it stuck in my head until it turned into this. Enjoy?)

Despite that rather sweet apology from Sylvio, Midge still looks over her shoulder a little too often when she walks through Riverside Park. So, from time to time, when she wants to be completely and totally assured that a peaceful walk won’t be disrupted by a handsome former lover, she heads down to Washington Square Park instead.

It’s been working great, until today.

At first, Midge doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing. The man on the bench just a few steps away looks tired, to be sure, but not in the way he looked that awful, awful night at that awful, awful club, with a stool covered in court documents and a set spiraling rapidly out of control. He still looks too thin, but not as frighteningly so. His hair is endearingly rumpled, curls outlined in the midday sun, and his jacket is discarded on the bench beside him, revealed rolled-up, also-rumpled white shirtsleeves — a particular brand of casual, relaxed intimacy that takes her back to a humid stroll on a Miami boardwalk.

But it can’t be him.

She’s read the headlines. She’s heard the gossip. She knows what’s been happening. She saw it firsthand. And besides, even if he were back in the city, what are the odds he’d be out in the middle of the day, sitting on a bench in the very same park where she is?

But they’ve always had an instinct for finding each other, haven’t they? No matter how big the place, the city, or the country, they wind up in the same rooms, as if someone secretly placed magnets beneath their skin so that they’d always be drawn to each other across any distance.

But it can’t be him.

But it is him. Lenny Bruce, back in New York, slouched on a bench in Washington Square Park, and Midge has a decision to make. And yet it’s not really a choice at all, is it?

As Midge approaches, she stops in her tracks as a small, blonde girl, who looks perhaps a year or so younger than Ethan, runs up to Lenny. He looks down from the book he’s reading, says something to her, then smoothes back her ponytail with a smile and sends her back off to where she’s playing with a few other children.

Midge debates turning back now, not wanting to intrude on a part of Lenny’s life that he has clearly worked very hard to keep away from everyone, her included. But she remembers the sheepish pride in his voice when he mentioned his daughter in that long, lonely terminal, and the glisten in his eyes. She realizes, then, what she hadn’t in that moment, having been so focused on her own shame from their last conversation (and so flustered from the way his gaze had flicked up and down her body when she approached, just like it had when he’d peeled a dress from her shoulders and gazed at her in her show corset and garters before following the path of his eyes with nimble, strong hands).

He’d been trying to show her that this was different. That she was different — someone he could talk to his daughter about, not rant defensively about being creatures of the night. And she’d just… brushed it off, tried to reset them to a casual place, without even acknowledging that the ship had sailed.

Besides, she’s still not convinced he’s real and not a figment of her exhausted imagination.

Faster than her brain can weigh the pros and cons, her feet are carrying her over to stand in front of him. He looks up from his book, and she can see the flicker of surprise cross his face. Before he can open his mouth to say anything, she’s reaching out, brushing her fingers against crisp, wrinkled cotton and feeling the solid warmth of his upper arm beneath it.

Lenny looks at her hand on his arm, then back at her.

“New form of greeting take hold since I was last here?” he asks.

“Well, you have been gone a while, you might have missed a few trends,” she replies, letting go now that she can be sure.

“You wanna sit?” He picks up his jacket and moves it into his lap. Midge hesitates for only a moment before sitting in the empty spot beside him. She folds her hands on her lap, the better to resist the urge to touch him again.

“So. Back in New York, I see,” she says.

“For a few weeks. I got a couple meetings. Couple of gigs that haven’t been canceled yet.” He shrugs. “Nothing like you, Mrs. Maisel. I see the TV bigwigs have finally picked up on what the rest of us knew years ago.”

“That hiring me could singlehandedly send their entire costuming department into overtime?” she quips. A half-smile plays at Lenny’s lips.

“That. And, that you’re too funny to be away from the spotlight too long.” He smiles for real at her, softly, in that way that Midge has learned over the years seems to be mostly reserved for her.

“Are we really doing this?” she asks. Lenny’s brow creases.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“This.” She waves her hands. “Small talk. How’s work, what’s new—”

“Who’s got gout?” Lenny offers, smirking behind his hand.

“Stop that.” Midge can’t help the smile that spreads across her own face, but she does her best to stay focused.

“I’ve heard about—”

“Ah, don’t believe everything you read in the papers,” Lenny quips, fumbling for a cigarette and lighting it. He offers Midge one, but she shakes her head. “Besides, you’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“Do I?” Midge asks, and there’s that look on his face again, the one that means she’s touched on something real and that big, beautiful, fast-paced brain of his is whirring like crazy to decide whether or not to brush her off.

He sighs, running his free hand over his face with a groan.

“Fine. What you are to the NBC costume department, I am to the entire legal industry. Prosecution and defense alike,” he says.

“Not the judges, too?”

“A little out of my price range,” he quips back, but there’s an exhaustion beneath it that worries her, as he takes another drag off his cigarette. “I hate California,” he admits, more quietly. “Too much sun, too warm, everyone is just sunshiney all the time. And the sand gets in your fucking shoes and it never gets out! Never! How the fuck is that possible?”

“Let it all out, honey,” Midge says, bridging the space between them to pat his shoulder sympathetically while stifling a giggle. He looks back up at her with a glare.

“This isn’t funny. I have found sand in places I cannot mention in polite company.”

Midge looks around dramatically.

“I don’t see any polite company here, do you?”

That earns a short, bursting, “ha!” out of Lenny, and a very bad smile.

“My mistake. Only the rabble-rousers and delinquents here,” he replies. Midge realizes she still has her hand resting on his shoulder, but neither of them seem to mind much.

“Seriously, Lenny,” she says, ducking her head to force him to meet her gaze. “What’s really going on? Are things better… or worse… or?”

Lenny takes one more drag off his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray by his side of the bench. He can’t quite meet her eyes.

“Some things are worse,” he admits, thinking of the growing line of court cases with his name involved. “Some things got worse, but… might be getting better.” And that’s a memory he’d rather not share with her: the aches and the sweats and the roiling stomach and the sheer force of will to not seek out the very thing that would bring an end to the misery, but would also make all of that exact same misery be in vain.

(He would know — he’s been down this path before, and he’s always wound up right back at the starting line eventually).

Midge nods as if she understands. She doesn’t, not deeply, but she cares so much, and he adores her for it.

“And some things… some things are a little better,” he admits. His gaze pings away from his lap, and she follows his gaze to where the little blonde girl is playing, oblivious to anything except the toys and her new playmates.

“Is that—?”

Lenny grins, and oh the proud papa look suits him, Midge thinks.

“Yeah. Hey, Kit! C’mere!” he calls out. The girl — Kit — looks up and bounds over. Up close, Midge can see the resemblance. She might be fair and blonde, and her eye color is lighter than his, but there’s a spark of lively mischief there that she knows all too well, and a lilt to the way she carries herself that echoes her father’s lanky gait.

“Kitty, I want you to meet my friend. This is Midge,” he says. “Midge, meet Kitty.”

“Your name is pretty. And so’s your dress,” Kitty says, sticking her hand out to shake. Midge takes it with an amused smile.

“Thank you. It’s short for Miriam. My name, not my dress,” she jokes, and Kitty grins.

“My name is short for something too. Brandy Kathleen,” she declares proudly, and Midge bites back a grin as she sees Lenny squirm out of the corner of her eye.

“I think that’s very pretty too,” is all she says, solemn to this twinkly, wise little girl.

“Do we have to go now?” Kitty asks Lenny, who looks at his watch and grimaces.

“Actually … we do. Uh… where’s your sweater?” Lenny asks, looking around. Kitty points to a spot over where she was playing. “Well then, go get it.”

As Kitty bounds off, Lenny speaks quietly to Midge.

“It’s been a good day,” he says without taking his eyes off Kitty. “Lot of times, the kids aren’t allowed to play with her. They say her daddy says bad things and their parents won’t let them.” He places a humorous emphasis in the sentence, but the smile twisting his lips is far from genuine good humor. Midge’s heart just about cracks open.

“Lenny—” she starts, but Kitty’s reappearance cuts any conversation short. The little girl looks up at Midge.

“Do you want to come over for dinner? Daddy cooks!” she says enthusiastically.

Midge grins.

“Oh, does he?” she asks. “Let me guess … does he wear an apron while he does it?”

Kitty nods, beaming.

“It’s too short for him so it looks silly,” she confides, judgmental in that way only a child can be, and it takes all of Midge’s experience with her own children’s oddities to keep a straight face. “But it’s such a pretty blue.”

Midge looks up to meet Lenny’s gaze.

“A pretty blue, huh?” she says. “So that really is your favorite color, then?”

Lenny shrugs. “It is now.”

—

Dinner is, well. It’s strange. Not in a bad way, necessarily. Lenny’s apartment in the Village is simple and lived-in. He’s no Zelda in the kitchen, but who is, and frankly, he’s the only man of her acquaintance who can acquit himself around a stove and actually turn out something not just edible, but very tasty. She would have thought the presence of his daughter would make things more awkward, but, it turns out, Kitty is just the ticket to keeping things light and pleasant, smoothing over the lingering tensions with non-stop chatter and questions.

When Kitty is finally sent to her room for the night, Lenny gets up and wanders over to the sink to do the dishes. Wordlessly, Midge gets up, finds a dishtowel, and dries.

“What is this, Lenny?” she asks softly. “You leave — almost without saying goodbye. You get yourself into an awful mess. You push everyone away who wants to help you. And now… what, you just show up in New York like nothing has happened, like we can go back to sneak attacks and bantering at clubs?”

“Well, the latter might be a little difficult, given my status as persona non grata at so many fine establishments,” Lenny jokes, turning off the water as he hands the final plate to her. Midge sets the plate down, still wet.

“Lenny.”

The smile slides off his face as he turns to look at her, really look at her.

“Okay,” he says, giving her that tiny, tiny nod that means he’s serious. “Okay,” he repeats, sitting back down at the kitchen table and gesturing for her to do the same. “What do you want to know?”

And what doesn’t Midge want to know? She settles on the first thing that comes to mind.

“The last time I saw you … all was very much not well,” she says. Her voice is gentle, but firm, making it clear that there’s no joking out of this corner this time. Lenny ducks his head, nods again.

“I know,” he says, more quietly than Midge has ever heard him. “I never wanted you to…”

“But I did,” she replies. “And now I want to know… I don’t even know what to ask.”

Lenny fiddles with his hands for a moment, twisting the corner of the dish towel that Midge had still been holding when they sat down.

“If I’m clean?” he asks. Midge swallows, then nods. The words sound so harsh, but, she supposes, that’s appropriate for a harsh reality. After a moment, Lenny nods too.

“I am,” he offers. “Have been for… a little while. After… after that, I couldn’t… I wanted to just… disappear. I just wanted…”

“Hey.” Midge covers his hand with hers. “You don’t have to … if you don’t want.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You should… you should hear it. So you can make an… informed decision.”

“Informed decision? About what?”

Lenny pulls his hand out from under hers and bounds up, picking up the towel to hang up.

“Nothing. I, uh. I think I just…”

“Complete sentences, please,” Midge nudges.

“I just thought… if you wanted… and I definitely do… I thought…” He looks at her with those big, angst-filled eyes of his. “I thought… maybe I could call. This time. But I definitely misread the—”

And now Midge gets it.

“You didn’t misread,” she says, getting up to stand at eye level, or as close to it as they can get with their height difference. “You didn’t.”

“But I thought you said ... we didn’t do that,” he points out, and Midge winces.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I was just ... i was so embarrassed, Lenny. After Carnegie Hall. I thought ... I thought I could pretend nothing was different, but I was wrong, and I’m sorry. And now...”

She takes a deep breath — if he can do this, so can she.

“I was just confused because you made it sound like there was a decision that needed to be made. And if we’re talking about the same thing… that’s a decision that was made a long time ago.”

Midge Maisel has surprised Lenny time and time again. At this point, he should be surprised at being surprised. And yet, she always manages to catch him off guard with how matter-of-fact she is about caring. Lenny is used to people hiding their hearts, keeping them tucked away because caring is dangerous in this business, caring is what holds you back and gets you hurt. But Midge has always worn her caring like a badge of honor, and there’s something about it that makes him wish he could be that way too — and maybe he can, a little. If it’s her.

He realizes, a moment too late, that he’s gaping at her. She shrugs and smiles, a little self-conscious.

“When a guy gives you advice without laughing at you, bails you out of jail, takes you to a jazz club, offers to be sympathetic, talks you up to a wary crowd, and works for free just to give you one last chance… what’s a girl to do?” she asks gently.

“You make me sound like some knight in shining armor, Midge,” Lenny mutters bitterly. “Haven’t you learned by now?”

Midge shrugs again.

“Eh. Knights are overrated. I prefer cranks in trench coats.” That earns a laugh, huffing out in a breath as Lenny tilts his head down to meet Midge’s.

“Fuck, Midge. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he confesses. “I’m clean now, but I could fall off the wagon at any moment. I got enough court cases to keep the entire state bar of New York — and possibly multiple other states — employed for several months. I’m still living in California—”

“Which you hate. Sun, sand, Mickey Mouse,” Midge quickly points out, and he chuckles again.

“My point is, my life is a mess right now. There is a very, very high likelihood that I have peaked and it is all downhill from here. And you? You’re on your way up.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis. “The world is at your feet, and people are taking notice in the best possible ways. I’m not about to be the schmuck who drags you down. You’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

Then, there are cool hands on either side of his face.

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe the reason you’re feeling so weighed down is because you’re trying to carry it all yourself? Sisyphus, wasn’t it?” she asks.

“Without the fabulous hair,” Lenny quips back, echoing the last time he let the door crack open and let Midge see just how much it cost him to be Lenny Bruce. Her lips curve upward just slightly at the corners, and he knows she’s in the same memory he is.

“I don’t know about that, I like your hair,” she teases. She runs one of her hands up to tangle in his curls, and he can’t help letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he leans into her touch.

“I remember something of the sort,” he can’t resist saying, and he opens his eyes just in time to see a pretty flush color her cheeks at a different sort of memory.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Midge says, drawing back just an inch or two but not letting go. “I let you in. I stop running from being scared I’ll ruin everything good in my life by being too much. And in return, you let me in. As much or as little as you can manage. Long-distance phone calls, if that’s what you want. Business cards for lawyers, if that’s as much as you’ll allow. Help with moving, if that’s what you decide. But you give me a little bit of the load. I’m strong enough to take it, now.”

He should say no. He should kiss her forehead and thank her politely and send her on her way and then crawl out of her life again. But there’s a piece of him that thinks (that knows) she’s right, logically — things don’t feel so heavy when someone else is carrying a little of the weight.

So instead, he leans down, slowly, so she has plenty of time to change her mind. But she doesn’t, and his lips settle on hers. And it feels… right. It feels like something he’d like to experience over and over, night after night, until years of arrests or years of drug use or just the general human condition catch up to him.

“Yes,” he says, and the smile he gets against his lips in return feels like more trouble than the law ever gave him, and he cannot wait.

#midge maisel #lenny bruce #midgelenny #the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmm #tmmmfic #midgelenny fic #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce #mine

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