#dusty blue napkins

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, prologue

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. 

This is the beginning of what you wished had no end.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 See series masterlist for extensive a/n blurb and especially for trigger warnings. Tread carefully. Ily 🧡 Please be gentle, I'm terrified 🫣

Word count: 5.1k

[series masterlist] * [next]

Prologue: In The Beginning

He comes to you every Friday. 

He gets in after dark. He is gone before dawn. 

In this shady motel on the outskirts of town, where no one will recognise your car. The curtains are yellow, and the carpet is brown. There’s a dollar store painting of the Appalachian above the bed, and the tap runs either trickling and scalding or high pressure and cold. 

You hated that in particular, in the beginning. Now you don’t care. You don’t wash him off your skin anymore. Not until you’ve got no other choice. 

Because he can’t mark you, you’d been firm on that point, he likes to come on your skin. 

When he’d finally spoke, that very first time, he’d told you he was Frankie, but you assume it’s not his real name. Which is fine, you didn’t give him your real name either. 

“Frankie” had been far subtler than you, regretful, perhaps, you like to entertain the delusion, when he’d hinted that you couldn’t leave any trace on his body. 

And, in the beginning, you couldn’t imagine that it would ever matter. 

You were wrong. 

You were wrong about a lot of things, in the beginning. 

—

Friday night. Again. 

The swinging door creaks on its hinges to let in the regulars at random intervals. Mostly men, mostly middle-aged, mostly unshaven. Mostly clad in the working-class uniform of jeans, boots and t-shirt. Few of them sit around the round wooden tables. The bar isn’t large, there’s only four of those.  

When they come in small parties, the men favour the two pools on the right. They’re lined with blue felt. The casing is made of plywood. No one ever plays darts, no one ever feeds the jukebox. Its electric cord lays unplugged on the floor, coiled like a sad sagging tail. 

If they walk in alone, they tend to sit at the bar. Head turned toward the giant television screen hung on the wall to their left, where younger men in more colourful uniforms fight, run, kick or throw balls in all shapes and sizes. Its noise is at the forefront, the middle-aged men’s conversations a low humming sound that falls into the background. 

The long and angled bar itself takes up most of the rectangular room’s space. The counter is stripped-down to the bare minimum. Stainless steel, easy to clean, practical. Four beer taps and a gambling machine and beyond the counter, a large mirror with three rows of dusty liquor bottles. 

Food is served, occasionally, as evidenced by the paper napkins dispensers and the two yellow and red plastic condiment bottles on each table. 

The barman runs the place on his own. You drink here every Friday evening, and you’ve never seen more than six customers at once, you included. Admittedly, you might not be very observant. 

Being observant requires endurance, far more than you possess and are willing to deploy and direct towards others. You’re not selfish, not in the least. But you’re tired. You’ve been tired for years. There’s no rational explanation for your exhaustion. No honourable, awe-inspiring, valid ground. You don’t even know what wears you out. It might be sadness, disappointment, or boredom. Or all three in equal parts. All you know is that, come Friday night, your head needs the support of the gray wall behind you.

The creaking noise on your left signals the arrival of another customer, stomping in with a sure gait. Your eyes stay shut. You don’t come to the very aptly named Hole in The Wall seeking the company of other people, whoever they may be. 

You come here to hide for a few hours, between the styrofoam ceiling and the dusty carpeted floor. To drink your week away in peace, but not in nerve-racking silence. Alcohol, you found out at a young age, has interesting properties: it blurs out the sharp edges of your dark thoughts in just the right amount. 

Back in spring, when you stepped in here for the very first time, you looked comically out of place in your corporate attire, and you did raise quite a few eyebrows from the other patrons. Five months later, they must have learned to see past the charade of your overpriced clothes, because none of them pays you any mind anymore. It’s better than anonymity: it’s casual indifference.

You loosen your grip around your tall cocktail glass and let the condensation drip down onto the cardboard coaster. Reluctantly, you lift your weary eyelids to locate the square napkin lying somewhere on the table and dry your fingertips on it.

That’s when you see him taking a seat at the counter, directly across from your small table. 

Years from now, you will still remember the precise circumstances of your first, brief encounter, even though you’re not fully paying attention yet. Nothing indicates tonight will be any different. Nothing suggests you are about to live through a pivotal moment in your existence.

Details will stand out, however. Mostly visual, surprisingly, given the dim lighting of the place. The back of his trucker hat, midnight blue plastic mesh, flattening the dark curls on his nape. The washed out denim of his shirt, worked-in, greenish in the diffuse artificial light, pulled taut across his back, as he sits facing away from you. 

The square shape of his shoulders is backlit against the bar’s mirror. Your empty gaze finds the solid slope of his broad silhouette, and you let it rest there, lazily following his movements whenever he picks up his glass. It’s the same comfort you find when you rest your empty head against the hard wall. It’s aimless, inconsequential.

Later, on different kinds of Friday nights, the sight of his muscles bunching as he tugs off his shirt will bring you back to this very moment. The thought will reshape into a sharp, wistful ache deep inside your heart. What would have happened, to you, to him, if he had chosen to stop for a drink at another bar, somewhere further down the road? What if you had done the same, back in April? 

For now, your mind is blessedly blank.

Does he catch your reflection in the mirror? Does he feel your gaze on the back of his head? 

After a while, how long, you cannot tell, he pivots slowly on his stool, grounded and dense. Slowly, like a mountain would if a mountain came to life and decided to walk into the ocean. He doesn’t turn around completely, just enough to look at you, one of his arms still propped on top of the counter. 

The right side of his face is darkened by the shadow from the brim of his hat, but you can make out the pronounced crease in his brow. His eyes are black, and unfathomable, like the ocean at night, but alight with a bright glimmer. They find yours instantly. 

Something shifts inside your rib cage, something close to the heart, close to pain. 

You feel exposed, entirely bare. Your breathing subsides, you cannot move, trapped in a nightmare-like stretch of time as he glares down at you, immobile, impressive, gigantic. Dark eyes boring into yours. You’re drowning in them. 

You don’t want it to end. 

Inevitably, he breaks eye-contact, and swivels back toward the mirror. He sits still for a few seconds, before grabbing his glass to finish his beer in long gulps. 

You watch him lift his hat and brush his hair to the side with a large hand, and he’s out the door less than a minute later, without so much as a glance in your direction, a conscious choice, given the minute proportions of the place. 

He leaves you sitting there, with your brow pinched and your empty drink, struggling to understand the rippling effects of his massive presence on your body and your brain.

You bring your fingers to your chest and rub them over your sternum, where the shifting sensation continues to prickle. 

Neither a second drink nor a third helps dull the feeling, but a fourth one is not an option if you want to get home without a DUI. 

It follows you into the darkness of the deserted parking lot, on the drive home and into the glass prison of your clinically clean apartment. It’s there when you get into bed, when you lie wide awake at 3am next to your sleeping fiancé, and it’s still there when you wake up, hungover and sore, four hours later. 

Nestled between your lungs. The memory of his cold hard stare. Of his soft sad eyes. 

It bypasses your most foolproof diversions of painful pleasure and pleasurable pain. Your attempts at hard work and your compulsive distractions. It robs you of your appetite, of your lucidity, of your ability to rest. It corners you in the first floor toilet of your office building on a Thursday morning, on the verge of a panic attack, until you consider calling your sister for help. 

Ava would figure it out. She’d get you out of that loop in which you’ve locked yourself up, she’d know what to say. With her crude words and her unforgiving formulations, she’d admonish your silly overreaction and dismissively rebuke your daydreams over a mundane interaction, probably throwing in something about your heteronormative fantasies. 

Dude, you’re all worked up because of a staring contest with a rando in a dive bar? she’d say. She’d toss the rhetorical question at your face, you can hear her as if you’ve already sweated through the conversation. 

She’s often harsh but she’s always right. 

And normally, you’d be seeking that out. For your little sister to bully some good sense back into your nebulous brain. 

But something has shifted. 

Dark curls, thick fingers, flexing shoulders. Solid arms. Cold, hard stare. 

He abraded something on the surface of your skin, and you don’t think you’re capable of withstanding Ava’s sarcasm in your current state. 

By the following Friday, you feel so vulnerable you consider going to another place, or not going out at all. 

Only, the alternative is worse. 

You walk into The Hole in The Wall convinced that your unsteady gait is betraying your apprehension, squinting to adjust to the dim light of the place. The bar is nearly empty, as always, save for a couple of bearded graying men you vaguely recall having seen here before. They all look the same to you, anyway. Another thing you hate about yourself.

The barman tells you to sit while he prepares your drink. The gesture is kind but uncustomary, and it only serves to increase your uneasy feeling. 

Within an hour of waiting, because that's what you've been doing, you register with an icy trickle of shame dripping down your sides, you realise he won’t be coming. 

That man’s presence here last week is the very definition of sheer happenstance. Nothing more. Nothing else. If anything, you’ve been a nuisance to him, ogling him while he was simply trying to unwind with an afterwork drink. 

You’ll never see him again. 

And it’s fine. You’ll move on, drift back into drifting, avoiding at all costs to process what happened to you when you met his gaze. The tree hiding the forest. 

When you walk up to the counter to order your second drink, the question slips away from you. 

“Can I have the same thing the man in the trucker hat had last Friday, please?”

The barman looks up at you from the tray of clean dishes he's pulling out of the dishwasher and he huffs. He’s handsome, by most standards, you notice for the very first time. Very tall, and broad, green-eyed with a three-day stubble. He’s probably a couple of years above forty. His head is shaved bald. He’s manly in a burly, albeit fatherly way. 

“Oh sweetheart, d’you know how many guys with a trucker hat I see here every day?”

It’s not meant to make you feel small, his tone is gentle. It’s a straightforward, factual answer. 

“What do you wanna drink?” he asks when you don’t answer. “Tired of that G&T yet? Cos I got good beer. This is a beer place, you know? Wanna try a light blonde, to start? Something stronger? An IPA?”

What do you want. You’ve been drinking gin all your life because that’s what your mother always has. Starting at 5pm in the afternoon. Would you, indeed, like to try a light blonde? Something stronger? An IPA, to start? 

It’s a brand-new world unfurling in front of you, a yellow brick road paved with what-do-you-wants.

“Sure,” you nod, “I can try an IPA.”

—

The barman goes by the name of Mark. He’s also the owner of The Hole in The Wall, you learn. Bought the place two years ago, after a painful divorce. A cliché, he adds, with a charming, self-deprecating smile.

The interaction’s short and altogether not unpleasant, and the beer, to your surprise, is fresh and enjoyable. It’s much tastier, in fact, than the cheap, tepid gin you’ve been sipping so far. It gets you drunk just as fast, but this time when you leave the bar, your mind is quiet, if not at ease. 

The following week, a heatwave hits the Tampa Bay. The melting asphalt sticks to your leather soles, like your sweaty clothes to your clammy skin, like your brooding mood to your dampened dreams. In a couple of days eventually, August will draw to an end, but the summer won’t end with it. It never truly does. It taunts you all year round, a sweltering reminder of how much you hate living here.

And if it wasn’t for the humidity, you’d be jogging the short distance between your car and the cool haven of the air-conditioned bar. 

You push the swinging door forward, eyes shut in anticipation of the blinding darkness and you stand in the entrance for a few seconds. The familiar and comforting smell of moldy dust mixed with beer yeast greets your senses as you take in the chill air grazing your naked arms. 

And then you reopen your eyes. 

He’s here. 

Trucker hat, blue jeans, gray T-shirt. Different clothes, same silhouette. He’s sitting at your table, his position a magnified echo of yours two weeks ago, hand loosely wrapped around his pint, seemingly asleep with his head propped against the wall. 

Mark looks at you and tilts his head in his direction, wiggling an eyebrow with a silent question of “Is this the guy you were asking about?”

Your breathing’s so loud you think everyone must hear it over the droning television. Mark’s brow furrows with incomprehension at the alarm widening your eyes, and you anchor yourself to his face, walking toward him in slow motion, climbing on the first high stool you reach.

“Hey. You ok?”

You stretch your lips in a wince of a smile.

“So? What will it be today? Wanna try a Free Dive? It’s local.”

You nod in silence, but then he grabs a large glass, and you ask tentatively, “Can I have only half a pint?”

Fuck, your mouth is so dry.

Behind you, to your right, you feel more than you hear the man shift in his chair.

Mark sighs, his left hand paused on the tap handle. 

“I don’t have beer glasses this small, sweetheart. Get a pint, the first one’s on me, okay?”

You reiterate your silent nod. He places the beer in front of you, and you swallow the first swigs too quickly. The back of your throat throbs with the fast flowing intake of the cold liquid, or perhaps it’s because of the frantic beating of your heart.

He’s getting up now, you can tell by the friction sound of the chair dragging on the carpeted floor, and your frightened expression turns downright pleading as you hear him close the distance between you.  

He’s at your back, sliding his thick naked arm past yours to return his empty glass to the counter. His movements are slow, deliberate. You get a whiff of his scent, a masculine musk, with a faint smell of laundry detergent, it’s wholesome, safety, comfort. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Looking at you with intent.

He’s so tall you have to lift your chin to hold his gaze. Hard cold stare, soft sad eyes, it’s swirling violently inside your exhausted chest and he’s leaving again already, walking toward the door like nothing just happened.

He pulls it inward and you watch him exit the bar into the dusk light.

Did he come back for you? Are you going insane? 

Sixty-seven seconds. Sixty-seven seconds is the time it takes you to decide your next move. The one that’s going to forever change your life. The one that could be everything or turn out meaningless. 

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Mark, sliding your handbag on the counter and you stand up to follow him outside.

The sunset sky is a pink shade of orange. Shadows are stretching long onto the asphalt, drawing a distorted world upside-down. 

He’s not here anymore, you waited too fucking long. You quickly scan the parked vehicles on the other side of the road to your right, and the parking lot in front of you, but it’s empty, save for your anthracite sedan, a black truck and what you assume must be Mark’s old SUV, because you see it every week. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, pressing your fingers to your sternum. 

You look to your left, where the parking ends. There’s a white utility vehicle advertising a plumbing service and a dark blue city car. Beyond them, the lot extends into a narrow stretch of gravel behind the small rectangular building. There’s a pile of junk, and the tailgate of a red truck.

Your hand drops to your side and you start walking toward it, going around the white van. 

He’s there. He’s waiting for you by the front of the red truck, behind the building. His hands propped on his waist, head down, hidden under his cap. 

You keep walking toward him, the sound of your shoes on the dirty ground grating your ears, but you stop short when he raises his head, fuck he looks even taller at this distance, with his elbows spread.

It’s like he senses your apprehension, or perhaps he shares it, because he folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself. 

For the very first time, you can fully make out his face. Strong features, a strong curvy nose, a patchy beard peppering a sharp jaw, and plush lips. Your gaze follows the solid column of his neck down to his suprasternal point peeking above the V-collar of his worn-out t-shirt, before it’s drawn back to his eyes.

He stands there perfectly still for you to detail.

Above you, the sky has turned a rusty blue. The humidity is stifling. It’s Friday the 30th, 2019, 8.17pm.

“What do you want?”

His voice is deep, and low, barely louder than a murmur yet intense, his words full and round. 

The question, however legitimate, hits you square in the solar plexus, right under your aching sternum. You fear that if you don’t speak fast enough, he’ll leave you again, alone with the memory of his soft sad eyes and his hard cold stare. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, and god, if it’s true, what are you doing here? 

He huffs, and it’s the very sound of disillusion. His eyes grow dimmer, you think you’re not the one darkening them. Unfolding his arms, he removes his hat and takes a step closer, then another. You could touch him, if you reached out with your arm stretched. 

He looks at you like he’s already seen how your story ends. 

You could back away. You don’t. 

He moves slowly, thick body thrumming with undiluted strength and unreleased tension, eyes searching yours, giving you the time to leave, should leaving be what you choose, should you turn around and run before the hanging threat breaks like dark stormy clouds and drench you soaked. 

He slowly moves forward until he’s towering over you, until his chest touches your breasts, until the pilled cotton of his t-shirt catches at the satin material of your blouse. His scent floods your senses, he leans down into the curve of your neck and inhales you there, long, deep, unhurried. You hold your breath, still, in turn, for his exploration, nails digging into your palms, heart tripping.  

And then, he touches you. With his lips, a feather-like caress over the soft skin under your ear. Your eyes flutter shut, your thoughts are suspended.

“This what you want?” he murmurs.

His words sink under your skin, they harden your nipples, raise goosebumps on your nape in the muggy evening heat.  

“Yes.”

The cap falls onto the gravel. His hands go to your hips. Clutching you there with a rough grip and he’s tugging you closer, flush to his chest. He licks up a broad stripe along the line of your throat, pivots with you in his arms and backs you into the side of the truck, you have to grab his forearms to keep your balance. 

A guttural sound catches in his throat, like a grunt he tries to hold back, for your touch, for the taste of your skin, for your pliant docility.

Your head rolls back, you’ve gone weeks without a skin on skin contact, and now this man is hunched over you, his body swallowing yours, this stranger who’s infected your dreams with his cold hard stare and his soft sad eyes, his mouth roaming the expanse of your throat, short beard prickling your skin, and the shifting sensation inside your chest drops to your core where it catches fire.

His kisses are lips, teeth and tongue, rough and scraping at you raw in all the right ways, they trail up along your neck, under your jaw, and when they find your lips, he presses you harder into him. He tastes like beer, unfamiliar, you want to get used to it. 

The seams of your blouse strain when he pulls it out of your skirt with an impatient tug. His hands slither under the hem and find the naked skin of your back. His palms are strong, rugged and scalding and his fingertips calloused, they make your skin sizzle underneath their pressing, crackle like snapping wood, like fireworks at a summer county fair, like sweet candy wrapping. 

You're leaking hot and sticky between your hips, responding with your entire body, opening up for him, letting his tongue in past your lips with pathetic grateful little moans, winding your arms around his shoulders, over the cording muscles of his back, musky sweat dampening his t-shirt. The thick, solid shape of him, that got etched behind your eyelids.

You’re a want and a need and an empty flutter, entangled with him, whoever he may be, his tongue swirling inside your mouth, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip, his splayed hands covering your back, his knee spreading your legs open. 

He’s voracious, harsh in his own need, snatching from you what you’re already willing to give, angling your head with a sharp pull on your hair to deepen his kiss, grunting his approval when you moan at the sting. 

Arousal keeps dripping down your fold where his thigh prods firm and brawny against the black material of your skirt that hinders the pressure. 

He growls, frustration rumbling low and menacing inside his throat. He grabs your ass and squeezes, thick middle finger pushing against the fabric of your clothes into the cleft between your cheeks and you jolt, leaping forward further into him. His belt buckle bites into the soft flesh of your belly, right where you're burning empty and wanting and shameless for him. You feel him hot and hard against your hip, and he tightens his hold, cages you within him. 

He’s big all over, larger than life proportions, you surrender to the fact with your lust-drunk mind, from the height of his frame to the girth of his sex, from his grip on your senses to the sorrow in his eyes. 

It blooms inside you like pain, blossoms of mahogany red spreading along your limbs in relentless waves, the power he already wields over you and you don’t even know his name.  

You buck between his arms, a first and very last attempt at freeing yourself, unconvincing with the scrap of your fingernails along the pebbled skin of his neck, and you press back into him again, squirming against his throbbing length, offering him some friction.  

He pulls out all of sudden, breaking the kiss, and you're left panting, ankles swaying, you’d drop to the gravel without the support of the truck, still sun-warm in the early evening, yet colder than his feverish body. 

He shakes his head with a silent no, his shoulders heaving, a wordless warning hissed through his clenched bared teeth. The simmering anger under the surface only makes you want him more, the unyielding restraint shining dark in his eyes.  

But it’s over. You know it. He gave you this, and took it back. With shaky hands, you smooth down the wrinkles of your blouse where he’s bunched it in his fists. You lick his taste off your trembling lip. You will not cry. 

He shakes his head again, you watch him through welling tears, confused, eyes flickering between his. 

Behind him, the city car’s engine revs up to a start, aggressive headlights backlighting him. His throat bobs up and down in chiaroscuro as he swallows hard. You know what you must look like in the crude white light. Supplicant, dependent, awaiting. Disheveled by his hand. Tires grate on the gravel as the car reverses away from you into the night, and with it the headlights, leaving you standing in the brown city night, urban semi darkness, and you see him shut his eyes. 

He smiles, a puzzling, sorrowful lift of his plush lips, and a new sort of ache washes over you. You raise forward on your tiptoes to peck a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His entire frame quivers for you. A muscle clenches in his jaw, the deepening crease in his brow redefines his traits in shadows. 

He leans into you, like he wants you but he doesn’t want to want you, like he’s giving in but not entirely, because giving in would be the end of him, of you.

The flat of his palm to the swell of your breast, and he kneads your soft flesh, slowly at first, growing urgent. The back of your head hits the truck’s window when he pinches your nipple, hard, with two fingers, and you bite down a moan. 

He’s engulfing you again, lips latched around your other nipple, tongue swirling and licking through your blouse and your thin bra and you hold on to him, you cling to his frame when he bunches up your skirt around your waist, leather boot nudging your foot to the side, cock throbbing on your hip, slick dripping down your walls. 

“Stop me,” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. It’s not a dare, it’s not a plea, it’s your last chance to back down before the free fall. 

Your pulse stutters, you arch into him without hesitation, but he pins you back against the truck with his chest, cupping you through your underwear and he curses into your neck at the sticky leaking mess he finds there.

Your naked leg hitches up rigid and tense against his leg, curled fingers, curled toes, and he hooks his index into the cotton of your panties. 

A brief stroke of his knuckles into the soft, smooth dip between your sex and your inner thigh, unexpectedly tender, before he parts your soaked lips with his two middle fingers, coating them in your sticky slick desire, and he sinks them inside your empty cunt. 

You crumble around the intrusion, forehead hitting his collarbone, slack-mouthed, a short exhale of a silent “oh.” He brings his left hand to the crown of your head and cradles you there, while his fingers pump in and out of your heat fast and rough. His thumb glides through your folds and starts rubbing at your clit, deft and precise, and you shudder between his arms, you slump into his hold. 

He keeps stroking your hair, gentle soothing sounds murmured into your ear as he fucks you raw with his hand, attuned to your moans and your every reaction, gauging what you can take before his fingers curl deeper inside your cunt, merciless, thumb pressing tight circles on your bud at an increasing pace.  

Your breathing comes in ragged and short while his intensifies. It’s pouring into your ear hot and overwhelming and you’re dissolving. Sweat beading at your temples, heat raising from his exerted muscles. 

You focus on the sensation of his flexing muscles under your clawing hands to stave off your building orgasm, it’s growing bright and blinding, searing and violent but it’s inevitable, and soon, too soon, your release flows hot and sticky into his hand. Your whines resound inside his chest but he keeps going, low husks of shhh, come on now, that’s it, until your trapped body trashes with the overstimulation.  

It’s like he can’t let go, pressing his nose heavily to the side of your face, and you struggle to resurface, blood thrumming in your veins, his angry cock pulsating against your hip. 

You let out a dry sob when he slides out of you and the rubber band of your panties slaps your sensitive skin. You don’t miss the flat drag of his tongue licking your taste off his palm, you furrow your fingers deeper into his arm with a short clench of your eyes. 

“Fuck,” your hear him quietly groan, and his fingers disappear into his mouth. 

You want to stay tucked up against him, curled up into his hold. You could live the rest of your life there, you think, between his hands and his scent, between his chest and his truck. 

You lock your ankles and your knees, hoping they will not fail you and you stand, pushing away from him and into the side of the truck. You readjust your skirt, slide it down, palm it smooth. Brush the damp hair from your forehead with the back of your trembling hand.

In your peripheral, he’s leaning down, picking up his hat from the ground and combing his fingers through his hair before he sets the cap back on his head.

You look up dazed and heavy-lidded and you brace yourself before meeting his gaze, cold hard stare, soft sad eyes, and he says,

“I’m Frankie.”

****

Bonus (having déjà vu? that's normal 😝 Gonna use this gif at the end of every first chapter I manage to yank out of my crazy in love brain):

Taglist (thank you 🧡 if you don't wish to be tagged anymore, just drop me a DM 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @nicolethered @littleone65 @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @mylostloversbookmarks @its-nebuleuse @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @all-the-way-down-here

#tonight you belong to me #happy frankie friday #tybtm #Francisco Catfish Morales #frankie morales #the pilot™️ #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales / fem!reader #frankie morales / you #frankie morales / ofc #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #frankie friday #will miller #benny miller #santiago pope garcia #william ironhead miller #triple frontier fanfiction

[13as07]

Elegant #1

(Shino Aburame)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to JUHiHUJi]

Requested by: Anonymous

Word Count: 3,502

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

It's a western theme wedding style cause I was lazy and didn't want to do research

Alcohol Use

———————————————————————

     I let out another strained breath, glancing over my wedding dress in the body mirror again. What if Shino doesn't like the style? What if he's getting cold feet? What if he leaves me alone at the altar? What if -

     "Wow," a voice says softly, drawing out the word. "You're so... beautiful." My sights jump up, glancing in the mirror to figure out who's behind me. Naruto's frame fills the mirror as he walks closer, settling behind me as his eyes jump over my dress. He's smiling ear to ear, with stars hanging in his eyes as he looks at me. "You're the second prettiest bride I've ever seen."

     "Second?" I ask, smiling back at him.

     "Ya, sorry but you can't beat out how pretty Hinata was at our wedding. She'll always hold that first place price."

     I laugh at the love-struck newlywed. Hinata and Naruto got married two months ago, and I swear he still looks at her the way he did at their ceremony.

     "Now, I know Sakura will drag me out by my ear if she catches me in here, the whole bad energy from seeing you - "

     "That's only for the groom, Naruto. Groom's men aren't included in that," I correct, shifting around so we can face each other. My squadmate looks pretty nice when he gets dressed up, even if his hair is still messy and pointed every which way.

     Naruto's cheeks dusty a slight pink as he rubs the back of his head. "Oh, right. Anyway, I remember the whole 'new, old, borrowed, blue' thing from my wedding. I don't know if you're doing that like Hinata did but I did bring you something blue just in case."

     "I wasn't planning on it but I appreciate the thought, Naruto," I tell him, leaning forward to wrap my arms around him.

He wraps his arms around me too, being careful not to mess up my perfectly constructed look for my special day. "Anyway, you want to see my gift?"

"Yes, I do."

"Just so you know, this is fully from me. I did it - well Hinata stitched it - but it was fully my idea, all of it," Naruto rambles, digging through his pockets in search of my gift.

He tugs out a square cloth, the main color being a rich blue with the edges being his signature obnoxious orange color. Naruto holds it in front of me, letting the cloth tumble undone to its full size. It's no bigger than a napkin. In careful stitches is the quote 'Trust is knowing that when a squad mate pushes you, they're doing it because they care'.

"Naruto," I mumble, reaching forward to hold the ends of the cloth.

"Pretty nifty, huh? Hinata had a section of Neji's robe turned into a handkerchief, so I asked her to do the same with my old jacket. I figured you could pin it under your dress. If not that's cool too. Oh! And don't worry, Hinata cleaned the material like a bazillion times."

     "Naruto," I call again, tears in my eyes as I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around his neck again. "You dumb gushy fox," I say with a smile and tears of appreciation.

     "Do you not like it? Oh! Please don't cry, you're going to ruin your makeup," he rushes out, carefully slipping at the water that threatens to ruin the makeup I spent an hour on.

"I love it, Naruto," I tell him, smiling at him to send the point home. "You big goof. Would you pin it to my dress?" I ask, shifting my skirt around to figure out where I want it pinned.

"Of course! Let me go find a pin."

————————————

"Just some final touches," Sakura mumbles, running the makeup brush over my cheeks again. "Oh, and a few puffs of perfume," she says, jumping to her feet and rummaging around the table covered in different products.

     "I can't wear perfume, you know that. It messes with Shino's kikaichus."

     "So, you know how Shino has been queasy off and on the last couple of months?" She mumbles, now digging through her bag.

     "Sakura," I utter, my tone warning because of the way our conversation is heading.

     "Well, it's because Hinata and I have been testing different perfumes," She finishes, standing up with a small box in her hands.

     "Sakura!"

     "Oh calm down, it was only a handful of times and only a squirt or two every time. No Shinos and no kikaichus were harmed. Besides, it’s your wedding day. You should be wearing a new perfume to celebrate. It just so happens to be the only perfume that doesn't annoy or make your husband's parasites sick. Now come here and let me spray you down."

     I roll my eyes at her but do get up from my spot. I twirl in a slow circle, letting Sakura coat me in the flower-scented perfume. "See? So much better, plus you can wear perfume more often since it doesn't mess with Shino."

     "I guess so," I mutter, shaking my head at her. I swear Sakura never uses her brain outside of missions.

     "Alright, I'll leave your fancy new scent here on the table," She says, making a show of putting it back in the box and leaving the box on the table. "We need to get going for your first look and such." Shino isn't much of an emotional man and is rarely emotional around other people, so we decided a private first look would be best.

     She leads the way, my veil in her hold, held above her head so it doesn't drag on the ground as we head outside. "Wait here," she mutters after the short walk, stopping long enough to situate the clips of my veil into my hair.

Sakura slips away, leaving me to admire the cherry blossoms as she goes looking for my husband. I do just that, walking along the small path and toying with the heavy branches being weighed down by the weight of their blooms.

Enjoying the scenery helps with some of the anxiety surrounding today. I'm more than thrilled to spend the rest of my life with Shino, but it's still nerve-racking to think about all the things that could go wrong today, let alone the future.

"You don't always have to be such a lug!" Sakura's voice rings out after a few minutes, tugging my focus in the direction we came from earlier.

My best friend is dragging my very soon-to-be husband down the short path, a blindfold wrapped around his eyes to ensure he's not cheating. Shino looks nice, dressed fancy for once and his hair slicked back instead of loose and bushy like usual. "I do not see the point in doing this. I will see her when she walks down the aisle," he grumbles, slowly trudging after Sakura as she pulls him my way.

"I don't want you loosening your macho-ness because you burst into tears in front of everyone," I tease, causing his head to snap in the direction of my voice.

A group of his kikaichus slips out, eagerly flapping their way toward me. Some stay buzzing around me, with a few others clinging to different parts of my clothing. This has been a common thing during our relationship, Shino's bugs ditching him to investigate me or chew at a bit of my chakra. I freaked out the first time it happened but he insists they mean no harm and it helps him feel close to me. Since then, it's come to be something that calms me down, which I need with how loud my heartbeat seems to be.

"I would not and will not cry," he mumbles, stopping in the spot Sakura leaves him in.

"Lug," she murmurs before turning toward me. "I'm going to go make sure everything is settled. Once you two are done, send Shino in and come wait in the corridor, alright?"

"Alright, I'll see you in a few minutes."

With that, Sakura turns on her heels to head towards the waiting guests, leaving the two of us alone for the first time today. "You don't think you're going to cry when you see me?" I ask, reaching forward to toy with his sunglasses that Sakura slithered the blindfold under.

"No, I do not," he whispers, his hands sliding up to wrap around my arms, causing more of his kikaichus to spill out, coating both of our arms now.

I slowly slide my touch backward, taking my time to rest his glasses on his head before I tug at the knot keeping the cloth in place around his eyes. Once the cloth is loose, I take a step back, letting the material dangle from my fingertips.

Shino's eyes are squinted because of the setting sun. I knew they would be, but I want to see his whole reaction especially since this is something that won't happen again. His sight crawls around my body, falling down my dress like a waterfall before climbing back up my frame like a mountain. "Perhaps," he starts, voice cracking as he repeatedly blinks. "Perhaps, I was wrong."

     Once the words are out, he breaks, tears rolling down his cheeks, chasing away the kikaichus that have been clinging to his face. Shino moves forward, enveloping me in his arms so he can hold me. "You look elegant, my Ladybug," he whispers into my hair, his little friends following their leader and knotting themselves in my locks.

     When Shino pulls back, his focus shifts from me to helping his beetles untangle their legs, being careful not to mess up my hair and not to hurt his bugs. He spends the whole time trying to blink away the fresh tears forming in his eyes; he fails, forming water lines down his cheeks.

     "Oh, Shino," I coo when he pulls the rest of the way apart from me. I cup his face, using my thumbs to brush away his tears. "You look very elegant too."

"Not as elegant as you, my dear," he mutters, leaning down to brush a kiss against my lips.

————————————

I shift my dress again, making sure it's laid perfectly as I wait for Kakashi to join me. There's about ten minutes until I'm expected to walk down the aisle with my Sensei giving me away to my husband, to my Shino. My nerves have evened out since our time together under the cherry blossoms, leaving me filled with nothing but joy.

"There's my gorgeous daughter-in-law," Shibi's soft voice calls from behind me.

I turn a bit, making sure not to mess up my carefully laid-out dress and my thin veil settled on top of it. I decided on a royal-length veil, more so because that's what Shino wanted than me, but it is his wedding as well. If he wants me to wear a long veil that trails behind me, I don't mind.

"You look lovely," Shibi compliments again, making his way forward. He stops in front of me, careful hands cupping my cheeks. He tilts my head down, brushing a gentle kiss to my hairline. "You are beautiful. The most beautiful bride my son could ask for."

"Thank you," I mutter, tilting my head back up so I can look at my father-in-law. A soft smile is on his face as he looks down at me. This is one of the few times I've seen Shibi truly content, which only solidifies my decision to marry his son. Shibi is the smartest man I know, and if he agrees with my decision it must be the right one.

"I have a gift for you, a temporary one," he mutters, pulling away from me. "Since Shino and you decided to have a night wedding, I figured a little extra glow would be nice," Shibi tells me, throwing up a few hand signals.

Soft flapping fills the space, a small squirm of bugs following the command they were given. "What are you doing?" I ask, tilting my head backward, watching the bugs settle in a neat line along the hem of my veil.

"Watch," he orders, shifting his hand placement to send out another command.

The bugs shift their wings, a soft glow coming from them, decorating my veil with the soft yellow coloring. "Shibi!" I call in joy, lunging forward to catch him in a hug. "It's beautiful! Thank you."

"You're welcome," he utters, unclinging my arms from around him. Shibi isn't much of a touchy person, a trait his son inherited too. "After the ceremony, I'll need them back, of course."

"Of course," I echo, sending him another smile.

     He nods his head, letting his hands fall back down to his sides. "I should get seated before the ceremony begins. I look forward to seeing you walk down the aisle," Shibi mutters, nodding his head once more before he slips around the corner, heading into the crowd that's eagerly waiting for me to enter.

     I adjust my dress again, carefully toying with my veil so I don't hurt or knock off any of the lightening bugs clinging to it. I have a few moments of silence, giving my anxiety the chance to crawl into my rib cage again. After today, Shino and me will be bound together forever, until the end of our time.

     "There you are," my Sensei calls, pulling me out of my head. "I didn't know you were done getting ready yet." He mutters, adjusting the pin-comb that's holding my veil in place. "You look like an angel."

     "You don't look too bad yourself," I tease, glancing over Kakashi's put-together look. It's weird seeing my Sensei out of his usual outfit.

     He rolls his eyes, letting out a disapproving hum. Despite the small banter, Kakashi still leans forward, resting the side of his head against mine with his arms loosely wrapped around me. "The lightning bugs are a nice touch," he whispers, squeezing me before he tugs himself away.

"They're a temporary gift from Shibi."

"Well, I have a permanent gift for you. Just don't tell the others, they might get jealous."

"Ya?" I ask, watching Sensei dig through his pockets, the familiar sound of our training bells filling the air when he tugs them out of his pocket.

Kakashi hums again, giving me a rare masked and closed-eyed smile. "Naruto gave you his gift already, yes?" He asks, clinking the bells so they'll ring again.

"Yes, he did," I answer, lifting a layer of my dress to show off the handkerchief Naruto pinned to my dress.

He nods again, bending down so he can kneel on the ground. Kakashi works carefully, unlike my clumsy squad mate. Sensei moves slowly, unpinning the handkerchief and laying it on his knee so he can wrap his bells around the pin before pinning both items under my dress again. "There, now you'll have all three of us attached to you during the night."

"When did you get all gushy?" I tease, shaking my leg a bit. You can't hear the bells around the fabric but I can feel their imprint against me.

"When Naruto got married, and again now. I'm sure it'll happen again when Sakura and Sasuke get married too," Kakashi answers, straightening up before taking his spot next to me. "Are you ready to do this?" He asks, prompting his arm out toward me.

     "As ready as ever," I answer, clinging to the bend of his elbow.

     "That's my girl," he mutters, poking his head around the corner to send Sakura the signal that we're ready.

————————————

Shino's hands cling to me for dear life, his social anxiety at an all-time high as he spins us in slow, small circles. His left-hand grips mine, his ring digging into my fingers, threatening to leave an imprint. His right-hand rests on my waist, clinging to the material of my dress. "I despise dancing," he mutters, focus flickering around the millions of eyes watching us have our first dance.

"I know."

"Everyone is watching us."

"I know."

"You are my wife now."

"You are my husband now," I echo, shifting forward, I loop my arms around his neck, laying his head on my shoulder. Shino gratefully takes the change, his arms tight around my waist and his nose buried into my neck.

We sway, still moving in slow circles around the dance floor. "I will not be dancing again tonight," he whispers into my neck, the feeling of his kikaichus exploring the new position, little legs tugging at the material of my dress.

"I know, I appreciate you doing this though."

"Of course, Ladybug."

Shino reluctantly pulls away from me as the song comes to an end, fresh tears raining on his face. "What's wrong?" I ask, hands jumping up to wipe away his tears before anyone else notices.

"Nothing, my dear," he answers, fingers wrapping around mine to pull them away from his face. "You... are perfect," he mutters, glancing around before quickly pressing a kiss to my fingertips. "Can we go sit now?"

"Yes we can," I murmur, smiling from ear to ear as my husband tugs me off the dance floor.

Cheers from the guests fill the room, a few of them jumping up from their spots to take up the dance floor as the next song starts. Kiba and Naruto are beaming from the head table, as are my bridesmaids; Sakura and Hinata. "Our baby is all grown up!" Kiba cheers, Hinata giggling and nodding in agreement.

"Be quiet," Shino mumbles, helping me into my chair before he sits down alongside me. Once we're situated, his hand messes with my dress, ruffling my layers in search of a small amount of skin on skin. "What's that?" He asks as his fingertips slide over the pinned presents from my squad mates, head tilting down to glance at the items.

"Bells from my Sensei and a handkerchief from Naruto," I answer, helping him move my dress out of the way.

He hums softly, fingertips digging into my knee as he clings to it. His thumb slides over my knee on repeat, a kikaichu or two crawling over his fingers, occasionally dipping down and crossing my knee. "You are perfect," he repeats, sending me a rare smile before turning to hell at Kiba again.

I smile to myself, soaking in the repeated compliment. "Well, Mrs. Aburame," Sakura teases, a huge smile on her face as well. "What does it feel like being officially married now?"

"Wonderful."

————————————

Sakura and I belt out jumbled lyrics of the song playing, the liquor in our system commanding our dancing with both of our wet blankets of partners watching. Sasuke and Shino are sat near each other, both men's full attention on us as we dance. "What do you think they're thinking right now?" She asks, her arms dangling over my shoulders as we move in beat with each other.

"Well, knowing Sasuke he's probably talking himself out of killing me and Shino might have one or two more songs in him before he gets clingy again."

Sakura lets out a loud cackle, the alcohol chipping away the bubbly cute persona she tries to maintain. Her laughter only increased when Shino starts heading our way. "You're wrong about Sasuke but it seems you were right about Shino."

"Right about what?" My husband asks, impatience in his voice as he stands next to us, both of us still swaying to the music.

     "About you wanting my attention," I answer, pulling away from my friend to wrap Shino up in my arms.

     "That is not what I want," he mutters, staying still as I squeeze him in my hold. "I wish for us to go home. I would like some alone time with my wife," Shino airs out the last word like he can't comprehend being able to use it.

     "What kind of alone time?" I ask, sliding my hands up to toy with the ends of his hair, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

     "Just... alone time," he whispers, a hint of pink dust on his cheeks. "Should I have it announced that the ceremony is over?"

     "Have them announce the party is over in thirty minutes," I mutter back, letting my arms fall to his shoulders, leaning myself against my husband. I tip my head up, lips brushing against his ear as I speak. "If you can't wait thirty minutes I'd be more than happy to give you a little... support." I let a hum out, flickering my eyes down.

     Shino's face is full red now, mouth gapping a bit. "That is not... we cannot... Ladybug," he stutters, as flustered with my straightforwardness as ever. "I am... that is something I have been excited about today, but that... that is an at-home activity."

     "I know, I'm just teasing."

     He lets out a sigh of relief, gently pulling me off of him. "Your mind is lacking the elegance the rest of you possess."

     "I know."

———————————————————————

#naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden oneshot #naruto shippuden x reader #shino oneshot #shino x reader #shino aburame oneshot #shino aburame x reader #shino aburame

[sweetbillwriting]

The Finer Things - Teaser

A Vincent de Gramont story

What was he doing there?

And what the fuck was he wearing?

Ines looked at the tall man walking around in the white, bright gallery. He was dressed in a suit with a dark blue velvet dinner jacket even if it was just noon. She couldn't stop herself from giggling when she saw the man, obviously he tried to make himself more important than he was.

She looked through some paper for the next exhibition while the man walked around with a sour face. He was clearly not impressed but Ines didn't care. He was not their target group. Did he wear a costume? Was he a part of some sort of game theater?

With an eye roll she walked up to him. She expected to try to keep herself from laughing at him but that changed quickly when he looked at her. He had piercing green eyes that scanned her up and down like she didn't belong in her own gallery.

"Mostly trash here," he said with a french accent and looked her up and down. Ines couldn't say if he meant the art or if he meant her. She laughed a bit insecure while the man continued to look at her without blinking. He just stood with his hands in his pants pockets. It was clearly not a costume, it was fitted and in fine material but it still was strange, not even a prince would dress like that.

"So you haven't found what you're searching for then?"

He licked his lips and raised his eyebrows in an amused way and then smirked condescendingly. When he turned his back to Ines she took the moment to twist her face mockingly. He was a snob and clearly the sort of snob that didn't even think he needed to talk to express his standards.

"So what are you doing here? I mean… You're at a gallery in Brooklyn wouldn't… Europe be more fitting for you?" Ines said with fake interest. To be honest she just wanted him out. Many of the artists were her friends and she was sure he soon would say something mean about the art.

The man dragged a finger over a display and looked at his finger with disgust and then looked at her and held out his fingers towards her.

"Napkin, please," said he like she was his servant and for the moment she guessed she was. She also felt a bit embarrassed because it actually was dusty. She walked away with obvious irritated steps, heavy against the floor and searched after a napkin behind the desk. Was there none? Come on, she didn't want to give the guy the satisfaction of saying a comment about the hygiene.

"I want to talk to the owner actually," he said with his weird french accent and it made Ines look up. Now he stood with a man in a black suit next to him. He was beefy and she wondered how he could have walked into the small gallery without her having heard him. He stood and held out a box of napkins towards the tall man who wiped his hands with the same disgusted face. She hadn't forced him to touch the dust, so why did he even think it was so gross? She looked at the beefy guy again. He looked like a bodyguard and it made her wonder again who the man dressed in velvet was.

"I'm the owner?" Said Ines confused and got the man to look at her with furrowed brows.

"You?" He asked, voice full of despise.

"Yes? Do you think I'm too trash for that?" She asked and crossed her arms behind the desk.

The man put his hands in his pants pockets again and walked up to her slowly. It felt threatening and for a moment Ines wondered if she should hide in the back, lock herself in and wait for the man to disappear.

He pulled down the corner of his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at her for a few seconds and then gave her a charming smile that changed his face completely.

"Not at all… I'm here to see the Pivoine painting."

Ines dropped her face and swallowed hard. Few people knew about that painting. Few knew what a goldmine she had at home in her dining room.

"I don't know what you mean?" She tried but her eyes were glassy.

"Yes you do. The Pivoine of a woman eating an apple?"

She could feel sweat breaking out on her forehead and she looked around worriedly. She had been worried about this day for so long, the day someone had told the wrong person about the portrait of her grandmother made by her lover, the world famous artist Pivoine.

The tall man smirked and reached out a hand towards her.

"Let me introduce myself…" Ines took his hand reluctantly.

"My name is Vincent de Gramont and I will make you into a rich, rich girl."

Ines swallowed hard and let go of his hand.

"I know what museums and private collectors are prepared to pay for it but I don't want to…"

"I wouldn't sell it that way. I have other ways…" he interrupted her but looked her straight in the eyes. His eyes were really mesmerizing and it felt like she couldn't say no to him. He licked his plump lips and for a few seconds she admired his looks. Chocolate hair, flawless skin and those lips… She shook it off like the thoughts were something inappropriate and looked down at the desk.

"What would you win on that?"

She gave him a look again but lowered her eyes when she realized he watched her with the same intense stare.

"We can say like this, I need the distraction. And I love a good art deal."

×

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #Vincent de Gramont #the marquis #john wick #john wick 4

[arwenadreamer]

It's your birthday, Sammy!

“How do we know when it’s our birthdays?” Dean asks out of the blue.

The brothers are sitting on the porch of their cabin, enjoying their morning cup of coffee while looking out over the mountain ridge. 

“Why, you wanna have a party complete with jumping castle and pony rides and pinata?” Sam teases.

“Ha, ha. No, Sam, my party is gonna be clown themed. Clown napkins, clown plates, clown costumes for all the guests.”

Sam does his best to look disapprovingly at his brother, but secretly enjoys their carefree banter so much. God, how he’s missed that. 

“Since there’s no time up here, we don’t have any way to tell, Dean. But I don’t think it’s important anymore, either. I mean, it’s a little bit redundant to celebrate birthdays after youˋre dead, don’t you think?”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to celebrate our death days”, Dean counters. Then, after a little pause, tags on quietly: “You finally coming here, though, is cause to celebrate.”

Sam can’t help but smile at that. Yes, it is. Being finally reunited with Dean is nothing less than cause to rejoice. 

“I still think we should celebrate our birthdays, though!” Dean insists. 

“Why? We’ve never really done that back in life either.”

“Exactly! Which is why we should do it now. Because we can. And we have to make up for so many missed or shitty birthdays.”

Sam get’s what Dean is saying, and he doesn’t really have an objection to that either. After all, they’ve got all eternity together now. If they want to celebrate, they should celebrate.

“So, Sammy, since there is no official calendar, I hereby declare today to be the second of May. Happy birthday, baby brother! How would you like to spend your day?”

Sam smiles. “Doesn’t February come before May?”

“Uh, uh, not a chance, Sammy! Today is gonna be your birthday! Always liked that day better anyway. The day you were born? There ain’t no bigger reason for me to celebrate. Never got a bigger present.” After a beat of silence, Dean adds: “Literally. Who would have thought that tiny little baby brother would turn into a sasquatch?”

Sam feels such a rush of affection, it’s almost overwhelming. And to think that he is going to get this for all of eternity!

“So, what you wanna do, Gigantor? Throw a party? Invite friends?”

“How about we go for a drive, Dean? Just you and me and baby. I’ll even let you sing happy birthday in the car.” At the grin that is spreading on Dean’s face, Sam hastily adds: “But only once!”

“Okay”, Dean agrees with a beam. “We’re in heaven, I think I can make the song last a while.”

Sam could smack himself. Why did he have to mention a birthday song in the first place? But if he’s being quite honest with himself, he’s looking forward to it, he thinks, as he follows his brother to the car. He had to live too many years without his brothers off key singing.

They both slide into their car seats and close baby’s doors at the same time, completely in tune as they had been most of their lives.

“Anything specific you wanna see, Sammy?” Dean asks, as he starts the engine.

“No, just drive. This is gonna be perfect”, he says.

And as they drive along the dusty road, Dean making every tune of ‘Happy Birthday’ last a small eternity, he thinks it really is. The most perfect birthday he’s ever had. 

You can also read it here on Ao3:

#sam winchester #happy birthday sam #It's your birthday #Dean Winchester #supernatural #Supernatural fanfic #my fics #my writing

[benwvatt]

my recent kataang fics!

hi! I’ve written a few kataang stories recently and would love to share them. AO3 links included! And there are more fics under the “read more.”

my darling, how long do you want to be loved? is forever enough? is a rated-G oneshot about the two of them bonding over Katara’s pregnancy.

Katara laughs and buries her head in the crook of Aang’s neck. In bed, he’s been tracing lazy figure eights across the small of her back. “How did we get here?”

“Well, we left the Earth King’s party after thirty-seven minutes-”

Still laughing. Aang can feel her head shake against his chest, like a magnolia raining leaves in a storm. He wants to close his eyes as long as possible and memorize the ebbs and flows of her joy, the imprints it makes in the air.

“Oh, right! And we stole dumplings,” Katara adds gently, “wrapped in napkins in my purse! I’ll never get the grease stains out.” If only oil and water were similar, she could lift the marks with a swish of her hand.

“I guess you’ll just have to use regular ol’ soap and water. Like a peasant.”

“Like a fool!”

in reverence, my cup runneth over for you is a rated-T one-shot about Katara and Aang dancing in their kitchen.

They will raise children here someday. Aang wants a daughter with whom to dance in the kitchen. Together they will shift, clumsy under skeins of moonlight; he’ll toddle around, practicing steps by letting their girl stand on his feet. She will teach him the extra-extra-cool dance moves, picked up from magazines or some technology not yet invented, because grown-ups simply don’t understand.

Aang kisses Katara. Oh, she is going to be the rest of his life. The sheer notion of this runs through his mind like a horse unbridled.

“I love the kitchen,” she finally murmurs, hugging him closer. “No need to worry, not with me.”

He already knew, but a reminder never hurts.

He talks to her about the wilder dreams (not wildest, for those have already come true) and they waltz over dusty floorboards that leave speckles on the bottoms of their shoes. The kitchen will be furnished another time. Tonight is for dancing.

you’ve got me more than clumsy, but you’re my yellow lovely is a fluffy rated-G oneshot about Katara taking care of Aang while he’s sick. 

“Honey,” Aang murmurs, two full syllables this time. Voicing anything hurts at the moment 一 he’s taken ill this week 一 but he has to catch her attention. “Katara.”

She groans. “Yeah?”

“You gotta go. I - I’m gonna get you sick if you stay any longer.”

Her head shakes ‘nope’ and Aang can feel the brush of her hair against his neck. You could hear a pin drop. Even the crickets have ceased chirping tonight.

“I’m not fun to be around.”

“That’s a lie,” she whispers. “Can I kiss you?” He’s been trying not to get her sick all week, and she ought to ask before moving any closer.

“I miss you.” Aang wraps his arms around her and leans in. “I don’t think I should kiss you. Germs. Disease. Y’know, plague and death.”

“How did we get to death?”

i’d paint a river of stars for you (cross the ocean sapphire blue) is a romantic AU about Kataang getting together in the South Pole, set in a world where the war never happened and Aang routinely visits Katara and he’s super in love with her. Rated T!

Aang looks down at her hand. She’s still wearing the friendship bracelet he wove for her out of linengrass.

He wants, not for the first time, to press his hand to her face and kiss her. He wonders if her cheeks would be cold against his. Hasn’t ever been close enough to check. Aang moves his thumb an inch until it’s over hers.

He looks at her. Is this okay?

Moonbeams wash into the bedroom through the ice. She might be blushing but he can’t quite tell.

Do you want this? Do you want me? he tries to communicate with his gaze. He was never very good at this. Monks are taught to let go of desire, not harbor it deep inside.

when the ice forgives is an AU in the works. In which, post-series, Kya is discovered sleeping in an iceberg and Katara’s whole family bond over the discovery that she’s alive. Katara & Aang are also engaged in this story and they’re very sweet.

“Were you preparing something in the kitchen?” Aang asked. He’d slept in, and he was hungry.

“I… might have been.” She pursed her lips for a moment, then let the grin wash away any hint of neutrality on her face. “Okay, there’s some baozi. And I was wondering if you wanted to eat hot pot for lunch? That was, uh, the noise you heard.”

She was so comforting. Everything about it, from her culinary plans to her one morning cup of tea, stolen from him, was predictable. He loved her. He told her, and they curled into the bed. Katara laid down, absentmindedly stroking her thumb across Aang’s cheekbone, and reminded him he was a sap. An honest, lovable one, but still.

“I like you,” she whispered. The words hung in the white, almost silver, morning light. They were predictable too, and Aang couldn’t get enough of them. “I like you very much.”

He kept his gaze on her and ran his thumb over the curve of her eyebrow, down her cheek until he was tracing her bottom lip. “You’re so…” and he kissed her before saying, “special. I didn’t think I could meet somebody like you. Someone so uncommonly kind.”

#kataang #kataangtag #katara #aang #aang x katara #katara x aang #atla #atla fanfic #kataang fanfic #kataang fic #benwvatt

[till-you-scream-and-cry]

Hello! Could I request a fluffy Ethan fic with prompt 3 in which him and his lover are building their own family? I just think he would be so soft with kids😭

(only if you are comfortable with that)

well, this one came out so awfully soft that I made myself tear up a little, I hope you'll like it ❤

#3. “Do all lovers feel like they're inventing something?” (Portrait of a lady on fire) + Ethan +fluff

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Ethan said softly and wrapped his arms around you, pressing his chest to your back. He placed a gentle kiss on your bare shoulder, fixing your bra strap which slid off. You smiled and nodded, watching the flat, filled with heavy boxes. 

The decision to move in together seemed natural. You dated for a while now, his life was rather chaotic with all the tours and promos around the world. This small flat in Rome was supposed to be your safe place. A hideaway where you could enjoy each other’s company, rest and recharge batteries before your next time apart. 

You walked to the window, covered in a thick layer of dust. Ethan was taking the last two boxes out of his car. He was smiling. You suddenly felt something soft on your foot.

“There you are, my baby…” 

The kitten meowed loudly, looking at you with big, blue eyes. You picked up the white ball of fluff and snuggled it to your chest. The loud purring made you smile, Ethan made sure that this year your birthday gift would keep you company while he is gone. As always, he had a great idea. 

Suddenly you jumped at the sound of a loud bang on the staircase, followed by Italian curses. You put the kitty down despite his screams of protest, and run to the source of the noise. 

“Ethan?!” You yelled, running down the stairs with the speed of light, almost tripping yourself. 

“I’m fine cucciola…” He was looking at the boxes, one of which had a ripped bottom. Some of your books were scattered over the floor. 

“God I thought you fell…” you sighed in relief and smiled.

“Nope, not this time.” He chuckled and started picking up books. “Well, it had to happen at some point…” 

You picked up what was left and finally made it to the flat. Kitten climbed Ethan’s leg, screaming for attention. He smiled softly and kissed the fluffy head, holding him gently in his big hands. 

“So…this is ours, hmm? Happy?”

“Very.” You grinned and kissed him, letting the kitten nibble on your hair. Ethan hummed softly and broke off the kiss, looking at you lovingly. 

“I know what to unpack where, we have almost everything but, maybe some food first?” 

Miraculously you managed to find the box with kitchen utensils. Ethan made a quick trip to the shop and got some tomatoes, cheese, herbs and pasta. You tied the apron around him and kissed his bare back, wrapping arms around him. He hummed contently and kept stirring the pan, watching the sauce bubbling and spreading the amazing smell around your new place. You dug up two bowls and forks and some candles. It was getting late and the flat was still missing light bulbs. You sat down on a rather dusty floor, leaning against the wall, with the balcony door open, enjoying the delicious dinner Ethan made. The evening breeze was cool and pleasant, soothing your tired and hot bodies. The kitten was munching on his food, wriggling the little ears. 

“I feel like this will work. This little place of ours. I feel like it can make us even happier.” He finally said, staring at the lit candle. 

“Really? You think we cracked the code?” You chuckled, wiping your lips with a napkin. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Ethan turned to you, he looked so beautiful in the candlelight. His eyes were big and soft, watching your face with love. His hair was tied in a bun with some loose, curly strands falling on his forehead. 

“Do all lovers feel like they're inventing something?” You asked, playing with his bracelet.

“Maybe all lovers feel like they do, but we…I think we actually did it.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, watching the shadows dance around your flat in the candlelight, and your kitten, sleeping snuggled safely on Ethan’s lap. Maybe he was right. 

#maneskin blurb #maneskin fiction #ethan torchio #ethan torchio blurb #ethan torchio fluff #prompts #my writing

[yummy-anthrax]

Fem!Y/N Curtis x Dallas Winston PART 3

So, I’m switching to second person instead of first, sorry for any confusion, but I think it’ll be easier for people to apply themselves to the story if it’s second person. Enjoy!!

⚠️warning ⚠️ (swearing)(physical violence)(blood)(mentions of a knife)(mention of a gun)

(GIF not mine)

Not telling your brothers about Dally’s offer was easy enough, considering the rumble later that night was all anyone could talk about.

“After we beat those socs to a pulp, I’m gonna throw a party!” Steve stated, stuffing chocolate cake in his mouth.

“How do you plan on gettin’ the money for that?” Darry asked as he played a card game with you and Soda.

“I’ll find a way..” Steve trailed off as he took another bite of chocolate cake.

Darry checked his watch.

“Hey, if we wanna be there in time for the action, we better get goin,” He said, putting down his cards.

Soda followed suit, slapping his cards on the table and jumping out of his chair, whooping and hollering with Two-Bit and Steve all the way out the door.

Darry got up and walked out the door next to Pony, their conversation muffled the the hollering of the other three.

You sat in the chair for a good minute after they left, hearing their shouts of delight fade into the distance.

Then you jumped up and pulled the string that released the latter up to the attic, where your room was.

You’d think that the attic would be dusty and stuffy, but it wasn’t. Darry had dusted and cleaned and everything so you would be comfortable. Now there was a plain bed, a bedside table, and a dresser squished against the walls.

You didn’t mind the small size, it made it more cozy.

You walked over to the suitcase that had some clothes strewn about it (You had attempted to put things away, but got distracted) and picked out a black tank top and a pair of blue jeans. If you were gonna fight, you needed as much mobility as you could get.

You got dressed and stuffed a package of napkins in your pocket. Then you sighed and zipped open the bottom of your suitcase, revealing your small handgun you had brought with you for your safety. You carefully placed it in it’s case (though the case wasn’t shaped like the gun, so it kind of just looked like a long pouch) and clipped it to your belt, praying you wouldn’t need to use it.

Although, you didn’t know about the no weapons rule the socs had agreed to.

Then, you rushed down the stairs to look out the window and scout for Dally.

It took a little longer than you thought.

You had been pacing for the last 20 minutes because you were sure the rumble had already started and you were missing it!

But then a car honked outside and you pressed your face up against the cold glass window to check that it really was Dally before running outside like someone was chasing you.

“Took you long enough!” You huffed in between struggles breaths for air.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dally said, lighting a cig.

“How’d,” you stopped, taking a deep breath in, “How’d you even get outta the hospital early, anyway?”

“Pony and Two-Bit stopped by earlier,” Dally blew smoke out of his open window, “I had Two-Bit give me his fancy black switchblade and used it to talk the nurse into lettin’ me leave.”

You turned away. Was be dangerous? Oh, for sure. But man, was he hot.

It took maybe five minutes to reach the park that the rumble was scheduled to be at, but when you got there, you saw Darry squaring up a soc.

“Hey!” Dally yelled, sliding out of his seat and opening the car door in one swift move.

Darry turned to look at us and got punched square in the face.

You flinched, but Dally ran ahead as people started throwing eachother around.

“Shit!” You muttered, running to catch up to the rest of them.

You saw Pony struggling, so you tried to run over and help him out, but got punched in the side before you got to him.

You fell to the ground, two socs standing over you.

Dally noticed, but he was busy with another guy.

You swiped your leg at one guy’s ankles as he tried to kick you and sent him crumbling to the ground.

The other stomped on your hand, so you punched him in the crotch, sending him to his knees.

You got up and started kicking some soc on the ground.

Then Darry saw you as he took down a guy trying to get you from behind.

“What the hell are you doing here!” He yelled, choke-holding a guy.

“Helping you!” You shrieked back.

You got punched from the side, sending you flying to the muddy ground.

The guy picked you up by the neckline of your shirt as blood poured from your nose.

“Maybe this’ll teach you to ignore me, bitch.”

It was the guy from this morning. Same freckles, same sweater vest, same arrogant eyes.

He threw you over his shoulders and started running as you screeched and started pounding on his back, flailing as hard as you could.

“HELP!” You screamed, “PLEASE! HELP!” Your voice was grainy from all the screaming you had just done.

You flailed even more, which didn’t help when you went tumbling to the ground, this time paved, when a guy tackled the soc.

You watched as you clutches your chest, trying to catch your breath, as the guy beat the absolute shit out of the soc.

When the guy turned around, you scrambled backwards, scared he might come for you next, until they guy spoke.

“Hey! It’s okay kid, get up off your ass and let’s finish this thing!” Dally said, extending his hand for you to take.

There was blood peeking from the corner of his mouth, and a mix of dry blood and mud streaming from his forehead.

You breathed a sigh of relief and took his hand before getting up.

“I’m surprised you heard me, even more so that you helped.” You said, running alongside him back into the mess.

“Well, there’s no way I would let my only shot at a cutie get taken by some idiot soc.” He said between breaths.

“What?” You asked, looking over at him.

“You heard me,” he said.

He turned to look at you, and winked.

#sodapop curtis #reading #my fic #reader insert #dally x reader #dallas winston #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #steve randle #two bit mathews #johnny cade #the outsiders #x y/n

[carnal-lnstinct]

I posted 6,503 times in 2022

That's 5,529 more posts than 2021!

237 posts created (4%)

6,266 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@emmacornell

@blue-wristbands

@laladbzland

@nikabriefs

@devilmaykawaii

I tagged 5,650 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#goku - 1,990 posts

#vegeta - 775 posts

#gohan - 473 posts

#raditz - 363 posts

#broly - 362 posts

#trunks - 229 posts

#dbs broly - 227 posts

#writing stuff - 221 posts

#dmc - 200 posts

#gogeta - 179 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mmmmmᎷм💯 👌👌 👌нo0оଠoooooоଠଠooooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I feel like I’m bothering you 😂 but I definitely need some Goku x Reader 🍋/smut !

im always a slut for goku smut uwu ♥ of course im gonna indulge the handsome carrot man

Pairing: Goku x Female Reader ( Requested By @bea-winchester ) Rating: M / 18+. MINORS DNI Warning: ( explicit language, fluff, ambiguous established relationship, outdoor sex, half-clothed ) A/N: listen listen listen...I know what it seems like 👀 but technically they are all alone and technically on his own farming property. It doesn't count!

"Goku wait!"

The saiyan clutched his hands back and froze as you cried out, turning to look your way when you suddenly grasped his wrists away from the food you brought him. "What's wrong, (Y/n)? Why can't I eat it yet?" He asks. How quickly you stopped him both surprised him and left a discouraging pout on his face being denied the food he had been waiting for all afternoon.

"Your hands are all dirty." You pointed out, showing the clumps of dirt in his nails and dusty marks around his fingers from tending to the field of vegetables. There was no denying he didn't work diligently today with such healthy-looking crops and even dirtier hands to show for it. "You don't wanna be eating the dirt, too. Here, hold still just a bit longer." You instruct, taking your water bottle in one hand and using your teeth to pop it open, proceeding to pour the cool water into his palms and across his knuckles. You then used one of the cloth napkins you brought to wipe away the dirt smudges and leftover water from his rough hands. Even trying to dig the dirt out from his blunt nails.

As he watched, Goku felt a little guilty that you used your drinking water to clean him up. You must have done so much already for him today: making all this food, packing it all up and bringing it out to the fields by yourself for him so he can get a bite to eat on a quick break, and then laying out a large blanket to spread out all the food for him. And now this. You're always looking out for him like this, it seems. 'We're supposed to take care of each other' you remind him every chance you get, yet it feels like all these little things you do were more than anything he's done for you. Except for maybe saving the Earth, and the universe, all those times he stepped up. He hoped he wasn't being a burden on you when it came to things like this, but just like now you just decisively jump at the chance to help him. Goku doesn't have a specific way of showing how much he loves you like you do, he just believes you already know. But he kinda wishes he did now.

His eyes lifted from your meticulous scrubbing of his hands to the focused stare on your face, how determined you were to not leave a single bit of dirt behind. You looked like you didn't even care about wasting your water, just that his hands were dirt-free and safe to eat with. With a wooed smile on his face, he can't help but think how hopeless he would be if you didn't take care of him like this so well, love him as honestly and deeply as you do. He doesn't want to give life to the thoughts of what a mess he would be without you here with him, nor the glimpses of what that was like while he was in Other World or away training for so long. How quickly he grew to miss you and filled his mind with thoughts of you to help the time fly by. He's gotten a mouthful from others about being more responsible for himself to realize just how much he relied on your considerate and loving little acts. Maybe he can show you how much he loves you.

With a satisfied smile of your own, you patted his cleaned hands and gestured to the spread of food. "Alright, s'all yours. Have at it!" You beamed at him and his chest swelled with joy.

"Thanks, (Y/n)." Goku happily showed his gratitude with his smile. Instead of diving into the food as expected, his hands cup your face pulling you into a romantic kiss. You could have foreseen maybe a small peck on your cheek before he eagerly went in for the food but this was a much nicer show of gratitude. The way his sensual touch lingered on your lips and how he pulled your body closer to his own to lead you to lay on your back further surprised you. He switched so suddenly from wanting to eat it was a little startling, but not unwelcomed. Your pleasant voice vibrating against his lips and legs finding each side of his hips in return for his affection contradicted your hands edging his face from yours to allow yourself to speak.

"Goku, Wh—What about your food?" You asked with a fragile moan, succumbing to his lips once again as he kissed your cheek and trailed down your jaw to your neck. "You wanna do this now?" And here of all places!

"It's not goin' anywhere." He answers in a heated tone, burying his face down the opening of your shirt to kiss at your exposed cleavage. Once your hands in his hair give him permission to continue, he eagerly loosens the scarf at his neck and shakes off his jacket, then pulls at your top as well. Stretching the fabric close to its limit to expose more of your warm cleavage to kiss into.

A thought crosses your mind, instantly dispelling the worked-up enchantment on you as a more dreadful sensation bursts in your chest. "A-Are you?" You inquired with a more concerned voice, hands forcefully pushing against him to try to scoot yourself from beneath him. "Is that why you're suddenly like this? Are you planning on leaving again?"

Goku holds himself up over you with a bright-eyed blink, finding your eyes firmly searching him for signs of truth to your words. No such thing was happening, not to his knowledge anyway. Though your history together would lead you to worry about that, he realizes. His current actions align almost perfectly with the last time he had you beneath him, over seven years ago. "I'm not goin' anywhere either, (Y/n)." Ending his words with a reassuring smile and his large hand stroking your cheek. "I promise." The Saiyan sits back on his heels and rubs at the back of his neck somewhat ashamed at coming on you so hard like that. "Sorry... I felt lucky to have someone as great as you are, is all. Caring about me the way you do. I didn't mean to get carried away, just wanted thanking you for all you do for me to be a bit special." He tittered with a flush of pink in his cheeks.

Oh, Goku.

And it has been some time since the last you were alone like this to express that side of your bond to each other. Now you felt just as embarrassed for worrying like that. But it gave light to some things you never really got to address between you, unsettled, painful feelings and a lot of words left unsaid in favor of the here and now where everything was normal again. Certainly you could just... savor his sincere truth and allow this "normal" reality to go on for a little longer.

You sit yourself up enough to lean forward and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your face into his exposed neck. "No...I'm sorry." Drawing yourself closer, you lifted your lips to his ear and softly urged him. "I want you to, Goku. Please?" A trail of your sultry kisses planted across his cheek to his lips. "Please..."

A request like that couldn't be ignored, and of course he wasn't going to deny you satisfaction if he wanted it, too. Goku leans contentedly into your embrace as you pulled him back on top of you, deepening your kiss with his weight pressing down on you. He continued from where he left off, only this time shoving your top to your chin to expose your breasts to the elements around you. Both his hands filled with each cup and kneaded the supple skin against his rough palms.

Goku wasted no time inciting pleasure through your entire body starting with your breasts. It didn't take long before his mouth tended to each erect nipple. He consciously tugged one between his lips the more you writhed then did the same to the other to undo you more. He relished the sound of your voice breaking through your restraint to keep it inside. Even out like this, you were all alone. Nothing but the trees, the grass, and the sun to hear your whines. No need to keep quiet.

You felt some relief from the heat inside you when he lifted from your chest and pulled your bottoms down to your knees only to push your legs to your chest and lick at your freshly wet and exposed slit. He wetted you up further using his tongue to teasingly curls around your clit and spread what leaked out from you with more earnest laps between your folds, finally getting that shameless moan from you as you arched your spine. You tried your best not to pull too much on the blanket beneath you lest you knock over the assortment of food beside you, grasping for whatever sturdy thing your hand could find that would allow you to move your hips against his mouth for more.

Before you knew it, your half-dressed legs were draped over his shoulder and his freed cock sank into you making your breath hitch, pushing through the eager flutter of your inner walls already squeezing around him. You're tighter than he remembers, but it's so good—Goku wraps a bare arm around your legs to secure them against his chest and shoulder while his other hand lifted your hips just enough to better accept his size. These slow rolls of his hips met with the impatient jerk of your own wasn't good for your adjustment, but you were so ready to feel your heat burst around him. His name leaving your lips with such urgency collapsed his restraint, the saiyan leaning forward into you and thrusting his hips against your needy pace.

Goku licks his lips as your body starts to bounce off his own with more vigorous thrusts, watching the way your breasts spring from the momentum. His hand pulls you into each jerk of his own hips making you tremble at how easy his cock knocked at your deepest part. He lets go of you just long enough to make quick work of one of your shoes so he could slide one of your legs free from your bottoms, taking in the beautiful sight of you from your gaping, gasping mouth down to where your body swallowed his cock with your legs spread apart.

You couldn't have been more exposed to your surroundings, but it only further excited you with him. The enthusiasm behind his hips pounding into yours carried your voice across the fields surrounding you, Goku's own heated moans tailing yours in volume. He eventually crawls forward to lie on top of you and holds you so close, burying his face into your neck and leaving you breathless with his uneven thrusts.

"I-I love you so much, (Y/n)." He panted against your skin. With a grateful smile, you secure your arms around him in return, your fingers gripping at his black tank top and spread legs rocking around him.

270 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

#4

Heya my friendo. I can't help myself. I'm thirsty for Goku ss4. Remember that one particular tiktok post "I'll let you have sex with me".... That's the one. What do you think? Can I have a oneshot based on that?

Love your works❤️

I'm not good on requests, sorry if I messed 😅

this should have been the easiest and quickest fic to write, all the parts were there but nope, goku muse had to run wild and do whatever he wanted now it’s days later and 5k words long. but it was worth it for you friendo! hope you enjoy that I made it extra special for our beautiful furry himbo♥ 

Pairing: Goku (SS4) x Female Reader ( Requested by @blue-wristbands​ ) Insp. Word Count: 5,600 Rating: Mature / 18+. Minors DNI Warning: ( canon divergent: end of z - end of gt timeline, established relationship, reader is mother of Gohan and Goten,  implied RadChi, domestic fluff, explicit language, play wrestling, birthday sex, rough oral - male receiving, oral - female receiving ) A/N: Happy Birthday Goku! (4/16).

original image posted by megaman2

Goku's training with Vegeta in the hyperbolic time chamber helped to blossom the Super Saiyan 4 form, even awakening a new height of awareness within himself that came with fulfilling true control of his inner Great Ape power. Bridging the gap between the primal inner beast and the revered Super Saiyan of legend, and bringing in an era of peace for the world they live with its unmatched strength.

While the thought of one day wielding this form to its true potential excited him, Goku honestly relished these peaceful times more which allows him the opportunity to become accustomed to this ascended nature before running wild, a chance he rarely gets since obtaining Super Saiyan 3. Rest was just as important in training, however. He almost felt out of place being home so much and sitting still for so long, but being with you and your family together does well to change his mind. He is once again able to enjoy his simple pleasures and just be a father, a grandfather, and a husband. The latter most of all.

Above all that he enjoyed in this restful period was this acquired fixation on you, perhaps guided by his new perceptive saiyan ability and frankly the way you welcomed him home when he returned from his training as a Super Saiyan 4. Your reunion evoked pleasure so raw it made his blood run hot and put all his prior years of making love to you to shame. 

You have been apart before, longer than a day or even a whole year, but he can't quite put a reason behind this desire to indulge your body beyond simply loving you as he always had from a new perspective. Even tempted by the modest of actions on your part following your encounter. Goku just found himself genuinely drawn to you more than ever. His affection for you had become noticeably more frequent, not that you complained about your husband being so attentive towards you. It was quite the selfish act on his part, the saiyan trying to hold onto the lucid memory of being wrapped around you with gentle touches to your cheek and brushes of his tail at your waist. Longing for the shrouded side of you reserved only for him and now his awakened state. He lingers on the taste of your kiss that made his heart start to race where he felt the most relaxed under your hands. The aroma of your skin, in your aura, compelling him to leave no space in between you. Until he could only utter your name. Beseeching you for the hot pleasure spilling over from his body and fogging his mind to the world, leaving you as the clearest visage he could fathom.

But at that time, he recalls, you both had to force it down and quickly hide it away.

Goku could feel his Great Ape power heating in his veins with anticipation, hiding his incomplete satisfaction in the decorum of your youngest son’s presence when he finally came home, Goten awed by the new powerful form of his father. Goku could mask his frustration, but you couldn’t. Not after he undone your composure to bare impulse and left his heat inside you. Despite your best efforts, your face was flushed and body engulfed in the same crimson aura as your husband to the trained eye. Goten was many things, but he wasn’t a fool. The entire living room smelled of his dad’s trained form and it was all over you, too. The young adult didn’t have to know what the aura meant to guess what went on before he got home, just relieved that his parents were able to make themselves decent before he came in. Shocked you guys even still do that. 

But Goku’s anticipation for you continued, the red saiyan’s hidden frustrations growing further impatient into the night having to wait to have you again. Waiting until the darkest period of night rolled around, waiting for your son to put his phone down long enough to fill his room with snores of a deep slumber. 

 And it felt endless, the pleasure you and Goku drew out from each other once again. There was so much of his beastly scent wrapped up around you still, and leftovers of his powerful ki absorbed in you. Your initial taste and recovery from his invasive, primal ki was for not as it found you again. Wearing his very desires like a veil. How could one tell where you ended and he began when you were tangled around each other throughout the night like that? You were exhausted by the time the sun rose. An understatement really, you exerted yourself with energy you didn’t know you had to keep up with him. But while the lustful energy did fade, it felt like days before his scent dispersed. A long bath and heavily scented soaps and oils could remove him from your skin, but he could still pick up his scent on you coming through much more than any of your perfumes.

Once it wanes and your natural scent starts to pierce through, however, Goku came to learn that's when he has to have you the most. Not even his base form could keep away the urge to “fix” your scent again. Despite not being transformed into a super saiyan 4 at all now, Goku could feel inklings of that whispering need filling his senses again and it truthfully lead to the affectionate gestures he was displaying with you now. Behind his bright eyes, there was a restlessness in the form of a beast climbing its way to the surface, seeking you to pacify it. When it did take hold, when he slowly slipped into its call, he became acutely aware of your presence around him more than ever.

Even now, when you believe you have him caught off guard and quietly prowling on your toes toward him. He feels your energy, his nostrils flare at your scent, and the tip of his tail coils with contentment and alertness. But he plays along, today was a special occasion and he knew whatever you were bringing his way was going to work in his favor. You were alone again. He surrenders to your "surprise attack" as the oblivious prey when you dive into his back and wrap your arms around him to drag him from the bed. It was an ungraceful tumble taking the blankets with you, but you both shared a cheery laugh where you fell onto the floor. You roughly messed his wild hair and sit upon his partially covered torso pinning one of his hands down.

"What's this? You're getting a little past your prime, ‘old man!’ If I can take you down that easy, this house is going to have a new martial arts champion."

"Yeah right. More like the champion of cheap shots!" The Saiyan sparks another laugh, taking your wrist in his free hand in spite of your playful swatting as he shook his other arm free from you.

It's then you find yourself at a true disadvantage when the long tail whipped around one of your wrists and held it back, allowing Goku enough time to adjust himself beneath you and lead with a pounce of his own. With his arm around your waist to carry you, you are rolled over and quickly find yourself on your back beneath him. Your legs are all tangled with his and both your hands are fighting for control with your fingers now interlocked with his. Furthering your downfall was just your inability to stop from laughing at each other. By no means would a saiyan be struggling against a human, there was just so much fun in your lively efforts he had to give you a chance for your best. Testing your vigor was necessary.

"That all ya got?"

"As if I'd show you all my tricks!" You taunted, sliding your legs free and throwing yourself up, using your momentum to roll him back over, however finding yourself right back on your back. Both your hands are pinned flat against the ground and your legs helplessly spread on each side of his body with his weight bearing down on you. Goku lets out a smug snort as he smirks knowingly at you, taunting you with his tail swaying back and forth above you both. You attempt to push back again but your strongest effort got you nowhere, not even a wiggle. With a sigh and a conceding, softer laugh you roll your eyes at him.

“Fine. I’ll let you win this time since it’s your birthday.” You lift your head up enough to nuzzle your nose against his, wrapping your legs loosely around his hips. “I won’t go so easy on ya next time.”

Goku grins from your affection. “Suits me just fine. I’ll take you on any time.” His nostrils faintly flare and his hands squeeze yours slightly at the scent of you so close, your true scent filling his nose.

“Did you think about what you wanted?” Your voice reeled him back from his shift in focus and he blinks a few times thoughtfully.

You presented him with the task of thinking about what he’d like for his Birthday for a change and it has kept his thoughts preoccupied the last few days alongside those...urges. Hardly ever is the saiyan presented with a simple question about his own desires that couldn't immediately be solved by an equally simple answer, only this time you wouldn't take a "same ol, same ol'" as a satisfying response. If only you would just let him ask for a banquet of food or to allow him to go train in Other World and be done with it.

How could he decide anything with your scent still flooding his nose and your body embracing him right now, practically bound beneath him. Building up that primal energy throughout his body. His dark eyes pan your face, stopping on your lips. He does at least want those. One of your hands is released when he pulls it back to trace his thumb along your lower lip. Rather than answering you right away, Goku leans down and places a slow, tender kiss to your lips. Just enough to feel their warmth on his, not letting the contact linger too long as he lifts away with a deep inhale through his nose. He closes his eyes to let the sensation wash over him, looking down into yours when he reopens them.

Your eyes flutter back open, watching him for his next move. "...Is that all you want?" You softly encourage for more with a bite of your lip. You can’t help but notice the way the lump in his throat bobbed and how his lips parted slightly as if to speak only for wordless sighs to fall out instead. The way his hold was clinging to your pinned hand affirmed your suspicions.

You lean up slightly towards him, tilting your head to offer your lips again and Goku leans in to meet you with a hard kiss. His chest brushes down onto you and his hips press into you, each slight break in your kiss coming back deeper. Parting your mouth wider where your tongue touched his lip and you rolled your own body against him, tightening your legs around his waist. You felt so good to him, your tongue on his tasted even better than the last time. His entire body pulsed with energy, heating up over you and he suddenly snaps back from your kiss with a shudder of a breath. You look up in time to see the yellow color fill the irises of his eyes and the flash of red around his eyelids when another pulse waves across his form. Goku’s chest felt like it was expanding with each husky breath he gave over you. You’re right where he wants you to be, but no good would come from being overexcited about this. He attempted to pull himself back just enough to compose his control but your free hand strokes his cheek, stilling his breath as he looks down at you.

“Change.” You breathlessly coax him. “It’s okay... If you want to be in that form, I’ll let you have sex with me.” You end your words with another bite on your lip and a kittenish smile. You’re far from intimidated by that red-furred transformation despite the number it did on you, but it left quite the impression on your own temptation. Maybe you're more excited by the idea of your words than he was. The closeness you felt with him as a super saiyan 4 sort of refreshed your desires for him, reigniting that old spark that pulled you to him in the first place. And there was no denying how roguishly handsome he was in that form. 

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272 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

#3

Since it appears as if you are taking requests, could I please have Broly with a human!reader who sees him in his Legendary Super Saiyan form, only to try to calm him and assure him that they're not scared of him? Please??

you come into my house and choose violence against my heart. I respect that ♥ this probably turned out waaaayyy more dramatic than you must have meant but it's what came to me with this concept. may years of watching lnukaq not let me down! now i can't stop thinking about how broly and inuyasha are alike, like they both basically had subjugation necklaces, temper tantrums, and had one being from their past they cherished until a bad thing traumatized them. I have not known a night of peace since putting that together.

Pairing: Broly (DBS) x Female Human Reader Rating: E ( everyone ) Warning: ( canon-typical violence, established relationship )

The howl that filled the skies caused the lands to quiver below, everything in the surrounding area darkened in contrast to the presence of gold and green power rising over the horizon in a pillar of light. The explosive force erratically tore up the crust of the Earth and knocked you off your balance as it crumbled under your feet, unable to withstand the shockwaves of a stray blast burrowing down and making the ground less stable. You quickly moved from the area, abandoning your car before the ground swallowed you up with it, doing your best to dodge the others falling randomly around you.

The blasts look so familiar and the thought unsettled you to the suspected origins. The Earth had enough fighters capable of this sort of destruction, but none that would actively do so these days. Aside from the God of Destruction himself, there was only one other who carried a power this overwhelming and frightening. Your heart raced as you ran towards the pillar of light, the image alone filling your mind with the worst possible situations the further away it felt with the ground crumbling around you even from here, making your trek more tedious and your heart more anxious. The light vanishes, but the darkness of the surroundings remains. It felt too quiet now, only as you drew closer to the would-be battlefield did the chaotic sounds of a harsh conflict start to find you with flashes of the golden-green and blue guiding you in the right direction. Another frenzied howl echoed across the sky and sent a shiver down your spine when you recognized the voice.

Goku and Broly never trained on Earth before. You don't really know what prompted them to do so today, but even an innocent idea like that couldn't have led to this outcome. You would imagine they would be more careful, but somehow you knew something went very wrong this time. You knew Broly was the one behind this.

You were able to look up in time to catch glimpses of your other warrior friends closing in on the area as well. They flew by without noticing you below and that made you more afraid.

What were they going to do to him? What if they hurt him? All the time he spent with you felt like it was disappearing in your worries, driving you to keep moving in closer, faster. Even in the worst-case scenario your brain could conjure up, you wouldn't let anyone bring him harm. Surely this situation couldn't be intentional, not for the Broly you had gotten to know. All you could do was think of him, worry for him, hoping to get to him in time to help somehow. Whatever a simple human like yourself could do against a power like this, the smart thing to do was to leave this to the others but your heart won't let you. You would only feel more awful for not trying to do something.

It felt like you had been climbing over the debris forever before you could finally see what became of the battlefield. Your eyes could barely track the bodies of light zipping around above, the speed at which the more white and golds were knocked away where the golden-green and blues seemed to run circles around each other until the others returned was inhuman. It appeared they were all trying to overpower him, earthlings, super saiyans, and namekian alike, and they were failing at every turn. As your eyes tried to follow, your feet slowly carried you onward before picking up into a run to become visible. It was then you felt both your arms grabbed and tugged back, forcibly being held back from approaching any further. You look at each side finding the youngest super saiyans Trunks and Goten pulling on each of your arms, informing you of Piccolo and Goku's orders to remove you from this place as it had become too dangerous for even them.

You immediately struggled, attempting to pull yourself free from them and insisting on staying. You were not leaving until you got to talk to Broly about this. It was then a heavy green light warped over everything as far as your eyes could see, condensing into a single ball of energy where Broly hovered in the sky and both boys started to panic at the way the larger saiyan aimed it towards his current downed target, Gohan.

"Broly, stop!" You cried out at the top of your lungs, your voice carried up into the sky. Everyone stilled, even Broly. He peered down over his shoulder where you stood with the two younger saiyans and a low growl rumbled in his throat before he dashed down with the ki blast in hand, ready to fire. Vegeta donning his Super Saiyan Blue attempted to intervene only to be cast off by the awaiting blast, and Goten and Trunks started to pull on you with more force, lifting you from the ground against your will. The powerful momentum of Broly's landing blew you all back however, knocking you all to the ground with the two boys cushioning your fall. You recover quick enough to take in the menacing sight before you, feeling the heat of his power resonating through the distance between you.

It was a shocking display, leaving you stunned in your observation. The imposing size of this man seemed to tower you even with such a gap between you and the angry expression of vacant white eyes was just as terrifying. All bathed in a glow of the golden-green flame around him. "What...happened to you...?" Your voiceless words left your quivering lips. This couldn't be Broly, but your eyes could not deny the prominent scars across his exposed torso nor the distinguishing pelt still tied around his waist. And the scream he let out to the skies with his power building up once again, vibrating the ground until it shattered beneath his feet and the shockwaves darting around you causing you cry out with fear. You tried to shield your face from the increased heat and pressure pushing against you.

You couldn't see what his next move would have been, but you look up in time finding the Blue Goku holding back Broly's large fist and the ground beneath shaking again under their opposing might. Piccolo quickly snatches you by your arm to remove you but is ultimately knocked away by a flung Goku and the two clear a bit of distance. Leaving you standing alone in the wake of the Legendary Super Saiyan. His footsteps rattle the ground as he moved in towards you, heaving with vigor to continue fighting. It appeared to just be you and him until Goten and Trunks jumped in for a final time, both of their powerful fists simultaneously colliding with Broly's face, and yet he did not flinch an inch at their combined effort. He quickly swatted them both with a single swing of his arm, sending them flying off.

"Broly!" You call out to him, his menacing leer snapping back to you with the same savage look he gave the others and you stepped back a little. "I-It's me. It's (y/n)!... Don't you recognize me?" Pushing through all instincts to run away, you tried to calm your breathing and clenched your fists. You forced a smile through your terror and took a step closer to him, stopped only by the sudden growl. "Hey, it's me." You announced more calmly, taking another step closer. "Y-you must be so afraid right now. It's okay." As you raised a cautious hand out to him, you see him bare his teeth. His own fists clench and he expels more power knocking you off your feet and sending you rolling across the ground. The heat of it was unbearable. But you find a means to climb back up to your feet. Catching your breath, you start to walk toward him again.

"I'm not leaving you!" You shout over to him. "I'm...I'm not afraid!" For whatever holding his attention would mean for you, you can't stop trying for him. Behind this monstrous power was someone you cherished tremendously and you couldn't fathom not trying to help him through this with your own strength. "I'm here, Broly! I'm here for you. It's okay." You can't make out the movement of his eyes, but the way his head tilted down as he watched you gave you hope. "Remember, please. This doesn't control you." Finding yourself once again close enough, you lift your hand more slowly reaching out to him. Broly in his rigid posture lifts a foot, taking a step back. The seething look on his face started to recede and the tension of his clenched jaw gave way.

"S-Stay!" The guttural sound of his voice warned you, then pleaded back to you. "Stay...back!" He retreated in a few more steps, but you pursued forward. The fighters around you are astonished by the display, keeping their distance to watch but close enough to jump in to save you if needed. Yet it didn't seem like Broly wanted to hurt you. He's responding to you and he's backing down, something they couldn't get him to do before everything got out of hand.

"I won't." You stated. "Not until... I know you're okay."

Broly's heavy breath hitched with surprise at you. His fists shook in their tight clench before he relaxed his hands. His head lowers, filling his hands with his own hair and face, gripping his head as he growled with pain. His aura fluctuated between sharp and erratic beats and smoother flowing pulses before he shook the earth for a final time dropping to his knees and doubling over. Through the overwhelming power trying to maintain a hold over the reigns of his body, he forces it down with his willpower. To his aid, he feels himself being embraced. Your arms wrapped around his head and pulled into your trembling body. "You can do it, Broly. I know you can." Your sobs fell to his ears as you pressed your face into the wild golden hair. A comforting warmth bloomed in his chest making his heart skip. The power withdrew.

With a deep sigh, his tense muscles relaxed and he seemed to shrink down in your hold to normal size. His hands slipped free of you and collapsed to the ground as he pressed his face alone into your hold. His hair fell back into its natural dark pattern which you quickly took notice of. You pull back a little to see his tired dark eyes looking back up at you. A relieved smile fills your teary face and you fall to your knees as well, pulling his head over your shoulder to embrace him tighter.

"I was so worried for you."

324 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

#2

APRIL 16, IT’S A NATIONAL FUCKING HOLIDAY 

442 notes - Posted April 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Thank you for writing for the dbz fandom 😍 there is never enough content for them. I also so that requests are open, may I make one? May I request headconons of some of the dbz characters (I don't know who to pick because I like them all ☺ or your choice) that pine for the reader or have a huge crush on the reader who is oblivious?

I'm happy to be here for it! Very true, there is never enough!

Thank you for the request! I'll do my personal top 3 for this one, then. ♥ But feel free to ask again if you come up with someone specific you want from the listed characters I write for.

Crushing/Pining Character(s) x Oblivious Female Reader Pairing: Goku x Reader | Broly (DBS) x Reader | Vegito x Reader Rating: T Warning: ( slightly suggestive )

Goku -

In Goku's defense, he probably was pretty open about liking you with a display of confidence and his charming smile lingering on every word. But the issue is he more than likely confessed to having feelings for you as he would openly admit to liking anything.

So it's not completely your fault his specific brand of attention and friendliness to you feels like he's just being his natural self. You don't read too much into him putting his arm over your shoulder, offering to help you with chores he hates to do, sharing a bed if he sleeps over sometimes, and especially how often he compliments your cooking. He does those things with his other friends, too.

You just happen to miss the way his eyes warm when he stares at you and how often he actually holds your hand.

You guys could share a bath in a hot spring together and it feels like the most casual thing you could do. You settle in your clingy towel and let the heated waters relax you and it's literally the first time you looked vulnerable to him.

He feels strange about it, his whole body does, tensing up when he should be in the same relaxed state as you by now. So Goku opts to move away from you, releasing your held hand and prompting you to catch him by the towel before he got away to question where he was going.

He doesn't really have an answer to that and it would be rude to straight-up say he needs to get away from you. You standing up in your wet towel and folding your arms under your chest putting your cleavage on display didn't help.

You were always cute to him but this was different! Now his heart is racing and he can feel a change in his body. Maybe it's okay he feels that way if he said he liked you before? Goku finds a means to fumble through his explanation of how being in the water with you like this makes him feel different, hopeful you could help him feel less weird.

You nod, understanding, then proceed to point to the other hot spring pool. Clearly, the water in this one is off and messing with him, you suggest moving to the other one for a better experience.

How does it feel to out-Goku Goku?

Broly ( DBS ) -

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463 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #long post #ASFCJHG THE NUMBER OF TIMES I TAGGED GOKU POSTS

[ghost-town-story]

Find the Word Tag

Got a couple of tags here from @oh-no-another-idea. Thanks for the tags!

Before this gets too long, I’ll tag @dogmomwrites, @loopyhoopywrites, @lunafioreauthor, and whoever else wants to! Your words will be turn, study, burst, vengeance, and noise.

Words: Loss, super, proud, arrogant, sparkle, necklace, gun, handkerchief, metal, shrug

Loss (Astral Part 1)

Nashira held him for a few more moments, then she let go and took a few steps back. Will couldn’t help but stagger a little at the sudden loss of his support. He must have been more tired than he thought, to so quickly relax and come undone.

“Come with me,” Nashira said, then she turned on her heel and started off along the path between the tents.

Will blinked for a moment, his brain churning to catch up, then he stumbled into motion. 

Super (Stars)

Antonio laughs softly, but before I can pull my hand back he reaches out to take it in his. “Tying to touch a star?” he teases.

I hope he’s not looking at me, or that the low lighting will hide how my face is red from his teasing. “I know I can’t,” I defend myself.

Antonio laughs again, bringing our hands back down. My hand ends up on his chest. I can feel his heart beat, feel his chest rise and fall as he breathes.

“I mean, Mamma kinda turned me into an astronomy nerd, so I know they’re super hot and I doubt we could even get close in a ship, this ship at least, I don’t know the specifications, maybe a really insulated one—” I realize I’m flustered and rambling, and I press my free hand to my mouth to stop the words from tumbling out.

Proud (Nova)

“Why did you come home?” It was their mother.

“Felt like it.” And that was, surprisingly, the truth. “I’m going to walk James to school once he gets back down here.”

“James—”

“Is going to go whether you allow him or not, so get over it,” Myles cut her off. Secretly, he was proud that James had almost as much of a rebellious streak as he did.

“There’s no need for him to put himself at risk.”

Myles shooed his little sister off to the kitchen. She didn’t need to, couldn’t hear what they were talking about.

“You and I both know he’ll be a risk one day,” he said lowly.

Arrogant (Nova)

By lunch time, even more rumors were flying about James’s doppelganger. The most prevalent of them, and therefore the ones Summer would be most inclined to believe, painted him as an arrogant asshole who quickly got pissed off when people compared him to James.

Sparkle (Astral Part 1)

Aiden pulled the vial of blue-grey glitter out of his pocket. “Just who are you, Rose?” he whispered, watching the contents sparkle in the sunlight.

Necklace (Astral Part 1)

Aiden kept his eyes on Rose as she unfastened a chain from around her neck. “One of the last times we met the princess’s guardian, he gave us this.”

Aiden held out his hand, and Rose gently deposited the necklace there for him to examine.

“He said that, when we’re ready to fight Maddox and need the princess, that this will call them.”

Aiden moved the chain to examine the pendant. It looked like it was made out of stained glass, a dusty pink rose set against a blue sky and surrounded by gold.

Gun (Nova)

Jay saw a flash of blue light illuminate the buildings next to him. In one move, he whirled around and unholstered his gun, aiming it at the source. He found himself looking down the street at a boy standing underneath the nearest streetlight.

Jay quickly sized him up. The boy’s t-shirt and pajama pants did nothing to protect him from the rain that quickly soaked him, and he was soon shivering under the harsh glare of the streetlight. But even his impression of a drowned kitten wasn’t enough to override the warning bells going off in Jay’s brain at the sight of the boy’s blue-lensed tech goggles or the bandages wrapped around his left arm.

Handkerchief didn’t have so Napkin (Nova AU)

Aydan reached up and tugged at the white streak in Jay’s hair. “Look at you, you distinguished old gentleman,” she teased.

“Oh, I’ll show you distinguished old gentleman,” Jay retorted, his arm going around Aydan’s waist.

Basil gave a pointed little cough. Jay smirked and licked Aydan’s cheek before going back to his lunch.

“Gross,” Aydan complained, accepting the napkin Basil handed her to wipe off her cheek.

Metal (Astral Part 1)

“No,” Yavin said decisively. “She may be useful. You see, Maddox, my sister and I have discovered another of our siblings’ plans, one that could prove quite the hinderance to both our ambitions.”

Yavin rolled up his sleeves and placed his hands on Maddox’s desk, revealing cuffs around his wrists. They were made of some silvery-blue metal that was heavily streaked with rust and covered in engravings that Danielle didn’t immediately recognize.

“When our siblings decided to lock us in that prison,” Yavin said, his voice low, “they not only prevented the use of magic within our cell, but also decided to lock away mine and Europa’s magic, via these handy little cuffs.” He lifted a hand and shook his wrist briefly.

Shrug (Astral Part 1)

“Who is Vernize?”

“I’m… not too sure,” Aiden admitted. “He said he was once the prince of Astral—still might be, depending on who you ask, but Maddox keeps him locked up in the dungeon.”

Even in the greenish light, Aiden saw Finn’s face go pale. “Jake?” he whispered.

Aiden shrugged.

Jared gave Finn a strange look. “Do you really think…?”

Finn ignored the question. “He didn’t give you any other name?” he asked Aiden.

“He couldn’t,” Aiden explained. “He said Maddox took most of his name.”

#writing #in which i write #snippets #the astral chronicles #the astral chronicles: part 1 #nova #stars #writeblr things

[wikifido]

Chapter 8 (Karoleena)

Karoleena’s return to her childhood bedroom had been even more dismal than expected. It had remained untouched in her absence as though her parents had always expected her to return. Despite its grand canopy, ornate windows, and fine textiles, it was the details smaller than those that had bothered her, the facets of her girlhood on shelves hanging from innocuous places:

A childhood toy here.

A piece of more childish jewelry there.

The box of compiled objects from her friendship with Duvanith still lurks in the dusty back corner of one of the rooms’ many built-in closets.

It all hung around her like a looming spectre. Before bed, she had brushed aside a few wooden horses and her old dance flats for a place to place her leather flying cap she had received as a birthday gift from Edmerton her first year after moving out and the Pick Spanner Socket she had smuggled out of Choilt down the front of her corset, a tiny shrine to the new life she had had surrounded by the soon to be reanimated corpse of her old one.

Adrielle’s retellings of their time apart had been sweet, but they had also felt like prognostications of what was to come for her: Court, husband, child, estate keeping, in that order. They felt even more inevitable this morning than they even had the night prior when Lady Lucille had knocked on her door, with bags under her eyes lacking not even a hint of makeup and announced herself as Karoleena’s new attendant, a woman who just the night before she had thought was there for Adrielle. 

“Is that tight enough, your majesty?” Lady Lucille asks from behind her. It wasn’t, but between having to explain spiral lacing versus fan lacing to her, she wasn’t exactly ready to let this woman cinch her down the way Duanith once had. 

“It’s perfect, thank you.” 

“I’ll go get the dress,” Lucille announces. 

Karoleena scrunched up her face and began to pace; she knew the Governesses wouldn’t allow Duvanith to be her doing this, nor was it really within the realm of what she did now, but it felt empty without her. 

She was going to have breakfast with her parents this morning, and she had seen them briefly the night before, dressed in their night clothes, for a quick hug before bed.

‘Need a good night’s sleep before meeting this Rogue Queen,’ Her father had said, a preposterous thing to utter when in nothing but a nightshirt and askew sleeping cap, but she wanted him to have a fruitful meeting with Mwaxanare; maybe they could find some common ground; ground she was hoping to seed at breakfast this morning. 

Lucille re-enters the room with a dress in Karoleena’s trademark blue color, or what had been her trademark blue color during her days in Court; seeing it again turned her stomach. 

“Here we are, Your Majesty,” Lucille says, holding the dress low to allow her to step into it. She does so, and Lucille draws the dress upwards, allowing her access to the arms.

As Lucille makes proper the collar before closing the outfit, her hand brushes against Karoleena’s shoulder. It was cold, unlike Edmerton’s or Duvanith’s had been; Cold, in a way, reinforced her feelings about her return to her situation here at Court.

They finished getting ready and walked to the East Dining room in silence, which was eventually shattered by her father’s jovial exclamation at her entrance to the chamber. 

“Please! Sit Karoleena. How was getting ready for Court this morning? Your mother tells me the Governesses had the utmost trust in Lady Vallencourt.” 

Lucille offered a small bow in appreciation in response. 

“It was wonderful,” Karoleena responds with a bold face lie, hopefully, the only one she would need to tell. 

She takes a seat, with Lucille settling in next to her.

“How are things with you, Papa?” Karoleena asks politely, laying a napkin down across the finely woven silk of the dress she had just been so poorly dressed in. 

“There has been so much political rabble-rousing by the Baronies it’s been making my head spin, and of course your mother and I have been missing you dearly, especially with all they’ve been reporting in the Informer about the state of the Ashsnap Manor. We feared the worst.” 

There was so much nuance in what her father had just said, he was a master at speaking a lot and saying very little, much of it was simply his personality; he often leaned into it tactically when speaking of matters of state or when wanting people to overshare, or ask the right questions. 

“Sureley, the Arbiters are looking for answers.” 

Her father offers a heavy sigh in response to this before answering. 

“They have their best investigators looking into who this butcher could be. They wish to speak with you, but I’ve waved them off. No need to traumatize my little daisy any further.” 

“Do they have any strong leads?” Karoleena presses, she of course knew exactly who the ‘butcher’ her father had mentioned was. What she was more interested in was if the Arbiters had found the connection to the Blood Cult Duvanith had been speaking to Mwaxanare about aboard the Humboldt. 

“None they’ve shared with me. I’m just so pleased you weren’t there when it happened. Could you imagine?” 

But she had been there when it happened, in a barred room. Had the Arbiters not shared that detail with him? The fact that there was a jail cell in the highest tower of the Ashsnap Manor was a detail they thought wise to omit. Before she crafts a question to try to lead into a discussion regarding that fact, the door to the room opens again, her mother triumphantly leading a small cadre of kitchen staff bearing steaming plates of breakfast. 

“A proper Castle breakfast for your first day back.” Her mother announced. This was a thing her mother had always done, entering with the food, but it seemed silly to Karoleena now, a weak attempt at mocking up domesticity. The Castle staff were the ones who cooked, plated, and even carried the food into the room, but her mother must have just waited in a nearby room until it was time for the food to be served. 

Karoleena reckoned her mother had never touched a pan in her life, both before and after marrying her father. To Mwaxanare’s credit, Karoleena had seen her warm her own kettle at least once; she probably knew how to cook. 

“It looks delicious, thank you!” Karoleena beams outwardly, observing the food neatly separated on her plate into the pancake, meat, and egg sections as it had been since her childhood. “How are you this morning, Mother.” 

“Well, dear, so well.” Her mother smiles at her, not a performative Court smile like the one she had just offered her, but a legitimate loving smile. “So happy to have you home and, more importantly, safe.” She turns to Karoleena’s attendant, “Lady Vallencourt.” 

“Yes Your Majesty.”

“How did last evening and this morning go? Do you find yourself adjusting well to your task as an attendant?” 

The question was odd for a number of reasons. The first was her mother had never once paid Duvanith any attention at meals like this, and the second was the inference in her mother’s statement that Lucille had not served as an attendant before. There was no way the Castle Governesses would assign a new attendant to a Royal family member returning to Court; they’d almost certainly poached one from a recently married Lady or something of the sort. She wasn’t twelve. 

“Quite well, your Majesty, thank you for asking.” 

The two share a polite smile before turning to their food. 

The polite banter was getting her nowhere, so she ripped the bandage off. 

“Father,” She says, laying as much formality on her words as she could muster. “You should listen to what Queen Mwaxanare has to say and give her a fair trade deal on what she’s come to offer.” 

A silence permeates the table, making the sound of her father’s utensils being laid down on the porcelain as loud as the Grand Chapel bells. 

“I will do what is best for the Empire to represent the Baronies within it.” he says with a deathly serious tone to his voice, “Nor will I take guidance from my Daughter who has spent several weeks in this Rogue Queen Court without writ.” 

Karoleena felt the veil of shame and discomfort close in around her, manifesting as a pins and needles sensation across her shoulders and down her arms. She had wondered what the response to her trip would be, and there it was, behind the pleasant Court smiles, and staff made breakfasts, it was frustration, maybe even anger. 

She returns to her eggs. 

#dieselpunk #original character #fiction writing #short story #fantasy #ttrpg community #worldbuilding #dungeons and dragons #ttrpg stuff #fiction

[shadowydreampaper]

Instagrammable Party Ideas: Creating Picture-Perfect Moments

Ever been to a party where every corner screams, "Instagram me!"? That's the magic of an Instagrammable party! 

People snap selfies, share smiles, and capture awesome moments under the shimmering glow of iridescent shimmer wall. It's not just a party; it's a trend, a sensation, a reason to celebrate and share. 

So, if you are planning to host an Instagram-worthy, you’re at the right place. Grab your event lights, prep those hashtags, and get ready for the most stunning party ideas out there!

Unique and Captivating Insta-Worthy Party Ideas

An Instagrammable party is an event designed with the perfect balance of style, aesthetics, and uniqueness, making it irresistibly photogenic. Attendees can't help but take pictures and share them on social media platforms like Instagram. 

These parties often feature eye-catching decor, creative themes, and interactive elements that provide fantastic backdrops for photos, ensuring that every moment is picture-perfect.

Here are the best party concepts that will truly elevate your social media feeds:

#Awesome Party Theme Ideas

Here are some photogenic party ideas and themes that are sure to create picture-perfect moments:

Tropical Paradise: Transform your party space into a lush tropical oasis with palm leaves, vibrant flowers, and tiki torches. Guests can dress in Hawaiian shirts and leis for that perfect vacation vibe.

Boho Chic: Embrace the bohemian trend with dreamcatchers, macramé decorations, and plenty of earthy tones. It's a relaxed and effortlessly stylish theme.

Black and White Affair: Keep it classic and sophisticated with a black and white theme. Decorate with monochrome balloons, 120” round black tablecloth, and encourage guests to wear black and white attire.

80s Retro: Take a trip back to the 1980s with neon colors, cassette tape decorations, and vintage arcade games. Encourage guests to come dressed in their best '80s attire.

Color Party: Explore vibrant color party ideas to add a burst of excitement to your celebration.

Under the Stars: Host your party outdoors and create a cozy atmosphere with string lights, lanterns, and dusty blue table runners and tablecloths. Perfect for stargazing and late-night conversations.

Carnival Extravaganza: Bring the excitement of the carnival to your party with popcorn machines, cotton candy, and colorful carnival games.

Masquerade Ball: Add an air of mystery with a masquerade ball. Provide elegant masks for guests and decorate with rich colors and opulent decor.

Movie Night: Create a home theater experience with a big screen, cozy seating, and popcorn. Choose a theme like '80s classics or a specific director's films.

Nautical Adventure: Set sail with a nautical theme. Decorate with anchors, sailor hats, and shades of blue and white. It's a great option for pool party ideas and beach or lakeside parties.

#Stunning Decorating Ideas for A Party

Creating a social media-friendly party is all about the details. Here are some styling ideas that will have your guests snapping photos all night long.

Set the stage with captivating backdrop draping ideas. Opt for draping lush fabrics like chiffon or sequined curtains. Add fairy lights for a magical touch. A flower wall or balloon arch can also serve as an enchanting backdrop.

Elevate your table settings with nude napkins. They provide a soft and neutral base for your table decor, allowing colorful accents to pop.

Use spandex cocktail table covers. These sleek and stretchy table covers create a modern look. They fit snugly over cocktail tables, and you can choose a color that complements your party theme.

Crystal centerpieces add a touch of glamor. Opt for tall crystal candelabras or crystal vases filled with fresh flowers. The way they catch the light will mesmerize your guests.

Choose party table linens that match your theme. Vibrant colors or elegant patterns can set the tone for the entire event. Make sure they coordinate with your napkins for a polished look.

Don't underestimate the power of balloons. They come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Giant helium-filled balloons with tassels or confetti inside can make a big statement.

#Insta-Ready Party Food Ideas

Trendy party ideas are not just about visually appealing decorations but also delicious and eye-catching food. Here are some dinner party menu ideas and dessert ideas for party that will make your guests reach for their cameras:

Caprese Skewers. Skewers with cherry tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and basil drizzled with balsamic glaze are both delicious and visually appealing.

Stuffed Bell Peppers. Colorful bell peppers filled with a flavorful mixture of rice, ground meat, and vegetables. They look great when plated.

Sushi Platter. Sushi rolls, sashimi, and nigiri presented on a platter with vibrant colors and artistic arrangements.

Taco Bar. Set up a taco bar with a range of colorful toppings and fillings, allowing guests to create their own Instagrammable masterpieces.

Gourmet Pizza. Serve mini gourmet pizzas with unique toppings and colorful ingredients. They can be quite photogenic.

Grazing Boards. Create stunning charcuterie or cheese boards with an assortment of meats, cheeses, fruits, and nuts. Arrange them in an artful, eye-catching way.

Donut Wall. Set up a donut wall with a variety of colorful and uniquely decorated donuts. It's a sweet and photogenic treat.

Mini Sliders. Serve mini sliders with a twist. Add gourmet toppings and use colorful buns to make them pop.

Fruit Kabobs. Skewer colorful fruit combinations like strawberries, grapes, and melon. They're not only delicious but also look great on camera.

Cake Pops. Decorate cake pops with colorful icing and sprinkles. They're a fun and easy-to-eat dessert.

#SnapWorthy Party Favor Ideas

For a picture-perfect party, choose visually appealing favors that match your theme. 

Check out customized photo props like Instagram-style frames or cutouts, mini succulents, or customized cookies with Instagram icons and hashtags. You can also opt for mini mason jars filled with treats, mini champagne bottles, and colorful sunglasses that match the party's theme. 

Present these favors in stylish packaging and encourage guests to share them using your event hashtag.

What Makes Party Ideas Interesting and Instagrammable?

Creating an Insta-ready party is all about putting together key elements that make your event truly memorable.

First, focus on visual appeal. This means using eye-catching decor, vibrant color schemes, and pleasing setups that instantly grab attention on social media. 

Use stylish linens, shimmering backdrops, and well-coordinated color palettes to set the stage for countless photos. If you're looking for top-notch linens and decor that will take your event to the next level, check out trusted suppliers like CV Linens.

To keep things exciting and engaging, add interactive elements like a photo booth with fun props, interactive games, and more. You can also plan surprises that prompt guests to capture special moments. This could be a flash mob, a surprise guest appearance, or a spectacular cake cutting ceremony.

Finally, make sure your event is seamlessly integrated with social media by suggesting a dedicated event hashtag. Bring all these party ideas together to craft a captivating setting that your guests will adore photographing and sharing. 

Happy party planning!

#PartyGoals #InstaParty #PicturePerfectParty #PartyPlanning #PartyInspiration #PartyDecor #PartyIdeas #EventPlanning #PartyStyling #PartyTime #PartyDecorations #CelebrationGoals #PartyVibes #PartyPhotography #PartyMemories #PartyDetails #PartyPlanning101 #EventDesign #PartyPerfection #PartyDesign #PartyFlair #PartyCrafts #PartySetup #PartyMagic #PartyInStyle #PartyChic #PartyGlam #PartyFavors #PartyPlanningTips #PartyDay

[louisediesattheend]

Fish Hook Blues.

All of your lovers think they were the first to open that door, to spill that blood, to whet that appetite. But only one of them is correct.

Unless you're the kind of person who either doesn't watch, read or notice any news, as well as the kind of person who hasn't guessed where I spend most of my days nowadays, you'll know that where I am right now; it's fucking scorching.

The ground feels like dry bones. Mummified. Hot to touch. It's like when you were a kid, and some grown-up gets a freshly baked crumble out of the oven and says to you, sharply, don't touch! But when their back is turned, you take your hand; fingers outstretched and place it flat on the top anyway. Ouch. That kind of scorching. If you're like me and like walking around places barefoot, forget about it.

This one day, I was even more uncomfortable, because I was back in uniform. All over this country, people are dying from the heat. The hospital where I've been based here for my research is crying out for help. I got grant money, obviously, but I won't say no to extra cash. You'd be an idiot to say no. So I joined the community outreach team, one or two days a week. They see people who are really sick, at home. They're paying me what would be about £55 an hour back home, and I'm not mad about it. It's easy too. To me, anyway. That's why they offered me this role. They've seen me draw blood for my research. I got decent at it back home, but here where it's so hot, the people's veins are screaming at you. The blood is practically fighting to get out into the air. I was driving my car, which I stopped washing over a month ago; it's too hot, and it gets dusty right away. Everyone's cars are dusty right now. No one cares anymore. I was just driving this dusty car around to different people's houses, going in and taking their vitals, giving them whatever they were prescribed to go through their lines, and then drawing their blood. I noticed that here, everyone's veins look green. Like my mother's. My veins look blue, because I'm pale as death, but here everyone has this toffee-nut olive skin that makes their veins look green because there's so much yellow in their skin.

I was in this old guy's house, who was quite sweet. Very sick though. His wife still wore a pinafore. I thought it was charming. Anyway, it came time for him to have his blood drawn, and the poor guy was so used to it that he just kind of slung his arm out after I detached his IV and flushed his line. I smiled at him and got the tourniquet out and ready, and started poking around for a fat one. I fucking love blood. It's just so cool. Whenever I see someone in a movie or whatever, covered in blood, I never think of it as dirty. Unless the person is like, dying of sepsis, then blood is sterile. If anything, you're making the nice clean blood all dirty.

Sure enough, I hardly had to poke around three seconds before I found a fat juicy vein in the crook of his arm. I took the tourniquet off, prepared the equipment, put on my gloves, and cleaned the area with one of those little isopropyl alcohol wipes that come in the sachets, which remind me of those little wet napkins they used to give you at Kentucky fried chicken. It's so fucked up how much medical equipment seems related to eating sometimes. I put the tourniquet back on and stuck my needle straight in. I rarely warn them. Not because I'm an asshole, but because that makes it worse. If someone says to you "Here comes the sharp needle!" what do you do? You tense up, it's just common sense. It's no courtesy to make someone tense up right before you shove a needle in their arm. You can take that from me.

Instantly, flashback arrives in the little window at the base of the needle. Now my favourite part. Using my other hand, I release the tourniquet and grab the first bottle. They have to go in colour order. Or you fuck up the test. I slot the bottle in, and the first little jet of blood goes flying into the bottle. I'll never get tired of it, I really won't. It's so satisfying. I fill three more bottles up, label them and put them into the specimen bag. The guy thanks me, and his wife offers me a Madeleine. I'm really, really not that great at this language. I picked up German like that, but I can really only make small talk in this one. So I probably said it crappily, but I said "Thank you but I don't eat bread". It's not even bread, it's a fucking cake, but I hope she got the idea. She looked confused. Europeans can never understand why someone wouldn't eat meat or bread. Unless they're Nordic I guess. I smiled at her and then gave the old guy a wave. He waved feebly back at me. It's sad that he'll probably die soon, and it's too hot for him to go outside and look at his country before he does.

Anyway, right as I left, that's when you called. I literally opened my car door, slung the specimen bag of blood in the basket I keep in the passenger footwell so I can just take the basket into the hospital and dump them in the specimen tray in the path lab, and stepped into my car, and the phone rang. It was doing that horrible blublublublub ringing sound like someone putting their finger on their lips and going blublublublub. It was the ringing sound it makes when it's not a phonecall phonecall, but coming from an app. A messenger app or something. Gross. But then I saw the picture and I knew that overly sharp chin, and the blonde hair. Fuck, we had messaged some over the years, especially when I came out of the hospital in 2016, but not that much. I almost didn't want to answer. But I did, of course. It's you.

I hardly had to speak, which was helpful. Honestly, I get fed up of talking to people. Especially over the phone. If someone wants to speak with me over a fucking messaging app, or over the phone these days they can pretty much blow it out of their ass. I would have gone back to not having a phone again, anyways, if it wasn't for work and my research. Who needs one. Endless grief. You got straight to the point, probably because just like anyone's oldest friends do, you know me and what I hate pretty well. You told me where you were going to be in six days. You told me, hottest weather since records began be damned, your lot were coming where I was living. I asked you, oh, so you still work for the carnival then? I was trying to sound nonchalant like it didn't bother me. You reminded me that it's only for half the year. The other half you're still maintaining people's boats for them. You didn't see, because we were talking on the phone but that made me roll my eyes back into my goddamn skull. You told me then that you were just letting me know where you were going to be. It's actually not my town, exactly, but the one next to it. We talked only a little bit more and then we hung up.

I acted pretty normal, I think, when I went home. C was in the kitchen making a salad. We pretty much just eat salad at the moment because it's too fucking hot. I stopped drinking since a couple of months ago. I just have ice-cold coke zero, in a glass with a slice of lemon. Or cherry cola. There's watermelon in the fridge. I was never big on it, but sometimes with the heat putting you off your food and all, ice-cold watermelon just helps you to feel like there's something inside you. Ballast. We started talking about random shit like we always do, and then we ate some really simple fish and the salad and laid out by the pool. The sun was finally going down, and I got in the water for a while. I can't stand being too hot for too long. I used to love the nights here because they would feel so cold compared to the daytime, but lately, they just feel stuffy and hot too. We went out at the start of summer and bought a load of fans for the villa. It was a little too hot to fuck, honestly, but we still did.

I dreamed about France almost every night that week. You, and me, cycling around because we were bored. You, an English kid plopped in a French village, and me; a French kid that had been plopped in an English village. But for two summers, a Halloween and one Easter we were in the same place. The bits in between I had to go back, but the holidays were all ours. Honestly, I sometimes wonder if I was even me yet back then. I suppose I must have been. I liked a lot of the same things I like now. You were kind of sad. I could tell back then, but I didn't say anything about it because we were thirteen, and it would have humiliated you. Supposedly. That had been my understanding of boys up until that point. Your Mum just took you to France, and now she was married to that French guy and had his kid. The kid was cute but it must have made you feel left out. I dreamed about those English kids, my foster family's nieces and nephews. Those total little scumbags. I dreamed about them, driving us crazy, and how we always cooked up some revenge plot. It made me feel better, at the time.

I actually saw posters for your shitty carnival popping up on the roads around the coast. The stupid clown face. There is no fucking clown, as I recall. It's not a circus, it's a fair. Rides, candyfloss. Hook the duck. On day six I swung by and I saw all the weirdly folded-up rides, and the little caravans on the beige, desiccated grass. I wondered which one was yours. In a couple of days, it would be all set up, and people would flock here. Even though it's too hot. They'd still come in the evening for a ride and a shitty hotdog or something. The kids would, anyway. I wasn't ready to walk up onto the fairground yet. I went and found a tree, and after considering it for a moment, slightly childishly climbed up into it, and laid on my front on one of the larger branches to watch. I wondered if I would see you, from this vantage, where you wouldn't see me. I wondered if you felt like you were waiting for me. Why else would you have told me you'd be here? I wouldn't have guessed it was your carnival, by any stretch. You told me because you wanted to see me.

I drove past each day after that. Watching for it to be ready and open. I supposed when it was open, I would go in and get on the Ferris wheel, or ruin some kid's time on the bumper cars by harassing them with bump after bump. I've lost interest in growing up, ever. I don't think it's for me. The first day it was open, I couldn't go in. It's been such a long time. The last time we spoke on Facetime I was fat in the face from the steroids, so I knew I wouldn't look bad by any stretch to you now, skinny and all. It wasn't that. When I feel like this; like I can't do something I actually quite want to do deep down, since I had all that therapy, I've been trying to figure out what it is that's making me feel like I can't just go ahead and do the thing. I sat in my dusty car and thought about it, with the car door open so I wouldn't roast alive. I think it's because of how accidentally well you know me. I know it's the same the other way around too, and we didn't try on purpose for that to happen. But it's almost embarrassing, isn't it. I drove away and promised myself one more night and then I would do it quick.

I was quite surprised the next day when I actually did it. I drove up to the fair. I threw on a sundress because it was too hot and uncomfortable to wear anything but that or shorts, and I didn't want to walk up to you in shorts because I still look about twelve anyway and it would be too gross to walk up to you wearing shorts and a T-shirt exactly like I might have when we were thirteen. It felt obscene. So anyway, I wore a sundress. It came to just above my knees. I had my sunglasses on, and before I got out of the car I pulled the visor down so I could re-apply my lipstick in the mirror. I've worn the same shade most days since I was about nineteen. I have others that I wear when I go out, of course. But this is the one that's always in my bag or my pocket or whatever. I don't carry a handbag, but I mean if I have a bag with me. My hair is short now, and it wasn't when you last saw me. When you saw me on the FaceTime, it was down to my ass. The heat makes it do that slight curling thing that drives me nuts, but all my lovers seem to like it. I stepped out and walked across the scrub-brush into the gaudy lights of the fair. I felt a little anxious, I'll admit that. I rarely feel anxious. Maybe it wasn't anxious, even. Agitated. I started walking around, looking at the rides and looking at the carnies working the rides. They all look pretty dirty. I figured, suddenly, that you'll probably look pretty dirty too. I felt a little bad about my dress, then. Like I'm gonna seem like I'm trying to be all high and mighty. That's just how I dress, though.

I walked past a waltzer, and I saw something familiar. This tragic, scratty dog, sort of tan and white with long fur; kind of like Lassie if she had the mange. I'd seen that dog. On the call with you, and in the pictures you sent me. So I knew it was yours. It's so weird because normally I know all my friends and my lover's dogs. Like, if I walk in somewhere and one of their dogs is there, it knows me straight away and runs over to say hi. But yours doesn't know me. At all.

I followed the wretched dog, because you can pretty much just follow a dog and it's not considered rude, and I watched it then run up to the open door of a caravan. The caravan had once been green I think but it was cruddy with dirt, and sun-faded. I could hear movement inside. I said your name, once, sharply and loudly. The dog came running back out, and a moment later you appeared in the doorway. We looked at one another for a moment, and then you began to walk down the steps. I felt embarrassed at myself when I noticed your limp. I suppose, if I'd had even half a fucking brain in that moment, I'd have expected you to limp. I knew the whole story. But I hadn't seen you in person. You really only absorb that someone probably has a limp once you've seen it with your own eyes. So I hadn't actually expected it. You limped down the steps and grabbed a crutch that was leaning against the side of the caravan. "I don't need this," you said "I only use it sometimes"

I nodded, and you gestured to some foldable lawn chairs that were set out a little further, behind another caravan, out of sight of the people on the rides at the fair. Apart from maybe the people at the top of the Ferris wheel. They might have been able to see.

We started talking about this and that. Asking one another if so and so is okay and are you still in touch with such and such. Pretty inane chatter. When I finally got around to it, I whispered "Do you still have pins in it?" and gestured to your bad leg. You nodded. I smiled and called you Frankenstein. You told me I could fuck off. I told you I liked it, and that people who have a bad leg normally have an interesting story to tell and that makes me like them more. You asked me then if I'd seen those nephews and nieces of my foster parents any time recently. I told you, only back when my grandfather died. I told you my grandmother died too last year. I saw her, but I didn't see any of the others. "I liked her" you said, simply. I smiled and said "Me too".

You got us some drinks from your caravan. You offered me a beer at first, but then I told you I'm trying not to drink for a while. You didn't question it. It's funny how only certain kinds of people don't question something like that. Most people make such a fuss. But you just switched it to a Coke, and that was that. You went back inside the caravan for a moment, and when you came back out you threw me something. It was a peach. You've always remembered my favourite foods. I smiled at you all teeth then, and bit into it. We talked about C a little bit. You wanted to know about him and what does he do. I said you could meet him, but you just gave a thin smile and shrugged. I knew when I said it that you wouldn't want to. I just didn't want you to think that I wouldn't want you to.

I had some things I wanted to say to you. I hadn't said them yet, and I knew we wouldn't be able to just sit here on lawn chairs for eternity drinking beer and coke and just talking about bullshit. I knew you would have to work at some point. But I was finding it hard to say the things I wanted to say. I told you what I'm doing now. What I'm working towards, and you told me that's great. Then I told you I'm also trying to write a book. Your head snapped towards me at that. What kind of book, you wanted to know.

"A Novel" I told you.

You nodded at me. I told you I still had your books. The ones you loaned me when we were thirteen. I told you I kept them safe, and you can have them back any time you want. You told me to keep them because if I gave them back to you, you'd sell them for cash. You said they're better kept with me, where they won't get sold to some asshole who's only gonna pay almost nothing at all for them.

"You know, your foster dad sent me money last year" you said, out of the blue.

I laughed dourly and told you "Well he never gave me any". You smiled a little at that and told me he gave it to you to go and get your leg looked at again but that you never did and you just spent it on living. That you just stopped returning his messages. You asked if that made me angry. I laughed and said not one bit.

I told you then, about my mother. Everything that had happened in the last year, out of the blue. Everything about her shitty, rotting brain. You listened calmly, and when I was finished you told me you would have left her to rot. I know you would have. I should have. I knew I mustn't offer you money. We weren't going to have that sort of a relationship, one where I give you money and you spend it and then eventually we both feel bad about it for our own reasons and eventually lose touch. So I didn't offer you any money. You didn't ask for any, either.

The thing is, we weren't going to change one another's lives again. I have my life, and you have yours. Whatever I think about your life, you chose it and it's none of my business. Whatever you think about mine, it's the same thing. This is all it's going to be now. But I guess what matters is that once, it was a lot.

Once, I sat in the backseat of a people carrier, my heart skipping with excitement at seeing you again, and I was young. I had nothing else to look forward to. We had sat, for hours at a time, out of sight of the adults by some tree reading separately but together. You have always been smart, one of the only people that read as much as I did when we were kids. We would cycle around, bored. Ask each other stupid questions. You told me about how you'd had sex already a bunch of times. I liked you back then because I knew you weren't telling me a load of horseshit. When other boys told me they'd had all this sex at that age, they were lying. But you were an English boy with shitty parents and an even shittier step-parent, who was using his status as a foreigner for the only thing it was good for; having sex with the French girls at school. It wasn't like English schools. They fucked weirdly young in my ancestral home. You were raking in the benefits. But it was just something to do. That's how I knew we were really friends. You didn't say creepy things to me to try and get me to have sex with you. You sat quietly and read with me instead, listened to my music, and rode around with me on our bikes.

We started writing stories for one another. You told me I should be a writer. I didn't listen to you back then, or for years. Sorry. You helped me with maths problems. You were better at them than I was. You were there the day one of the nephews attacked me, kicking me and punching me. The little shit had no idea who you really were. You were so much smarter than him. You came over to me and got me up off the floor, and walked me away. Took your T-shirt off and wiped my face and my arms clean, until your T-shirt was cruddy with my blood. That would have been enough for me, I'd have appreciated you even for that.

But you had your own ideas. You invited that little prick fishing, which he didn't know how to do being a city kid from London town. I remember being so fucking betrayed that you had asked him. I thought you were going onto his side which, looking back, was stupid. I'll never forget his mother's face when he came back, crying despite being nearly sixteen years of age, bruised and scratched and with a fishhook stuck under his pointer fingernail. You little beast. It was sadism only a child or a madman could muster. Whatever you said to him, he was too scared to tell his mother anything. She knew it was you though. Rich people get so angry when their monstrous kids get what's coming to them. She threatened to call the Gendarmes. It's so sad that one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me was the beginning of the end for you.

We had to cycle out alone to meet each other secretly after that. We didn't have mobile phones or anything. It was difficult to orchestrate. Your leg was fine back then, and we would climb trees, go swimming. I dared you to skinny dip. You said only if I did.

My naked body had only known violence up until then. You don't know what it meant for me to not fear being naked then, with you. We were so solemn, looking at one another's eyes the whole time we undressed, and hardly straying below the shoulders once it was done. I didn't have to ask you if I was different to the other girls you had been with, I already knew. We jumped into the lake, together, and laughed stupidly, trying to dunk one another's heads under the water. We were doing normal kid stuff, just doing it naked. It didn't feel wrong. We laid in the late afternoon sun, drying, still naked on the lake shore. There was never anybody around. It wasn't a tourist town. Just pure cow country. Private.

That night, I laid on my belly in bed writing a story about that day. To give to you. But this time, in the story, we didn't just swim and play around naked. We did those things, but then I did something I had never done before; or even considered that I would do. I wrote a love scene. I wrote about us kissing in the water, and touching one another under it. I gave that story to you, the day I had to leave. Folded up so no-one would catch sight of the smut.

We never really kissed. We never really touched one another. We never went all the way. You told me in an email over the course of that next year about how things were really bad there, and that you didn't know if you could stand staying but that you were trying so we could see each other again.

My foster father was the one who told me she had thrown you out. He didn't spare any details. Told me she had given you a hundred euros and a tent, and told you to go away. My stomach felt low and heavy when I heard that, and I imagined you cycling away on your bike not knowing where you were going. It was crazy when I got that next email from you. I had resigned myself to maybe never hearing from you again. I kept the fish hook. I still have it, actually. They pulled it out of that little shit's finger, and then what with all the blood that came out afterward they were distracted, and I don't know why I did but I just wanted it. The blood went black and started to flake off whenever I moved it.

Anyway, you emailed me again and told me you were saving up to come and see me. That you were in Spain. You told me you were gonna fly over. I asked you were would you stay, and you said youth hostels. I agreed that was a great idea; there were loads in the Lake District. You emailed me around once a week when you came into a town with an internet cafe. Those were way more common in mainland Europe. In England, they only really had them in the bigger towns. You kept me updated. You had found work with a travelling carnival. Helping to set up and then run the rides. They were teaching you mechanics. One day, you sent me a digital photograph of a motorbike. You told me proudly that you'd got her for only fifty euros and that you'd still be able to afford to come and see me in the summer. It made boarding school easier, knowing at some point I'd be seeing you.

But you came off your motorbike in Ibiza, and broke your femur. I didn't hear from you for a month, but then my foster father told me what had happened, because the hospital in Ibiza had told your mother, and your mother had told him. You had broken your femur, and your tibia, and they were putting pins in it, but it would need further surgeries to fix it and you only had the money for that one surgery. No one else wanted to pay. I didn't have much money, but I wanted to send you what I had. In the end, I got an address for the hospital where you were and I posted you my money and my walkman, but I don't know if you ever got it, and I felt embarrassed to ask. It was all I had, at the time.

I wanted to say things to you, sat in those lawn chairs. I wanted to say that it was only because of our ages, and the distance, that nothing ever happened for us. I wanted to say that I didn't give a shit if you wanted to work for a travelling carnival all your life, and never have enough money to get your leg properly fixed, and you just wanted to get high every week. The only reason it's a shame that you want to work for a carnival your whole life, is because I know you have a great brain. If you'd have made it to the UK, and we'd spent a couple of weeks with you staying in a hostel and me visiting you, maybe borrowing a bike from someone so we could pedal around, I don't know what would have happened. Maybe we'd have consummated our relationship. Probably. I probably would have wanted to. Even though everything to do with sex had been bad for me up until that point, I probably still would have wanted to. If we had, maybe that would have been it. Maybe we'd have still been together, now. Or maybe not. I don't know. I just wanted to somehow tell you that it mattered, to me. It matters enough to me that in one of my boxes of trinkets, there's a fish hook with the blood of my sworn enemy on it, and sometimes I take it out in the dark and prick my finger on it, imagining the pain of it being stuck under my fingernail, and in the searing pain of that, I see how much you cared about me, to do that to another human being because he hit and kicked and scratched me. You hit and kicked and scratched him, to teach him not to do it to me. You penetrated him with the fish hook, and I almost feel jealous. Isn't that fucked?

We're sitting in these lawn chairs, and we're talking about books. You're still reading, when you can get new books. Mostly drifters give you a book, in exchange for one of yours. You ask me if you can read mine. I tell you "Of course, I'll send it to you when it's ready." You limp over to your caravan and pull out a wrinkled exercise book. You've written some stuff in there, and you want me to see it. Keep it, you tell me. You'll fill another one, you say. I ask you if you'll be sorry you gave it to me, though, once you've left. You tell me things are safer with me. I nod and hold it to my chest. It smells dirty and old. But I want to take it into my villa, and read it.

I ask you how long you'll be here. You say not long, less than a week. You guys mainly do a long weekend, and then you leave. To the next place. Some places get a week. But this isn't one of them. The sky is fully dark now, and the mad carnival music is loud behind us where the rides are endlessly churning, and kids are shrieking in delight. I can smell candy floss. I know C will wonder where I am, which isn't a problem; he won't be angry. But I get to thinking maybe I'm on a precipice, and I should leave before I do anything chaotic. I think you sense this. I realise at once you've given me a peach, coke, and the exercise book full of your writing. I haven't given you anything. I feel embarrassed that I didn't bring you anything. Why didn't I? I think I was just too preoccupied with getting here at all. I cast about for something. I don't really have anything. The necklace I'm wearing is worthless other than its sentimental value to C and me. So I do something so cliche it makes me want to puke, but I can't stand the thought of you going away with less in your caravan after seeing me. I take my earrings out and hold them out to you. They're real silver. Two silver swallows. I tell you that you can keep them or sell them if you need to. You tell me you'll keep them.

I don't know whether to hug you or not. I hate saying goodbye when I actually give a fuck about the person. It's hard, and I often would try to fuck everything up on purpose so I can be angry instead of sad. Or to make the other person sadder than I am. I end up doing this thing I learned in Sri Lanka, where you sort of hug but you press your cheek to the other person's cheek. Then you do it on the other side. You laugh and tell me I'm so weird, but then you do it back to me. I'm not really supposed to kiss you, although in this situation I know C wouldn't mind at all. I don't though. You kind of belong to thirteen-year-old me. I sort of don't want to take that away from her. It was all she had.

I leave you with your carnival family. You guys communicate in grunts. It's still hot as hell but I feel a little chill that I feel sometimes when I actually see someone from my past; because I don't do that much. I have the exercise book and the peach pit which I sucked clean. I won't put the peach pit with my other peach pit. I want to know which peach pit is which. It's important. I didn't tell you any of the stuff that was really on my mind.

I think you already know it all.

#creative writing #dark carnival #nostalgia #first love #abuse survivor #my writing #writing #bittersweet #book lover #unsent letters

[diomedrian]

In my dream, it's CB's birthday. In my dream, the sky is the bluest blue, it's the best weather ever - think Barbieland. We finish lunch - it's fine dining, the napkins were swans, it's roof top, there's pool and hali-pad next to the tables. He drinks his wine and says, come on nay I expected a louder party. Where's the wham bam and laughs. I check the time, still 10 minutes to go. I only smile, it's coming. Few more conversations and he's standing up, don't do that yet please don't go just get hold on I promise it's worth it. He's left for the washroom. It's seven minutes past, he's taking too long. We've boarded the aircraft - except it's like in the movies, there's enough space to stand and watch from the back, there's a glass wall in the back. I call him, it's time. In a minute, he says. We need to take off, being on land for the beginning will feel like the most disturbing earthquake, says the pilot. Let's go we can pick him up later, says a friend (his sister? I'm not sure, there's too many people I didn't think would be here). But it's for him, I say. Let's go, round two nay. We'll pick him up then. So we're in the air. We're flying. We watch the restaurant get further and further, we watch the city quiet down. It's time now. On the left, smoke. On the left, a splash of orange. Oh my god that was close, someone says. It wasn't, we're at least a kilometre away from it. Smaller splashes, bigger smoke. It's a grey cloud. The lava is shooting through and up above before falling everywhere. The smoke has turned all of the weather into the morning after Diwali in Delhi. Good time to pick him up? Asks the pilot, I call him, yes. We headed back to the restaurant, I held out my hand, you're late. He raises an eyebrow, yknow I actually did not mean wham bam for real I was joking. Yes I'm aware, I thought it would be fun, come on now, I pull him onboard. We're flying across the volcano, watching it erupt, watching the lava come down to the earth, the houses will be lost, the restaurant will be lost. The city was made to rebuild from volcanoes, the city was made for this experience. It's not a real loss, there have been seventeen of these in the past three years. There are no real people here besides in the planes, we're not alone as the magma covers the city. The lava is still erupting, we're here for hours.

Meanwhile, in another dream(?) the statue of barbie turns to life. It's the biggest one in the city, she only does this if there's terrible trouble. She changes out of her dusty clothes, she takes the taxi, her hair is so shiny, she's passing through the city. I'm watching the news in the lap of an old friend. We were friends for eighteen years before we parted for college irl. She was the first person I called after the high school break - and I am crying now - did we break up then? There's tears on my cheeks and in my eyes but I don't remember crying. She touches me everywhere over my clothes. It doesn't feel right - where is he? why is he not the one fixing this? I don't say anything. At least she's here, at least I will stop crying soon.

#personal #this was wild ngl #i HATED him for leaving at the time of eruption. i had it PLANNED #dream jar #sorry this is just bad English Im still so sleepy

[maligknightsthorns]

Hanging By A Thread

Between the shrunken students and preparations for the Ethereal Ball, it was safe to say the staff was stretched thin at the moment. Camilla was grateful to be busy with preparing for the ball, it stopped her from worrying about the shrunken students getting squished or eaten by the animals that hung around begging students for food.

Her latest task she was busying herself with was going through the mountain of old tablecloths and napkins and table runners. There was every shade of red, yellow, blue, black, and white. Some of them were so faded with time that the original colors could only be hinted at. Others had fraying hems that needed to be fixed before they could be used. Some just could not be salvaged, stained with wine and food from years past.

The storage room was dusty and smelled weird. Something back here was molding and rotten, she hoped it wasn't anything she had to deal with.

She was grateful for the help.

"We need a table runner for each of the houses, and enough matching table cloths and napkins..." As she spoke, Camilla noticed that some of the blacks were patterned, just enough to be mismatched. This was certainly going to take some planning...

@elusivia

#Hanging On By A Thread #time to play! #scheduling this post so you GO TO SLEEP instead of refreshing the dash looking for it

[simplylinens]

Why is linen hiring a popular option for wedding events?

Linen can be used to create a style statement and modernise the occasion, especially for the events such as weddings. You'll be stunned by the change and transformation you'll feel in a before and after setting of the location, with and without linens. Today, many people and wedding planners have realised the importance of linen in their settings; they are fairly experimenting with linen colours, opting for unique hues that complement their theme.

Their major aim is to entice everyone’s eyes and offer a classic and aesthetic look to almost any place; whether it's a backyard or the largest and most expensive of the locations. Linens will always be required to add the perfect finish. The choice available in the market these days is quite vast; formerly, standard polyester was the most prevalent, but suppliers have become more innovative by incorporating beadings, and fancy patterns in all colours possible. Wedding linen hire in Essex is trending and is quite an inspiration for wedding events and planners. They are enchanting, including the colours, especially the colour white, which was missing in earlier times. Whatever the trends, linen decor is the top choice for wedding planners. Let’s look at some of the reasons that justify it.

Topmost Reasons Why Linen Decor is the Most Popular Choice

Choices can differ, but linen decors are the safest choice for wedding events and the most splendid one. We have reasons to justify the same.

●     Simple yet Classy- Linens are not monotonous or boring. The linens complement well in the wedding events due to their availability in subtle colours which enhances the decor and keeps the look subtle and elegant. Your event will have effortless style and a cosy feel when you choose linen tablecloths. The cloth has a gritty feel and can be dyed in a range of colours. It frequently replaces cotton to be a more formal option. Do not limit yourself to using only white napkins and linens. Adding a coloured runner or napkin can offer a splash of contrast and help brighten the space. Simple contrasts like a dusty blue napkin on an ivory tablecloth could be used.

●     Complementing Decor- Linen works well when there is a variety of colours used in decor and overall wedding events. Even if your wedding may be more informal, adding a few formal touches will help in keeping your day memorable. Remember to bring napkins, too! Upgrading your napkin choice, whether it's something with a contrasting trim or a patterned cloth, is an easy way to spice up your decor. If not going overboard is your vibe, then linens are the perfect choice for you. Lots of Wedding linen hire in Essex have a wide variety of fancy and fashionable linens to broaden your choices and choose the best for you.

●     Timeless- Trends come and go, and no one knows this better than us. Something popular one year may quickly become obsolete when another craze takes place. What we do know is that our Linens will always be a big seller, indicating that linens are a timeless classic that will never go out of style.

●     Cost Effective- When you opt to buy your linens, the burden of maintaining them always comes along. But, when you hire wedding linens in Essex, you just use them and once the event is over, you can easily return them. By renting your linens, you'll have more budget left over for other wedding requirements.

If you also have an eye for linens for your decor and wish to get in touch with it regarding the same, then you are at a perfect place! Simply Linens is all you need to give any occasion, an upgrade to a top-notch event and get a wide range of bespoke linens including Signature Range, Recency Range, Georgian Range and much more. Attention to detail, outstanding customer service and personalised wedding linen hire in Essex are our forte!

#wedding linen hire essex

[gothams-white-knight]

Closed starter for @auroradicit

Two young children sat in the worn leather booth at the back of the dive bar. Brother and sister. The boy looked about eight years old, the girl, three or four. They both had very pale skin and blue eyes. The boy had dark brown hair with floppy bangs, and wore jeans and a blue pullover sweater. The girl had fluffy auburn curls, and wore white jeans, a rumpled white blouse, and a dusty pink peacoat.

Lissie had whined and complained all the way here, so Alan just bribed her with a chocolate Hostess cupcake. Their father sat the children down at this table, bought them each a Shirley Temple, then disappeared up the rickety stairs. That was over an hour ago. He still hadn’t come back. It was late. Long past both their bedtimes. Harvey could tell his sister was tired. Her eyelids were heavy, and she looked like she would fall asleep at any time. Her mouth was still smeared with chocolate, and that bothered him. Harvey pulled a napkin from the napkin dispenser and wiped her mouth. Lissie glared daggers at him but tolerated it.

“Harvey, I’m tired. I wanna go home!” Lissie whined, pouting and crossing her arms. Princess Lissie. Harvey thought, rolling his eyes. God, his sister was so spoiled. “Lissie, we can’t go home. We have to wait for Dad, remember?” He said, a bit irritably. “But he’s taking foreverrrrrr!” Lissie drew out the word forever as long as she could. She was trying to annoy him. “What is he even doing up there?” She asked, looking at the staircase leading into darkness. Harvey had a feeling he knew. But he wasn’t going to tell Lissie that. “I don’t know.” He lied. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what he’s doing. We have to do what he says and stay here.”

#auroradicit #they're so cute!