#i revisit the gifs way too often… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onsunnyside · 1 year

Text

🍁≬ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 (𝟏/𝟐)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | photographer!Ari Levinson x reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | glimpses of fluff, angst, old flames, childhood friends-to-loves aftermath, ex-boyfriend!Ari, size difference: 6’8!Ari.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | Even the most beautiful love stories are bound to end in tragedy, but you thought you and Ari would be an exception.

𝗪/𝗖 | 3.64K

𝗔/𝗡 | currently in my sad autumn girl era but i know it won’t last long so i wanted to share this with you all. sort of poured my heart into it and wrote most of this in a teary haze last night. Inspired by Taylor Swift’s songs: Sad Beautiful Tragic, Exile, All Too Well, The Last Time. [𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 | all asks]. All mistakes are my own.

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Don’t look, don’t look, you force your eyes on the television mounted above the table, half listening to the chatter of your friends and the hushed music playing from the speakers.

A nudge brings your attention to your redheaded friend, “How have you been? You haven’t answered my texts.”

“Sorry, I’ve been working a lot.” The music shop didn’t get very busy, but Natasha didn’t need to know that you spent the past weeks buried in turmoil, revisiting every decision you’ve ever made that brought you here. “I also applied to the dance studio as an instructor, I’m still waiting for them to get back to me.”

Her green gaze pools with worry. Of course, you’d answer a question about how you were with what you were doing. She hated to pry, but she cared for you like a sister. If you were hurting, she wanted to put a stop to it, or talk about it and try to understand. She couldn’t do that if you refused to open up.

“If you want to leave, that’s fine, I’ll walk you out.”

“I’m okay, Nat. I wouldn’t have come if I couldn’t handle seeing him again.”

The both of you know that’s a bald-faced lie. Especially because you’ve done everything to not peek in his direction.

Natasha is drawn away by one of your other close friends, and they fall into an easy conversation with laughs and bright smiles. Their voices fade into each other, a blissful hum filling the loneliness that has clung to you.

I wouldn’t have come if I couldn’t handle seeing him again.

You spoke too soon.

Ever so slightly, you glance at the bar. Over the heads of the other patrons, his gaze meets yours. Deep blue, unreadable and sharp, piercing heavily through your face.

Seeing him now, he’s different. His hair is longer, his beard is thicker, and he’s dressed in clothes you’ve never seen before—apart from his signature leather jacket that he wore for most of the year.

You wonder if the way he carries himself all the same, with quiet grace and self-assurance, too often falling victim to his insecurities.

You missed him.

You missed his stupidly loud alarm clock, his cute bedhead and how he never failed to keep you warm on winter nights. You missed his endless rants about society, space and the world, past, present and future. His mind stretched into infinity, and you never always understood what he was saying, but you listened nonetheless. Listening was the best thing someone could do.

Your eyes fall on the loose and shaggy fabric around his neck. The cream knit was your first little home project, evident with the frayed threads and stubborn coffee stains. That single scarf took you a week because of your lack of experience. You worked on it everywhere, on the train, at work and the park. Your favourite place to knit was next to him as he hunched over his computer desk and went through hundreds of photographs with his glasses on the tip of his nose.

That was the one thing he didn’t mail back.

He goes around the table, handing out everyone’s selected drinks with greetings. “Sorry, I’m late. I got stuck at the studio with this last-minute family portrait session.”

“At least it wasn’t another self-proclaimed influencer.” Curtis snorts.

“Fuck no, thank goodness for that.” He laughs, almost too gleeful. When he gets to you, he simply sets the drink on the wooden countertop and flashes a tense smile.

It either took one or ten minutes for you to sip the drink before you rushed out the back door with an excuse about fresh air.

The cool, November air welcomes you with open arms as if it knew you wouldn’t last very long. You lean on the railing, distracting yourself with the red, orange and yellow trees across the way. The music and chatter fade into whispers, and the crickets and gentle wind take their place. Down below, the water ripples against the rocks, the wooden poles dark and green from the lake, another victim to time, just like everything else.

The fall season itself was a tale of death. The days got shorter because the sun comes and goes all too quickly and the leaves turn into different shades before falling to the ground. Bidding farewell in warm colour pallets and leave the trees bare, mere skeletons of life, dormant and dull.

Then, they’re reincarnated by spring. Brought back by more sunshine and warmth, blooming hues the world has longed for.

You wondered when your spring would come, or if you’d be trapped in perpetual autumn. Be forced to feel every part of you change into red, yellow or orange and fall until there is nothing left and you're in a barren comatose.

You stare down at your dress, the very one he said was his favourite. The soft blue silk is highlighted by the dim fairy lights hung up on the fence. Memories are woven into the fabric and they’re all good because you stopped wearing this dress when things got worse. With a brush of the lace hem, you’re reminded of him.

“I knew you’d look beautiful in this.”

“You have to stop buying me things, we have bills to pay.”

He scoffs, “bills aren’t going to help my girl realize how beautiful she is.” He takes your hand, pressing his plump lips on your knuckles, “I know it, the world knows it, but she doesn’t. And that isn’t okay with me.”

The door swings open and slams into the wall, making you jump.

“Oh shit, sorry!” His voice rings out, “Didn’t mean to scare you, I thought the door was heavier.”

You quickly wipe your eyes, not caring about your makeup anymore. You tried hard to look your best tonight and embody that healed person you’ve pretended to be for the past few weeks. But he couldn’t say hi or your name. Why couldn’t he say your name?

He tucks away his cigarettes, “You stay, I’ll go out front. You probably want to be alone.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m going to call a cab.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Natasha knows I have an early morning.” You keep it simple and duck away from his gaze, hugging your purse close as some sort of lifesaver that was keeping you from floating into the sky. Truthfully, you wouldn’t mind that abrupt escape after hearing his next words.

“Wait—I mean, I’ll wait with you. It’s too late for you to be outside by yourself.”

Your stride doesn’t slow, you hope he’ll get the hint and just go back inside, but with his mile-long legs, he easily catches up to you. His boots land heavily on the boardwalk and the buckles of his leather jacket chime, filling the strained silence.

“So, did you see that new cinema downtown?”

“Please don’t.”

He raises his arms in defence, a smile audible in his voice, “Sorry, I didn’t realize you hated movies.”

“Ari.” Your shoulders slump and the sorrow gets heavier. You swear the world could cave under your feet. “Don’t try to—” You cut yourself off, knowing if you didn’t get away now, you’d regret it, “I want to be alone right now.”

The pine trees sway in the breeze, surrounding you with their natural scent.

He takes one hesitant step back, nodding slowly. “Right, I’m probably the last person you want to see.”

He couldn’t be more wrong and that only worsened the pain. How could he think that when he was the only person you wanted to see every day for over a decade?

It stretches far back to when you were children and living down the street from each other.

How could he think that when you used to wait out on the porch for him to pass by so you could walk to school together? How could he think that when you’ve spent hundreds of hours writing about his face in your diaries, about how his smile could light up a stadium and how his eyes were endless pools of stories and wishes?

How could he?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Ari’s features grow concerned as the hot tears stream down your cheeks. “It’s okay—” He reaches for you, gently grasping your hand.

“No, it’s not.” You try to shrug him off, not bothering to wipe your face. He knew you were crying out here anyway. He knew you more than he knew himself, so it wouldn’t surprise you if he also knew what you were thinking right now—where did he find the audacity to say it’s okay? “I’m sad—I’m still so sad. And you aren’t.”

Ari stiffens and releases your hand as if he’d been burned. His cerulean eyes are shaded by the night, and darkness bleeds onto his solemn face, “You think I’m not sad?”

You tearily blink, waving towards the bar by the lake. “You seemed pretty happy in there—and you acted like you didn’t even know me.”

Sure, you probably would’ve cried if he spoke to you, but at least he would have acknowledged you. You’d take that glimmer of attention over his silence any day.

“I was—I am heartbroken.” He confesses, his long hair falling over his forehead as he stares down at you, “I didn’t know if you wanted me to talk to you—”

“Yet you followed me out here anyway.”

Even in the moonlight, you can see his cheeks turn cherry red.

“Okay, but I was checking on you. I didn’t mean for this to happen and to make you cry.” He protests, “Am I not allowed to worry about you?”

You close your eyes and shake your head, turning on your heel to continue down the boardwalk. The main street mocks you in the distance, beckoning you with yellow streetlights and the chance to escape, but his fingers wrap around your wrist, holding tightly.

“Wait, please. I’m sorry.”

His touch is warm and familiar, the other end of the double-edged sword. On one end is the busy street, the carefree people living their lives on this fall evening, the cars driving by, and your bittersweet freedom—but also your lonely apartment with your cold, empty bed. The other end, the one entwining with your trembling fingers, is suffocatingly soft and inviting. Enticing you to stay and listen, but at what cost? Would it only bring more suffering draped in so-called closure or more confusion that your heart couldn’t take?

“Muse—”

“Don’t.”

He inhales deeply and you feel his breath on the back of your head. “I’m devastated, I’m alone, I’m stuck in this disordered loop that I don’t know how to get out of.” His grip constricts, once then twice but you force yourself to stay as unresponsive as a corpse. “You were my first for everything, I-I wanted you to be my last.”

You knew that and you wanted the same thing. You’ve discussed it countless nights in your shared bed, whispering about the possibilities that the great big world offered, from tamed to outlandish. Picking up a strange hobby, or travelling the globe, he even mentioned moving to a new country altogether, “think about it. A fresh start, just the two of us and unlimited options.”

“I wouldn’t say unlimited, unfamiliar sounds more accurate.”

“Pick a place, any place and I’ll make it happen.”

“What if I don’t tell you and just take off alone? Soak up all that freshness by myself.”

“Oh, then I’ll find you. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Experiencing things for the first time together was a big part of your relationship. You were both painstakingly sentimental, which only made it harder to pack your things. Everything reminded you of what was or what could’ve been, you eventually decided to keep what you needed and throw out what carried tender nostalgia.

You never followed through with that, but you do avoid the many boxes stacked in your closet. Full of pictures, gifts, and anything that reminded you of him. That was where you found this dress.

From the seedlings of memorable firsts, it was inevitable that you two gave each other your first heartbreaks too.

The tears come back with vengeance, spilling down your heated cheeks, “You ended things.”

“You walked out!” He rushes to apologize, swerving in front of you before you could take another step. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just please, listen to me.”

Why? He never listened to you in the end.

Whenever you brought up concerns about weird tension or the growing emptiness, he never listened. He was all about work and brushed off dates for last-minute gigs. You knew he wanted a greater future for the two of you, something better than your crowded apartment with your roommates (now the close friends in the bar), and something brighter than the stars combined.

You tried to understand and a part of you did, but the other part couldn’t take it anymore. The part that missed your boyfriend, missed your mindless conversations and quiet nights at home, and when he picked up that camera and photographed you like a piece of art.

That part of you won. You laid down your weapons and went defenceless into his line of fire, with only your heart in your hands and a rehearsed speech in your head.

You never made it all the way through because you two started arguing, right in front of your friends, spitting accusations fueled by rage and doubt, making each other into the bigger villain when it was always clear who was the culprit.

Even now, although you know it’s him, you wonder if you were an accomplice.

Childhood sweethearts turned college lovers, plenty of people have made it all the way—to whatever was their ideal. Many people have also given up, gotten tired, or fallen out of love.

You thought you and Ari were stronger than that, and you wouldn’t let the pressures of life, work, and school weigh onto your relationship. But in the end, those voices were always right, and your shared dreams were crushed at the hands of breakdowns, lost time, and agonizing lulls.

It was ironic how you’re haunted by voices while Ari rarely used his.

Ari wasn’t loud or interruptive. He was quiet and timid, and as he grew up, he slowly came out of his shell and matured into the tall, confident, and gentle giant in front of you.

When you were kids, he wrote adorably misspelled sentences on sticky notes to drop into your lunchbox, and then in high school, he wrote love letters to slip into your locker. The sweetest part was that he never signed them, yet you always suspected it was him. He pretended to be curious about your newest note from your secret admirer and asked about the contents, all the itty bitty details of the proclamation in black pen.

He was after your heart, and he surely got it.

He showed his love through touch, gestures and gifts, through photographs and love letters that were kept in a special box.

It was beautiful in a way that only broken poets, starved artists and silenced lovers could understand. And you and Ari were all three. The tragedy was in colours no one else could see, the script in an undiscovered language, but to you and all the rest of the heartbroken, it was so vivid and clear. You dipped your fingers into that magic shade and poured your heart onto the white walls of the lonely tower, mourning your knight who would never return.

You made the tragedy your home, wallowed in it, and pitied yourself over every missed opportunity—the fleeted moments where things could have changed, leading you somewhere different from where you were. But you tried to get better, to get clean of him and those noisy, unhelpful thoughts. You wanted to save yourself, to gather the guts to leave that tower and climb down to the lush grass and sparkling rivers below.

In delusions, you are happy and satisfied, sober from the destruction. But right now, that false comfort was cracking beneath your feet. You wished to board up the windows and hide away from the world, from him.

“Will you please listen to me?” He pleads, his voice thick, “just listen, you don’t have to say anything or even stay afterward.”

“Why?” You turn to him, gritting your teeth to keep from sobbing. “Why should I listen to you when you never listened to me? When I told you that were growing apart, you just pushed me further away. Does—” Your voice cracks, “Does that not seem unfair to you?” Did you not deserve the same mercy he was begging for?

It was too late if he wanted to listen this time. It was gone, flatlined, buried under the dirt with overgrown weeds and ivy climbing on the gravestone. Your names were etched into the stone, just another miserable end in the cemetery of the heartbroken, the battered and bruised, the forgotten and silenced.

You’ve been a ghost ever since he mailed back the things you thought he wanted. Transparent and floating through the graveyard, weeping in wonder, and feebly searching for that scarf—the one thing he kept.

“I won’t ask again. This is the last time, Ari. You won’t get another chance.”

He opens and closes his mouth multiple times, rethinking every thought racing in his head, but then he finally settles on shutting his mouth. Those plump lips pressed firmly together, a barrier for everything he should say—and everything you had the right to hear.

Defeated, you release his hand. You didn’t realize you were holding him too, it was all just automatic at this point, unlike this moment which is only a rerun of a film you’ve already seen.

Your gaze traces his face one last time, locking everything to memory from the curve of his dark eyebrows, the shade of his blue eyes, the point of his nose, the blush pink of his lips, and every freckle like they were constellations.

In a flash, you’re staring at him from across the classroom, watching him slowly write on a yellow sticky note, his tongue poking from between his teeth in concentration.

Another flash, and you’re watching him bolt down the hallway, passing lockers and other students with his azure eyes set on you. In his hand is an old polaroid camera and he’s wearing the widest grin, “Let’s go to the park.” He almost crashes into you but grasps your shoulder in excitement, illuminating the dull hallway with his glow.

You laugh, “I have class… and so do you.”

“Yeah, but the weather is so nice today.” He pouts, already tugging you towards one of the exits. “Plus, you look really pretty. Wouldn’t you rather be my model, than sit in some dusty old classroom?”

He kissed you that day, under the biggest willow tree in the park with his hand on your cheek. He blushed a nervous red and asked so sweetly, “Can I—May I please…” He trailed off, profusely blinking at your parted lips, “Will you let me b-be your first kiss? And will you be mine?”

And finally, you’re back in the present. His looming shadow as he towers over your lifeless frame, executed by the quiet and unspoken words. You’d take anything at this point, from shuddering pleas to choked apologies—you’d grovel for a single syllable.

“That’s it.” You scoff in disbelief, “all you can do is look at me?”

Again, silence. His eyes pool with tears, seconds away from streaming down his cheeks and matching your wet trails and ruined makeup. He doesn’t speak, but he’s breaking, cracking at the surface like delicate porcelain holding back a flood.

“You deserve better than me.”

No, he doesn’t get to decide that. He doesn’t get to use that stale statement to dig his own grave, right alongside yours before the final self-deprecating eulogy. It didn’t matter if he thought you deserved better than him, all that should matter was that you wanted him, that you still wanted him even after all of this.

“So, you’re just gonna let me go? After all we’ve been through?” After you’ve given him everything, and showed him every part of you and let him in.

The first tear falls, dripping down his beard and onto the worn knit. Then another, and another until they’re streaming down his cheeks and soaked up by the scarf. “You’re already gone.”

There it is, the last nail in the coffin.

Ari has never been aggressive or forceful, but you wished he’d be brave. You wished he’d fight for you, step into the battlefield with an unrelenting resolve to make things right—to get you back. But he doesn’t, he just looks down at you, chewing on his lip with clenched fists.

He’s surrendered to the war, abandoning you in the tower of tragedy, but joining you in the cemetery of the heartbroken. He’s signing his name on the death certificate and damning you and your wistful dreams, erasing every ‘what if’ that has plagued the both of you since you were children.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and fight the weakness in your knees, but you refuse to do this to yourself again, to give him a chance he won’t take. You turn around and continue down the dock, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself in a form of self-soothing.

Autumn was a story of demise, but it had to be better than the earsplitting silence. You’d take the cruel cold and neverending abyss over the lack of effort. Right now, there was no spring in sight, no rebirth to raise you from the dead but you’d find your own life someday and somehow without him. You had to save yourself, be your own hero and come out victorious—alone, but triumphant.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i’ve already started a part two for those of us who want a happy ending, so if you’re an angsty person, feel free to just leave it at this part. i’ll let you all know when i have a date. this is also my second time writing angst on here, and i had a few good cry sessions. i know this isn't the usual filth but i hope you all enjoyed this nonetheless.

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! i love you all very much. pls take this kith 😚🫶

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! [my inbox] <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

982 notes · View notes

feirceangel · 5 months

Text

Imagine | Gifts (Nico Robin)

Imagine getting Robin a gift and she returns the favour.

Warnings: fluff, hugs, kisses

Word Count: 1,310

(Not my gif!)

Days on the Thousand Sunny could be very peaceful when the weather was right and the sea was calm. With the sun shining brightly and everyone done their chores, it’s wonderful to have some downtime.

You could always find Zoro napping somewhere next to a bottle of sake, Sanji in the kitchen, Franky tinkering away in his workshop.. you get the point.

Right now, it’s looking like a peaceful day. But you can’t seem to rest, your eyes glued to the figure of Robin as she sits and peruses the latest newspaper.

Not in a creepy way, of course! You just happened to notice her seated on deck, sipping some tea. And you just couldn’t seem to look away.

She’s wearing a lovely purple dress with a lace collar and black fishnet stockings. Sanji’s already peppered her with compliments, and you agreed with him wholeheartedly.

Clutched tightly in your hand is a book. It’s one you picked up at the last island in a rickety old bookstore. You had merely glanced at it but something made you revisit it and realize that it looked very interesting.

It was a very old book on the history of the island, and you knew just who you would buy it for. The only problem is you haven’t given it to her yet.

You’re nervous.

Sure, you’re both part of the crew, and you get along fabulously, but you can’t stop feeling slightly intimidated by her. She so accomplished and educated, and you’re, well, you’re smart and you have skills, but it’s nothing compared to her.

Often, on calm days like this, you sit with Robin and read next to her. That’s a nothing thing you have in common: books.

You love books! In fact, you used to work in a library before you ran into Luffy and became a pirate. Robin loves reading too, so it’s something you do together.

It’s serene to just be next to her, enjoying your own book as you share the same space on the ship.

What if she doesn’t like the book?

A sudden tap on your shoulder startled you. You yelp and turn to face whoever poked you.

A hand waves at you from the railing you were leaning against and then points to where you were staring.

Your eyes meet Nico Robin’s as she smiles knowingly. She motions for you to come over to her.

So you do.

Shaking the nervousness away, you slowly walk over to the table and sit next to her.

“You were staring,” she glances at you over the newspaper.

You duck your head in embarrassment, “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s alright, Y/n. I was wondering why you were taking so long to come see me.”

Deciding to just go for it, you place the book on the table and push it in front of her. She sets down the paper and picks up the old tome. Casting a smile at you, she flips to the first page, “What is this?”

“It’s for you! I wanted to give you something and I thought you’d like this,” you blabber. “It’s the complete history of the last island we were on. I can get rid of it if you don’t like it-“

You’re silenced by a finger pressing against your lips in a shushing gesture. Surprised, you blink.

Robin gently sets the book down and leans towards you.

“Thank you, Y/n. Anything you get me is a treasure,” she smiles and presses her lips to your cheek. “You don’t have to worry.”

You can’t stop the heat from rising to your face. Shoving away from the table, you grin and wave your arms about.

“I hope you enjoy it! I have to go now, I promised Luffy I’d help him!”

She watches you run away, bumping into a confused Luffy in the process.

“Cute,” she hums as she watches you dash away.

There are days which are not so calm.

Gone is the tranquillity of the sea, the beauty of peace.

Instead, you’re facing down a battle you weren’t prepared for.

This island had seemed alright and Luffy gave the okay to go explore/gather supplies right away. So, you bustled off, enjoying the scenery and trying to find anything helpful for the rest of the crew.

What you found was in fact not helpful.

A small child, sobbing as a man attacked his mother with harsh slaps.

You jumped in without hesitation, punching the man in his stupidly smug face before yelling at the lady and her kid to get lost.

To your relief, they left without problem.

To your irritation, more men approached and it turned the odds against you. There were five of them altogether and normally, you’d be alright to handle them, but you weren’t prepared and foolishly left your weapon on the Sunny.

As you dodge a blow from the first man, you berate yourself for being a forgetful idiot.

“Seis Fleur!” The sound of a melodious voice cuts through the noise surrounding you.

You look up from elbowing a man twice your size to see Robin glaring at your attackers. She is brutally efficient, taking down three of the men in no time.

Kicking the man who you were fighting, you grin as he collapses to the dirt. Robin takes out the last man and you rush over to her with a huge grin.

“Robin! Thank you so much, I was sure I was in for a beating,” you laugh.

Your jolly mood dissipate as you register the fact that she’s not smiling.

“Robin?”

“Y/n, are you okay?” She looks you over for any wounds.

“Oh yeah, I dodged all his attacks! And you showed up right in time!”

You spin around, “See? Right as rain.”

She steadies you by planting her hands on your shoulders, “You could’ve been hurt, where is your weapon?”

Wincing, you scratch the back of your head.

“Y/n,” she says again.

“Well you see, I was so excited to get off the ship, I might’ve forgotten to take my weapon?”

She sighs and shakes her head, reaching her arms around you to bring you into an embrace. You hug her back, heart thumping loudly.

“I, I’m sorry, Robin,” you say, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

She slides her hand over your hair, somehow tightening her hold on you.

“Say, how’d you know I needed help?” You ask, puzzled.

She pulls away from you with a sly smile, “I actually just wanted to talk to you.”

“Really? Talk about great timing!”

“Here,” she takes your hand and places something in it. “I wanted to give you this.”

You stare at her in awe. Her eyes sparkle with mirth now that the threat to your health has been dealt with.

Looking down at your hand, you find a beautiful necklace. It has a sturdy chain that supports a pendant of an open book inlaid with a purple jewel.

You gasp, “Robin! It’s beautiful.”

“I couldn’t resist, it reminded me of you.”

“This reminded you of me?” You ask in disbelief, “But it’s so gorgeous!”

“As are you, silly.”

She takes the necklace and moves your hair from your neck to place it on you.

You stiffen as you feel her hands move against your neck. She huffs a laugh and leans in close. So close that you can feel her breath on your neck.

She places her lips on your neck, “You deserve this, and so much more.”

You turn once she draws back.

“I love you Robin,” you smile, wrapping your arms around her.

“I love you too, so be more careful.”

She presses a kiss to your head, you tilt your head upwards so that your lips catch hers.

“I’ll be careful.”

“And don’t leave the ship without a weapon or without me.”

#female reader #imagine #reader insert #x reader #fanfic #fluff #one piece #one piece x reader #nico robin #nico robin x reader #robin x reader #robin op #op x reader #one piece reader insert #one shot

114 notes · View notes

oddlykilledghosts · 1 year

Text

What A Cheat - JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: you catch JJ cheating at a card game

A short one-shot I had written a while ago, and totally revamped and revisited and rewrote (even though it's still short) I hope you guys like it :)

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairings: JJ Maybank x pogue!reader

Looking between your own cards and the boy across from you, you were astonished. It was an easy game you were playing and yet you couldn’t believe how many times you had lost. If you had to count the losses on your hands you’d fail to have enough fingers. You’d gone through most simple card games already that day; most you remember simply through childhood memories, and some you even learned in The Chateau backyard. And yet it seemed like your opponent had won almost every round, except for when he made it obvious he had garnered you the win. There was no universal karma coming to strike you down, was there? It seemed improbable, and your academic friend, Pope, would surely agree once you told him of the injustice. Yes, you decided, checking your cards again, there was no way someone could win that many times in such a short day. Your cards were fine. Not bad at all.

“You are so cheating." You rebuked with a pout (sure enough that even the look would cause the boy to confess), and looked across from yourself at your boyfriend. When your gaze fell upon him, you had just begun to spot him (trying ever so slightly to be stealthy) stuffing cards up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. On better days he would've handled hiding it a lot more masterfully, but it slowly dawned on you that he wanted to get caught. It was no secret he liked you worked up, just enough that he could toy with teasing you. He often liked the way your eyebrows knit together and the way you chided him in his misadventures (which happened every day). He also liked the way you laughed, if not right away then eventually, at his antics. If he were playing with any of the other pogues, he either would’ve hidden his cheating more thoughtfully or wouldn’t risk it at all. Though, they rarely played with him, knowing his habits.

“Am not.” The boy smiled at you charmingly, knowing exactly how that same smile made your heart melt as easily as a popsicle on an Outer Banks summer day. His hoodie was endearingly frayed at each of the openings, which just gave you enough view of the most recent card he stuck up his left arm. You smirked as you eyed it, onto his game. You had made him stay inside on such a nice day after all, what a shame to miss the sun. Miss fishing with John B and Pope. Miss picking up trash on the beach with Kiara (which was really her idea of fun). And miss seeing you in a bathing suit, happily tanning on the HMS Pogue. Cheating seemed to be a lot more fun than playing the old fashioned way.

"JJ Maybank," You chided. "You know where cheating gets you."

JJ raised his eyebrows happily and furthered his smirk, throwing a loose card at you friskily. "Now where is that, Princess?"

“Don't call me that. Nicknames will not weasel your way out of this one, Maybank." You then continued, giving him your own mischievous side-eye, "It gets you someplace without kisses." He opened his mouth to speak but you stopped him with a held out hand. "That's right. I've revoked your cuddle privileges too. Now don't get all mopey. This is harder on me then it is on you-"

JJ squinted at you then started to get up off the floor of the Chateau where you were both sitting. You had made quite a nice set up for your little makeshift date. A clean eco-friendly blanket (that you had borrowed from Kie) was sprawled on the floor and you had even brought snacks, a couple of juice-boxes and even ‘JJ juice-boxes’ which was just beer. The other pogues had decided to go surfing but you wanted to stay inside and enjoy some alone-time with your boyfriend (without the other pogues constantly on top of the both of you). Sure, you enjoyed surfing (JJ had probably even taught you most of the tricks you knew) but it was also nice to have The Chateau quiet. Hear the creak of the floor boards under your footsteps as you walked instead of music continuously playing. Or the snoring of sleeping pogues. Or everyone repeatedly coming and going. You hadn’t gotten a lot of time with just JJ recently, and thought if all the pogues were busy it would be the perfect time to do just that. You didn’t want much. A few board or card games. A movie. A nice chill day with your boyfriend. Fortunately, JJ can’t resist begging, especially from you, so he gave in easily and said farewell to the other pogues this morning.

It wasn’t unusual for any of the pogues to sleep over at The Chateau, but you and JJ had become consistent regulars on the pull-out couch. So The Chateau already felt like a second home. It breathed familiarity. It was the perfect place you wanted to relax. Kie always covered for you with your parents, and you did the same for her, but JJ’s dad never really seemed to care where he was most nights as long as he saw him eventually. You knew it was a safe place for JJ too, The Chateau that is. You’d both cuddle up on the pull-out couch and you could tell even though you were in his arms, he felt safer. It was an escape from the home you know JJ didn’t deserve. You would never deny that it was nice at John B's. You both got to spend time with each and your other best friends without much hassle from parental supervision. In just that moment, you wanted nothing more than to grow up and get a house just like this. With JJ.

JJ crossed over into the kitchen, where you couldn't see him from the floor, but you did hear him close the fridge. It was quiet for a moment and then you heard a devious chuckle from the other room and automatically you rolled your eyes with a sense of familiarity. Trouble, usually more than not, followed that boy’s laugh. Then after a beat, you heard the boy say in a cocky voice, "I counter. I could revoke sex." You could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

You snorted, grabbing the cards left on the floor into a pile, seeing as your current game had been thwarted by JJ’s cheating. "Go ahead." You said in the direction of the kitchen. "Let's see how long you last." It didn’t matter if he could last months, you knew he was lying. And you too, as JJ liked to sometimes torment you, liked to watch your boyfriend squirm. Once you had all the cards, minus the ones warm in JJ’s hoodie, you leaned back onto the floor with nothing but a towel for a head-rest.

"Y/N!" He poked his head back into the room where you were sitting, feigning a half offended and half shocked playful expression. "And here I thought I was pulling out the big guns." Again, you rolled your eyes except this time you made sure it was quite obvious. A show, per se, to show your boyfriend that while he may be slightly idiotic at times you were still playing along.

"I'm sure John B would appreciate the sudden celibacy. He does need to sleep too." You stated as a smile tugged at your lips. JJ now stood leaning against the frame of the entryway to the living room where you two were camped out. His hair had been recently tussled (maybe from getting up - his hair did have a life of its own - or from running his fingers quickly through it without thinking) and you kept a sweet smile that was forming from showing on your lips. You needed to be sly, witty. Not mushy at one sight of your boyfriend’s messy hair. “And don’t say he can just sleep outside.”

JJ sighed, moving towards you and sliding back down to the floor now with a water bottle in hand. "I'm sure John B would appreciate a lot of things.” He nudged your knee with his own and looked down at your head on the floor. “However,” He continued. “That doesn't mean they're going to happen." He took a sip of the water then offered it to you.

“So kind.” You mused at the boy, returning his nudge with your own. You sat up and leaned yourself up against the couch you had called a bed for many nights and chugged the rest. You finished impolitely, as a little kid does after drinking, with a large “Ah” escaping your lips.

"Really? I just got that, Y/N." JJ pouted, giving you his best version of puppy-dog eyes. He grabbed the water bottle and turned it, as it was still open, upside down to show that its contents were truly empty.

“Kie wouldn’t have liked the idea of us using plastic water bottles anyway.” Then, “Anyways, It's what cheaters deserve.”

JJ leaned across the floor, his face close to yours, "You love me." You could feel his warm breath on your face.

You leaned closer to him, your lips almost touching. "Do I?" You kidded, leaning in close enough to kiss him. You could feel his warmth radiating off of his skin and hoped he couldn’t hear your heart beating in your cheeks; or notice your hand that snaked into his cozy sweatshirt as you coiled your fingers around a thick stack of playing cards that had made their home there. But the game goes on, and just as he was leaning in and your lips were going to touch you pulled back quickly, ushering a quick and curt, "Except cheaters don’t get kisses." In the same motion, you pulled your hand free of his sweatshirt revealing and scattering the cards that he had piled into his clothing. “And look at that, I have evidence of a cheater right here.”

JJ scrunched his eyebrows together and put his lips into a line, clearly disappointed, "I thought you were joking." Understandably, caught red-handed, he wasn’t going to protest his innocence.

"How am I supposed to rid you of your bad habits without a little punishment?" You laughed, a soft melody that made him want to kiss you even more. "Rematch, Maybank?"

"If I win," He said as you eyed him. "With no cheating.” He looked pointedly at you, playing your game. “Then I get a kiss. Deal?"

"Deal."

"You're on L/N."

Grabbing his face towards your own, you planted a firm kiss to his cheek then scooted away back to your spot and started shuffling the cards as well as picking up the ones he had stashed away into his hoodie.

JJ looked at you questioningly, but there was a hint of a soft blush touching his cheeks behind his tan. You tried your best to brush off the blush hidden in your own cheeks but it was no use, JJ could already see right through you.

“It’s for good luck, it doesn’t count.” You reasoned, already planning to lose. You didn’t bother to ask what you would get if you won. You already had it.

893 notes · View notes

astroismypassion · 1 year

Text

Astrology observations 🍹🍹🍹

Credit goes to @astroismypassion

🍹 Aries Moon women usually have eyes that exude sexuality and sex appeal, which makes them very sexually desirable. They usually have this unique, one-in-a-million look that hardly resembles anyone, when you look at them it’s just so…THEM. They often have very baby like face too or at least very youthful looking. Like Aries Moon women: Angelina Jolie, Selena Gomez, Cardi B, Emily Ratajkowski, Kendall Jenner, Diane Von Furstenberg etc.

🍹 But I wouldn’t really say that Aries Moon women, much like Scorpio Moon women, really excude sexual appeal and sexual energy outwardly even if for example they pose in photos in such manner. Usually their sexual appeal is the most exuding when they are being passionate about something or IN ACTION, during physical movement. Like Angelina Jolie’s fighting scenes as Lara Croft in Tomb Raider. When they are still and just posing on photos, this is not as present, it’s like their sex appeal is hidden then (Scorpio Moon especially, like Kylie Jenner). So when you see and interact with them you might even think they are very innocent, since you won’t really FEEL their sexual appeal being present. Usually these women are also quite shy in private, since they were not raised in a family environment where sexuality would be particularly portrayed or even discussed. So they step confidently into sexual power much later in life. Though, this does not mean they weren’t curious in their mind about it during younger years.

🍹 If you need to make a decision or you feel like you can’t really think straight, yet you want to and you’re a Capricorn Mercury: go into a small or narrow place, room, you think better in confined places. Like I know it’s sound ridiculous, but maybe step into a closet or somewhere where there is not big space. Cancer Mercury? Go in the bathroom, sit there and really think deeply about it. Taurus Mercury? Basically you can’t think straight, if you have an empty stomach. Or go in a coffeeshop with beautiful surroundings and order tea and a croissant and your thinking process will start flowing.

🍹 I mentioned previously about Aries Moon women could be prone going back to their ex partner (when they still have feelings). But I think I have to touch on more WHY this happens. It is because they can leave too early at times. They can be really reactive without getting the full story and just leave, because they dislike any sign of unfairness towards them, they are really protective of themselves. So they might go too quickly without knowing everything. So later they come back when provided with more context, information.

🍹 Virgo Lilith might have troubles losing weight if they decide to. It’s like as soon as they decide and announce they are eating differently, there goes someone offering them something that would sabotage that. It’s like when you decide to eat differently to a majority, people start sabotaging you or attacking you, so that you have to also justify your way of eating. It’s quite frustrating, especially because you are already really health-conscious and spend a lot of time trying to improve your health.

🍹 Chiron in retrograde: you will constantly experience resurfacing things throughout your life. Libra Chiron? Your past lovers, relationship will often come back into your life and it will be on you to decide whether you (and them) have healed enough to revisit that relationship. Aquarius Chiron: your old elementary, high school friends will come back again and again.

🍹Vesta is so powerful! You might have an eternal flame for the Sun sign person in the same sign of your Vesta. For example Pisces Vesta in the 4th house: Pisces and Cancer Sun people will be those you might be devoted to even years after the connection ends.

🍹 Pluto in the 3rd house synastry for a romantic relationship: Pluto person will be very blunt and (too) honest with their opinions and thoughts with 3rd house person. 3rd person might cook a delicious meal for Pluto person. But Pluto person might make a back-handed comment:”It’s tasty, but “too healthy”, I couldn’t possibly eat this every day”. Or when they listen to a song that 3rd house person like, Pluto person might comment “turns this off, it’s hurting my ears”. They can be really condescending or mean, but in a subtle way.

🍹 You will often feel like the listener when you are in a Moon in the 10th house synastry. The Moon person will be the one expressing all their emotions and venting and the 10th house person will often need to just listen to them and push their own feelings aside. Because they own feelings might not seem as volatile and intense as those of the Moon person. The Moon person can also be the one to feel like they have it worse than you on emotional level at least. 🤷🏼‍♀️

🍹Taurus Moons have such balanced emotion, that those around them try to provoke them and get a reaction out of them. But they are too lazy to even react. 😂

🍹Some Gemini Moon men can be really old-fashioned and traditional. They would give their wife a paycheck every month for her to pay the bills, buy food and things for household, but would demand acts of service in exchange, like a cooked meal after they come home. When I tried to get deeper perspective on it, they backed their mentality by stating that needs come before wishes. And they give money every month so that she buys necessary things and doesn’t feel the lack of not getting, for example new jewellery. 🤷🏼‍♀️

🍹Composite Mars in the 7th house: especially if this goes for a romantic partnership, you guys will learn how to actually compromise in order to build a sustainable long-term connection. You two are probably really busy, individualistic people who are quite fulfilled on your own. There might be a lot of mirroring, like if you start calling them by a nickname, they will too. If you first give them a hug, they will return this to you and starting giving hugs as well.

🍹If you have Lilith in someone’s 2nd house, they will absolutely dislike you paying for their meals, giving them money.

🍹Composite Leo Mars: Your lesson together will be to become more confident, learn how to take and enjoy leisure time, how to showcase your skills, abilities, how to incorporate romantic gestures in your connection etc.

🍹I just noticed that how there are two different varieties of Cancer Sun people. Cancer Sun with Cancer Venus likes burgers, fries and fried chicken and more street food. And Cancer Suns with Gemini Venus would more often dislike fast food, street food altogether. They don’t even see fast food as “real” food. 😂 For them it only makes sense to eat “regular meals” at regular restaurant.

Credit goes to @astroismypassion

839 notes · View notes

trueshellz · 2 years

Text

Marriage Contract

Summary: You've been forced into a marriage with the Demon of Sakuragi to pay off you father's debt...

Warnings: blasphemy, vaginal penetration, anal fingering, possessive behaviour, abuse (by father), forced marriage, smoking, drinking, spanking, biting, nipple play, female reader.

Standing in front of all these people, head bowed as you clenched your jaw and ignored what was happening around you feeling completely helpless. Your marriage to ‘The Demon of Sakuragi’ was supposed to be an ‘honour and joy to form an alliance between the families’. When in fact it was a way for your father to pay off his debts to the Sakuragi head, using you as collateral had simply cemented how little he cared for you and after years of abuse and tirade after your mother’s passing you completely understood your position in his life.

A pawn.

A chess piece to be used and bargained for.

A cattle to be sold to the highest bidder.

Nothing.

To your own father, you were nothing.

A sharp pinch in your side as you felt your father’s walking stick pulling you out of your self pity, looking up to see expectant faces waiting for your reply as you held back the cry of pain. He loved seeing the twisted expression on your face as he revisited the same wounds he inflicted on you before, his gaze was sharp as he looked at you. Taking a deep breath and forcing a smile on your face you turned to the minister who was officiating your marriage and nodded.

“Yes, I agree.”

Glancing across at him the first time you took in your new husband, as he spoke to his… friends? White shirt with his sleeves rolled up, his chain tattoo adorning both wrists and through the back of his shirt you could see the dark lines of more ink covering his skin. Sharp eyes watching you as you accepted hugs and words of congratulations, each sentence making the fake smile on your face wane until you were sure you were wearing your emotions on your face completely. You could see him walking to the family head, mouth moving but his gaze was fixated on you completely, moving around the crowd so he could see you clearly when you sat down to eat. You let out a small wince when you sat, the bruises from your father still sore and uncomfortable no matter how much salve you put on them and you were sure the semi-healed cut inside your cheek was going to open soon from all the smiling you were having to do.

The drive home was just as awkward, one of the lieutenants drove you to your new marital home, Kirishima was sat on the other side of the back sea staring out the window just like you were, every so often front the corner of your eye you saw him turn and look you up and down. The only sounds you could pick up were the thump of your heart and the rumble of the car, every so often the two of them would engage in small talk but you were too busy panicking about your first night alone with him to even figure out what they were saying. As the car stopped, you startled a little when he reached over and undoing your belt, you could smell the cigarettes he had been smoking earlier, the alcohol he had consumed at your wedding and an underlying scent you couldn't place. You nodded silently when he ordered you to stay in the car, long strides as he went around the car to open the door for you. His hand was gentle but firm as he helped you out of the car, no words as he guided you into the house and towards what you assumed was your shared bedroom.

“Bathroom’s through there, sleep where you want. I’ll be back later.”

The next few days were more of the same, you barely saw Kirishima even though you shared a bed. He would wake up before you and prepare his own breakfast, the kitchen would be tidy when you woke up and you would spend the day around the house until Kanami would come to see you and the two of you would go out for lunch with one of the guards. A few times you saw Kirishima as he went around town, he paid you little notice and to be honest, you felt more like a nuisance than his wife. From the little information you picked up from your family, he was known for being ruthless and harsh with everyone, picking fights with other families and, from what your dad had said, he was the one who dealt with your family’s debt.

In the afternoons, you would cook dinner and wait for him to come home, the meal would be silent and he would thank you before placing his hand on your head and leaving again. It was pretty much the only touch and interaction that you got from him, even if it was a bit stiff and stilted you were relieved that he hadn’t hurt you. Well, not yet anyway. There were stories about the way women were treated in this world, you had heard enough stories about mistreatment from fathers and husbands. Kirishima would return late, you would usually be asleep but once or twice he woke up when he climbed into bed. You felt the bed dip, the warmth from his body but he never once touched you. Keeping a good distance between you both in the king size bed, the one time you had turned and seen the dark ink trailing up his back, the designs made him look like an actual demon with the dark wings and scale-like designs covering his skin.

This evening you had just got out of the shower, dressed in a long t-shirt and some cotton shorts, you stood in front of the mirror and began drying your hair. The rumble of the hair dryer covering his footsteps, you hadn’t realised your husband was home until you smelt him again, felt his arms against your hips as he bracketed you against the dresser. Eyes slamming shut as you felt his chest against your back, his warm breath against your neck making you whimper. Then his fingers began trailing up and down your leg, stopping just at the hem of your shorts before repeating on the other side, you could feel calluses on his skin and what felt like plasters around a few fingers. The dichotomy of rough versus smooth made goosebumps rise on your skin, your mouth opening on a small gasp but you made sure you kept your eyes slammed shut.

“So… I was told that I was neglecting my little wife.”

His words ended on a small nip at the side of your neck, your fingers curled into the wood of the dresser. You felt his hand hold your chin, turning your face towards him as he spoke again. His chest was solid against your back, the hand not holding your face was not curled around your hip as he pulled you back against him again. The hard length of his cock was pressed against you, your eyes opened in shock and you saw him smirking at you. The ends of his lips curled up, sharp incisors peeking out as he let out a huff of laughter.

“K-kirishima?”

A tsk this time, using his body to push you backwards towards the bed until you landed with a small oomph on your back with him looming over you. His arms caging you in, legs bracketing yours as he held himself over you with a wide smirk. Your own hands had come up to hold him at a distance, placing them against the hard planes of his chest as you tried to push him away, but he simply lowered himself down until your hips were flush against each other. Fingers intertwined with yours as he held your hands above your head, not hard since you could still move around but enough to know that's where he wanted them. You tried to ignore the way your body reacted to him, each time he came around your father’s house you would watch him from the gaps in the stairs. You had seen how he treated your father, took delight in it even, hearing him shouting and beating up the man who was supposed to look after you but instead made your life hell.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Tongue coming out to wet your lips, you watched as his eyes tracked the movement and then met yours. His pupils were blown wide, the smirk long gone instead a shocked expression on his face as he watched you readjust your position and then sigh. The way your chest rose, breasts rising and falling made his gaze drop below your chin where the neckline of the t-shirt had dropped a little and the swell of your breasts were visible. His hand in your hair was all the warning you got before his mouth descended on yours, hard and insistent as he growled against your lips. Tongue pushing past them as he angled your head to fit against his perfectly, your fingers had gone from pushing him away to holding him in place and you felt the steady thrum of his heart under your hands. His kiss matched his personality, while the sensation of his lips were soft and plush the way he kissed was rough and you were sure they would be swollen and bruised if he continued.

“Kirishima.”

Pulling away, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip Kirishima removed his glasses and ran his fingers through his hair. The blue locks falling into his eyes again when he leaned down and tilted your head to expose the line of your neck, attaching his lips here as he licked and sucked the sensitive skin there. You opened your mouth to call his name again, but you felt his fingers against the gusset of your underwear and quickly held his wrist in shock. Instead of stopping his ministrations, Kirishima slid his fingers under the fabric while staring at you intently and traced the wetness that was gathered there already releasing a noise of approval when you coated his long digits. Taking your mouth again, his finger slipped inside you slowly, one at first and then two, curling them slowly before pulling them out again.

“Say my name.”

“Ki-”

A sharp tap against your clit had you jerking in surprise, a gasp leaving your mouth when he shook his head.

“Ki-”

A whine this time when he held the nub of your clit between his finger and thumb, leaning down to bite your bottom lip before kissing you hard again. You frowned in confusion when he kept your clit hostage, the undeterred pressure on the most sensitive part of your body was making your legs shake, breath coming out in short pants as he rolled it side to side.

“Tooru?”

The grin was back, a low huff as he pushed two fingers inside you again with no preamble, your back arching against the intrusion when he curled them inside you and held them there. His other hand holding your shoulder in place as he took your mouth, the double assault as his tongue licked into your mouth had you gripping his arms and digging your nails in. His own cock was hard against your leg as you started to unbutton his shirt and pushed the fabric over his shoulders, your eyes widening when the room began to fill with the wet sounds of your body opening up to him as he mumbled against your lips.

“Such a good girl… my pretty li’l wife… fuck.”

The last word was low and long as he pulled away, watching the way your wet pussy swallowed his fingers as he thumbed and rubbed your clit before sitting back and shucking shirt off and pushing his fingers back in. You sat up on your elbows, watching the muscles in his arm dance with each thrust inside you, his gaze holding yours as he tugged your t-shirt up to expose your breasts. Nipples stiff with arousal, he pinched and pulled them until you were keening and grabbing his wrist, another chuckle from him as added another finger and moved so his mouth could reach between your legs. His shoulders holding your legs open, lips covering the sensitive nub as he sucked it hard until your back arched again, mouth open on a silent scream as you came.

A rustle of noise made you realise you had closed your eyes, opening then to watch your husband undress in front of you. You could see the ink in full now, watching the dark lines travelling up his arms and his back, his body lean but had muscle definition including the sharp lines leading down to his thick cock. The same hand that had been inside you, still glistening with your arousal and slick from your orgasm, was now stroking his hard length up and down. His body crowded yours as he climbed over you again and settled himself between your legs, your own hands tugging the t-shirt off so you were completely naked in front of him.

“Lookit you, darlin’.”

His eyes travelled up and down your body, hands caressing the newly exposed skin and thumbing your nipples again until he covered them with his mouth and bit them lightly, soothing the hurt with his tongue. Your fingers in his hair, holding him in place as he sucked on them, the sensation leading straight to you clit and even though you had just come you could feel the familiar tug.

“K-... Tooru… God, please.”

“Nothing religious about me, darlin’. It’s not God here, it's me.”

You hissed when the thick head of his dick pushed at your opening, whining low in your throat when he pressed on your lower stomach so you couldn't move. Your body opened up, widening when he passed the ring of muscle there and pressed into you in one thrust. His hips flush against yours, hands holding you in place as he growled low in his throat.

“It’s not God that's inside you right now.” You gasped when he pulled out, slamming back in with such force the air was knocked from your lungs. “It’s me.”

Lips meeting yours, his hand holding your jaw as he stole your breath and kissed you, his hips moving in small circles and grinding against your clit.

“It’s not God that’s going to cum inside you, is it? Hmm? I’m gonna fill up this little pussy with my cum over and over again.”

A loud gasp this time when he pulled out, the wide tip left inside you as he slammed in again, balls slapping against your ass.

“It’s not God who’s going to look after you, protect you and make sure no-one touches you again.”

This time you hissed, his fingers pressing into the fading bruises that were almost healed but the skin was still tender. Eyes widening at the murderous rage in his tone that contrasted the soft way he looked at you.

“It’s me.”

“Tooru, I-”

Holding both your hips this time as he started fucking in in earnest, his fingers digging into your flesh and making you shriek. Each thrust knocked the air from your lungs and had you turning your head to bite the pillow, eyes scrunched shut as he reached up to cup your breasts again and roll your nipples between his fingers. You reached down to rub your clit, easing the way for him to pound you like he seemed to want to do. You couldn’t control the sounds leaving your mouth, jaw dropping open as he turned your head to make you open your eyes and watch him on top of you, hands now braced on each side of your head giving him more leverage to get even deeper inside you.

“There’s my pretty li’l wife… my good girl. So fuckin’ good f’me.”

The last three words were accompanied with harsh thrusts until he suddenly pulled out and flipped you over, pushing a pillow under your hips and taking the flesh of his hands and gripping it before landing a sharp slap, noise echoing in the room. You turned to see him palming your ass again, holding you open as he dribbled spit on your ass and rubbing it into the virgin hole. Shifting so he sat between your legs, pushing his length into you again and bottoming out with a grunt, leaning over to kiss up your spine.

“You ok, darlin’?”

Your nod was all he needed to continue, hands coming onto the bed caging you in as he started slamming himself inside you again and again. The pillow swallowing your cries of pleasure, muting the pretty sounds he was drawing from you until the constant pressure against your g-spot had you coming around his dick. You heard him curse again behind you, another sharp slap on your ass as he sat back and palmed it again, you could feel the heated skin and hissed when he dug his fingers in.

“The only marks you should be wearing are ones you got from pleasure.”

You opened your mouth to question him, but the feeling of his thumb pressed against your puckered entrance had you moving up the bed. His low shush made you pause, you felt more spit being added as he rubbed small circles until he could push the tip in. The feeling hot and taboo all at once, being filled up from both ends made you want to clench up but his thumb made electricity shoot up your spine. Gasping when he started moving again, holding your shoulder so you had no choice but to take everything he was giving you. You heard him getting louder, the occasional grunt now low moans and curses as he rutted into you, then he somehow fucked you even harded and you could feel him get bigger inside you. One particularly hard thrust pushing making you shriek as he held himself inside you, grinding against the heated skin as his hips stuttered and he emptied himself inside you.

Heavy breathing filled the room, you let out a small noise when he pulled out of you and closed your eyes as you willed your heartbeat to return to normal. You hissed when you felt something wet between your legs, turning to see Kirishima wiping at you with a washcloth, reaching for it, you blushed when he simply glared at you. You felt the bed dip as he lay down, this time pulling you close and wrapping an arm around you so your head was on his chest, his heartbeat thrumming against your ears.

“I won’t let your father touch you again, darlin’. I couldn't protect you before, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone hurt you again.”

#yakuzas guide to babysitting #kirishima tooru #kirishima x reader #kirishima tooru x reader #kirishima tooru x you #kirishima tooru x y/n #yakuzas guide to babysitting scenarios #yakuzas guide to babysitting fanfic #yakuzas guide to babysitting fic #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you #kirishima tooru x afab reader #yakuzas guide to babysitting imagines #kumichou musume to sewagakari

775 notes · View notes

shinneth · 5 months

Text

My souring sentiments on Sailor Moon's manga

It'll be a surprise to no one who knows me even remotely that Sailor Moon was my everything back in my childhood. From the age of 9, I was utterly obsessed with it.

That was just a couple of years shy of 30 years ago.

Since then, I've often revisited the series. I watched the entirety of the Viz dub of the classic anime; all 200 episodes.

And I loved it all the same, if not more so than before. Because now I have context for why exactly the anime was the way it was, including its gradual diversion from the manga source material. And I respect the hell out of the staff who poured their life into this work, while concurrently running with the manga and doing whatever it could to not completely outpace it in the narrative.

Are there a lot of fillers in the OG anime? Yes. Too many? Well, not so from a functional standpoint (this show had to run weekly for 5 years), but there are definitely some fillers you could skip and miss nothing in doing so.

But a story like Sailor Moon honestly needed some breathing room in order to properly flesh out the cast.

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, the live-action reimagining of the show, was phenomenal back then (despite looking low-budget even by 2003 standards), and having re-watched the whole series recently, I can safely say PGSM more than holds up and deserves way more love and respect than it gets. It's THE perfect example of reimagining the story of Sailor Moon while still respecting its roots and maintaining the soul of the franchise.

Which is exactly why I couldn't stand Sailor Moon Crystal. We knew from the off that it was supposed to be completely faithful to the manga, but one look through @crystalvsmanga will show you Crystal took shitloads of "creative liberties", and the amount of changes I could dare to call "good"? I could count them on one hand.

The animation is low-hanging fruit, because everyone and their dog knows how godawful it was for the first two story arcs. But more than that, I actually loathed the general art design. Yukie Sakou's style DID NOT closely resemble Naoko Takeuchi's. People kept saying it, but I couldn't really see it. The eyes especially are a far cry from Takeuchi's style. And Sakou's style did NOT facilitate the OTT cartoony expressions that were definitely present in Takeuchi's manga; everyone looked so goddamn soulless, like overly-expensive porcelain dolls.

My biggest gripe with Crystal was the story, of course. While a great deal came from just being from the manga (which I'll get to in a bit), the changes they made went a long way to actively make the manga's story worse. My main takeaway from Crystal S1-2 is that it took itself waaaaay too seriously.

That being said, I did like Crystal's third season a lot better BECAUSE Chiaki Kon had way more competence and held a lot more respect for Sailor Moon. Like, my god, for once it felt like there was a soul in this show! It can actually take the piss every now and then!

Some silly things kinda broke my immersion (such as the Senshi just being able to fuckin' fly and Chibi-Moon in particular was literally sky-stepping), but most of that can be blamed on the source material it was adapting. While I was fine with Crystal3, I definitely didn't feel it was anywhere near as good as Sailor Moon S. Outside of Hotaru/Sailor Saturn having more of a presence, there wasn't really much in Crystal's take on Infinity that I liked better than S.

But most of that comes down to the fact that I liked S more than manga's Infinity arc to begin with.

Which is a good segue to talk about the manga proper.

I have not yet watched Eternal or Cosmos. the movies that adapted the last two manga arcs, but it'd be redundant since I know ahead of time what they're going to be about, and so far I haven't heard about any of them deviating from the source material, so it'd be moot to talk about them even if I had watched.

When I first got my hands on the manga, which was when I was around 12-13 and thus got the crappy MiXxZine translations, I was fine enough with it. Thought it was too fast-paced and didn't care for 99% of the villains being one-and-done jobbers, but I was also reading it with my impressions of the 90's anime characters still intact. I was reading the manga like an extension of the anime, rather than the other way around.

It wasn't until many years later when I grew older, when the manga was properly translated, when I acquired the wisdom my teenaged-ass self lacked, and learned to look at the manga as a completely separate entity that I started to see the cracks in the manga's narrative.

Further rereads have left me in something of a mindfuck, as I experienced the manga the proper way. And I realized:

The more I read the manga, the more I disliked it.

The manga is lauded for having an infinitely better depiction of Mamoru, as well as his ~Miracle Romance~ with Usagi.

Objectively, the manga definitely spends lots more time giving UsaMamo attention as a couple than any other aspect of the story...

I'd say they're also more developed as individuals in the manga too, but usually the beats, uh...

... let's say they usually ring hollow, when these two (and sometimes their daughter) are the only ones who consistently get shit done across the series. Hell, on the rare occasion that the Inner Senshi weren't rendered into street pizza, Neo Queen Serenity basically told them to fuck off and let her daughter, past self, and past hubby take on motherfucking DEATH PHANTOM/NEMESIS BY THEMSELVES.

It's likely because my first exposure to Sailor Moon was via the 90s anime, which had more of a focus on friendship and comradery between Usagi and her friends than it did her romance with Mamoru. I mean, romance was DEFINITELY a prominent thing even in that iteration of the story, but that wasn't where my interest lied. I was, am currently, and always will be more interested in Usagi's galpals than I'll ever be interested in her love life.

And, well, I'm sure this qualifies as a hot take, but...

This one moment with Usagi and Mamoru in the elevator (hell, their interaction across this entire episode was great) resonated with me far more than any ultra-romantic declarations of eternal devotion that Usagi and Mamoru kept regurgitating at each other in the manga.

Granted, the manga had a FEW moments early on where their dynamic was more playful, but they were pretty much confined to the early chapters and this element of their chemistry pretty much died not long after this.

Some say 90s anime Mamoru was far too mean-spirited in his teasing of Usagi. And I mean, sure, he was kind of a douche at times, but he usually got some karmic blowback from it (I remember one time he made Usagi cry without even really meaning to, and she cried so loud in public that randos nearby were giving Mamoru the evil-eye or a scolding). But honestly, after R, Mamoru kinda became a bland, generic love interest, just as he almost always was in the manga. The only difference was that anime Mamoru was never granted powers that were literally equal to Usagi's. The manga gave him a GOLDEN FUCKING CRYSTAL.

There was that infamous break-up arc in R that, yes, was shitty in concept and execution. But if I had anything positive to say about it, it at least shook up the status quo. It didn't make him immediately fall into the bland, generic love interest he would soon become. And it gave us some of the most emotionally-charged Usagi moments in the entire anime.

Conversely, in the manga, we had THIS shit for our UsaMamo "drama":

(the former incident with Usagi literally accusing her boyfriend of falling in love with a kid, by the way, happened while MOST OF HER FRIENDS WERE KIDNAPPED BY THE ENEMY AND COULD'VE BEEN DEAD FOR ALL SHE KNEW AND YET SHE FUCKING HAD TIME FOR THIS STUPID SHIT)

Everything seemed to revolve around Usagi and Mamoru (sometimes Chibiusa too). It lowkey came off that way at times even in the 90s anime, but in the manga or Crystal? You'd be hard-pressed to find the girls engaging in their stated hobbies at most points in time, because they're usually all together and talking about their prince and princess.

Hell, even Haruka - Sailor Uranus herself - seemed much more interested in Usagi than she ever did in Michiru, her actual girlfriend.

So... am I just missing something? I've seen people say that as they grow older, they prefer the manga/Crystal to the 90s anime. But I've never seen anyone other than myself express the opposite sentiment.

But it's true - unless I completely leave my brain at the door, I have a hard time enjoying the manga for what it is. The characters I'm most interested in or attached to quickly get swept aside for the characters I have the least interest in. No more does that ring true than the Stars arc of the manga, where Naoko Takeuchi basically speedruns killing off literally the entire cast until Sailor Moon's the only one left standing. Most characters don't even get to go out in a blaze of glory or anything - it's got nothing on the finale of the 90s anime's first season in that regard. If you're lucky, you'll get a single panel where your entire existence is ripped to shreds - but sometimes you'll be killed literally off-screen!!

There's a number of questionable manga-exclusive aspects that rubbed me the wrong way as well, such as poor Sailor Pluto being assigned as a child to guard the Door of Time in complete and total solitude. While I appreciate more Silver Millennium lore that the manga provided (the anime hardly mentioned it past the first arc), it was more than a little uncomfortable knowing the OG Queen Serenity conscripted the Inner Senshi as small children to become Princess Serenity's guardians. Really casts Queen Serenity and her Moon Kingdom in a much darker light - like maybe Queen Beryl and Queen Nehelenia had a point in trying to take them down (though the manga I believe retcons all past villains as incarnations of Chaos, so that arguably removes all prior villains' agency?). Lots of little things that I didn't think twice about, but now that I look at them again, I'm wondering WTF Naoko Takeuchi was thinking.

Though I don't want to be too hard on her. Poor girl was working under stress far longer than she'd planned to (she'd intended on ending the story either by the Dark Kingdom or Black Moon arc), so it's no surprise there's a lot of clunk and clutter in the narrative.

I often wondered if Naoko Takeuchi really wanted to make Sailor Moon with a Super Sentai-esque setup in the first place. After all, her first big hit was Sailor V, which was exclusively Minako and Artemis fighting evil with Minako having her own masked love interest she ended up being at odds with and he eventually died. With a scant few secondary characters here and there.

It led to me thinking about what Sailor Moon would be like if Naoko kept the cast to a more Sailor V-like size. That, perhaps, the Sailor Moon she really wanted to make would be quite a different beast from how we know it to be today.

So this lengthy diatribe about my personal conflicts with my waning fondness for the manga versus my strengthened love for the OG anime and live-action show was actually a preamble to a bizarre AU I wrote an outline for over a year ago but never posted in public. I had considered posting it to Sailor Moon's Reddit back then, but I (probably wisely) held off, as my musing went way off the rails.

But I figured now's a good time as any to share it here, at least. Though it'll need to be its own post since I wrote so goddamn much in this post alone, wow.

On that note, I'll end with this: The only iteration of UsaMamo that I unironically enjoyed and rooted for is...

60 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 2 months

Text

Flight Instinct: (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Francisco “Catfish” Morales)

Author’s note: this is a blurb request, and is a continuation of my poly!Triple Frontier fic, Captain of the Team. This could be read as a standalone I guess… but will make a hell of a lot more sense if you’ve read CotT and other blurbs which (chronologically precede this and) are connected to that ‘verse, i.e. Solid Ground, and Helicopter Guitar. 🧡

Screenshotting the request for this, which was sent in by the lovely @for-a-longlongtime 🧡 I’m sorry there’s no smut! But this is the scene that happened when I pressed the “play” button in my head. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for the ask and your kind words about Solid Ground! I love this pairing and it was so fun to revisit them a little further down the line (though this is a little more of a rushed effort than the last one) 😀✨🙌

Pairing: Santi x Frankie centric for this blurb (Santi’s POV) but references to wider poly!relationship including Will and fem!reader.

Genre/warnings: m/m, early relationship, some angst and Santiago’s usual insecurities, smut references but only steam in the fic itself, some fluff.

Length: blurb, fairly short

Gif: by @pedrorascal 🧡

Santiago looks at the man - Francisco - reclined on his couch.

He looks beautiful. Unfathomably so. Long limbs stretched out, his dirty-pink Henley coordinated with the mauve lick of his plush, pouty lips. With the flush of exertion still held in his cheeks - from diligently sucking Santiago’s soul out of his dick less than half an hour ago. The garment rides up to reveal bare stomach. The dusting of his happy trail drawing Santiago’s gaze down to those tight, tapered hips. To his huge, powerful hands which nestle the paperback with care, dwarfing it in the broad span of his grip. He’s beautiful, his hawkish face tipping down towards the page, warm brown eyes soft and intent.

The fucking audacity, Santiago thinks. And the way he’s so casual about it too?

Still. Desire reliably twists a knot in Santiago’s belly, tightening like a fist even if he had been left very well-sated.

So then, Santiago tuts at him for the audacity of him daring to… for daring to…. Well. For something he can’t quite put his finger on yet. “Frank. What are you doing?”

Santiago sees Francisco’s eyes flutter closed in subtle aggravation. Maybe at the interruption. More than likely, though, at his harsh tone - completely uncalled for. And yet, calm and composed, he closes the book. “Okay,” he says with a finality. The straw that broke the camel’s back, apparently. “What’s going on with you tonight?”

“Nothing.” Well, that feels like a lie as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Francisco looks well aware of that fact though. Always was annoying like that. Seeing through his bullshit.

“So you always parade around the house like an aggravated chicken?” Immediately after asking his question, Francisco tilts his head, mentally answering it for himself. Often, actually.

That irks Santiago even more. So, he huffs and plants his hands on his wide hips, and meanwhile, Francisco rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand. Somehow that makes him look even more beautiful as the lamplight slips fluidly over the planes of his face. Mingles into his dense mass of curls like liquid gold.

Annoying.

“Oh no,” Francisco rumbles, a deep, slightly mocking lilt to his tone which makes Santiago’s skin thrum despite himself. “Not you sticking that cute little hip out.” Francisco’s cheek tugs up with a lopsided smile, even if Santiago’s own smile does not greet him in return.

Perturbed, for no legitimate reason he can fathom, he scoops his forefinger and thumb around his mouth, his stubble rasping. He taps his foot almost impatiently, as though frustrated that Francisco hasn’t yet given him the thing he needs but can’t even name yet.

It’s hard. Makes him feel uneasy. An instinctual rather than conscious thing. A buzz in his limbs. A flutter in his chest.

A desire to leave.

To leave the room.

Maybe the country.

Definitely his feelings.

But he doesn’t.

He remembers what Francisco had told him last time he’d pulled that shit -firmly, and in no uncertain terms. “If we’re doing this, this can’t continue to happen, you hear me? I need you to stay in the room. Be a dick if you want. Just stay in the fucking room. After all this fucking time, man. Show me you at least respect me enough to give me that courtesy.”

He does. He does respect Francisco. After all this time. So, he stays. Despite his base instincts - which flood his body with the urge to run. The activation of his flight instinct. Thankfully, he supposes, Francisco is a pilot. If there’s anyone who can navigate him back to solid ground, it’s this guy.

“Come on. Sit down.” Francisco swings his legs, planting his feet to the floor. Sits up and pats the space beside him on the couch.

Santiago sighs deeply first; but then he sits, even if he doesn’t relax into it, perching his ample ass on the couch edge. He can feel the tension contorting his expression into something surly. He can’t fix it, but he makes sure to at least look down at the carpet instead of directly at Francisco. Somewhere deep down he knows he doesn’t deserve to receive the full brunt of his mood.

“Is this… because of the engagement?” Francisco ventures.

“No!” Santiago snaps back indignantly. Well. That’s another lie, apparently. As soon as that thread is tugged on, Santiago feels there’s truth in it. You and Will announcing your engagement has him feeling a lot of feelings - even if he can’t fully admit that to himself yet. Even if he can’t name them all yet. Still, that’s not quite it. At least… it’s not all of it.

“Well. Good.” If Francisco has noticed the lie, he steps over it. Instead of pulling him up on it, his hand slides down Santiago’s back and, counterintuitively, the man stiffens against the bestowed comfort. “Because they said it won’t change anything and honestly I believe-“

“-It’s not about that,” Santiago bristles.

“Okay.” Francisco’s hand smoothing at his back almost melts him. Almost. Stubbornly, he resists it. Still can’t fully admit to all the ways the man can see right through him. “Then wh-

Abruptly, Santiago rises to standing. An unfathomable adrenaline piping through his limbs. It feels like fear; though with no physical source he can name. “-What are we even doing, Frank?”

Frankie’s coffee cup brown eyes fall warm on Santiago, not bitter, even as the man clearly struggles to follow his train of thought. Honestly, Santiago is struggling to follow it himself. All he knows is he’s feeling… feelings.

“I mean. Seriously. Those two are engaged and we’re… I mean.” His voice falters. He hates that. Doesn’t like to feel vulnerable. Doesn’t like the way Francisco is able to pour himself into every crack he can find, sticking him together like glue. “Why the fuck are you on my couch? On a Tuesday night?”

“Would Wednesday work better for you, or..?”

“Frank, I’m serious. What are we doing?”

Santiago shuffles from foot to foot. Curls his tongue around his lip. Wants to run. Wants to get away from here. Doesn’t want Francisco to see him all opened up. He’s seen him all opened up. All opened up for him. Opening him up; and he can’t let him crawl inside any deeper.

He wants to leave the room.

But he doesn’t.

He risks a look back at Francisco, his head hung and his hands clasped in his lap. Santiago sees exactly what he expected to see there. Sees disappointment.

But he’s trying. For Frank, he’s trying..

Goddamn. He can say the right thing when he has something to gain. But oh boy. It’s a different story altogether when he has something to lose, isn’t it?

Francisco doesn’t rise to it though. Instead, he looks up at Santiago levelly. He feels embarrassed when he does that. Like Francisco is a man and meanwhile he’s somehow behaving like a small child.

“Take a second,” Francisco soothes, rising to standing in front of Santiago. “What is it that you actually wanna say to me?”

Santiago sniffs. Still frantic despite Francisco’s calm.

Stay in the room.

Stay on the ground, pendejo.

“You come here to fuck me and now you’re reading.” His palm gestures towards the couch in frustration. “You’re just sat there…”

Francisco’s eyebrows jump up, gently - to his credit, really trying to interpret what’s going down here. “Reading.”

“Yeah. Like this is all some…” Santiago doesn’t know where he’s going with this tirade, honestly. But he’s damn sure going to let it out anyway. “We’re not fucking married.”

Ah. There it is.

A flood of emotion rides in on the crest of that realisation. “We’re just hooking-up.”

A swallow sinks down Francisco’s corded neck. His mouth scrunches up into a pout, but other than that, he doesn’t give much away. Not beyond a tiny, discernible fissure of sadness in his tone. “Oh. I hadn’t realised that’s what we were doing.”

It’s preposterous, really. Preposterous to think that 18 years of friendship - and now this - could be reduced to “hooking-up”. Like he hasn’t known Frank for longer than he’s had the goddamn couch he’s complaining about him laying on?

Still - because of course he does - Santiago doubles down. Even as Francisco’s arms fold across his chest, suddenly making Santiago feel more lonely than he has in months. He tries not to dwell on the realisation that the past few months have been the first time he hasn’t felt lonely in such a long time. “Frank. Be real for a second. Like I’m not just some pit stop? You know. Until you find a new Mom for Bella?”

He can’t stand to look at the anger which flashes in Francisco’s eyes when he says that.

In fact, Santiago wants to run from himself in that moment. From the way he can twist something good and turn it bad. From the way he always seems to have the power to make his worst fears become real. Because he just has to poke something over and over to test how real it is. But, now that he’s started? He can’t stop.

“Fuck. And then, Will and…” he trails off before he says your name. Can’t bear to say it. Pulls on that thread and suddenly it’s all connected. Him and Frankie and you and Will. All tied together in a web he can’t yet understand, let alone trust. It’s all linked to the same fear in the pit of him.

There is a beat, and Santiago chews some more words down.

“You think we’ll all leave you.” Frankie says plainly, struck by the epiphany. Finally slotting everything into place, and Santiago feels his face pinch and draw down. Feels his chest tighten.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Yeah. Yeah, Frank, that’s exactly it.

Santiago’s looking at the floor, but he can still see Frankie’s looming presence as he shuffles closer, mumbling idiota fondly under his breath.

Santiago is terrified that he will be angry. Expects it. Thinks he deserves it. But, instead, he feels Francisco’s strong arms wind around his middle. He feels the warm press of Frankie around him, muddling him closer. Still, although he wants to, he doesn’t yield to it yet. Not all the way.

“You’re the biggest flight risk around here, cariño.” Francisco chuckles warmly. “If any fucker was about to leave I’d have bets on it being you.“

“Fine!” Santiago snaps, irked by the mere suggestion even if he’s done it a hundred times before. “Maybe I will!”

“Oh. You will?”

He hadn’t expected Francisco to call his bluff, honestly. Hadn’t expected a lot of things when it came to him, to be fair. His next works are weaker. “I might.”

“Okay,” Francisco shrugs, before starting towards the doorway. Christ. Is this it? Has he fucked it already? Is this done?

“Where are you going?” He asks, his voice breaking.

“To the bedroom.”

“Why?”

“You’re coming, idiota.” Francisco doesn’t look “done”. Doesn’t look angry, even. Instead, he tilts his head -come on- and holds his hand out for Santiago.

“Why?” Santiago asks, even as he obliges.

Francisco leads him to his own bedroom then. Walks to the chest of drawers and pulls one of them open, lifting out piles of Santiago’s clothes and tossing them on to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Santiago’s eyes flit around the room in confusion. Embarrassment, as Francisco makes visible the exact upheaval he’s threatening.

“Well, see? That’s up to you. I’m either helping you pack, in case you wanna high tail it outta here - to get away from me reading so offensively on your couch. Or…” Francisco offers, matter-of-factly, “… I’m clearing myself a fucking drawer.”

“Huh? What for?”

Francisco turns towards him. Closes the gap between their bodies again. Presses his palm to Santiago’s face and rests the pad of his thumb on his shapely chin. “So that I have somewhere to put my stuff.” His gaze softens, and he presses a chaste kiss to the man’s lips. “When I stay over on Tuesdays.”

And with that, Francisco rests his case. Retrieves the book Santiago hadn’t even realised he’d stuffed into his back pocket before heading upstairs, and rounds the bed. Reclines himself on the clear side, looking all beautiful again.

Santiago sighs.

Santiago’s side of the bed, meanwhile, is covered in piles of his clothes. He can’t even lay down next to him. Not until he deals with this. Whatever “this” is.

Francisco is a clever fucker, alright.

Santiago saws his hand across his stubble as, meanwhile, Francisco disappears into his next chapter, not even looking up at him. “Your call, Santiago. Or, after 18 years, is a fucking drawer moving too fast for you?”

With Frank’s joke… it’s ridiculous, suddenly.

He feels ridiculous suddenly.

The situation and his anger and his fear feels… ludicrous.

He sees his situation better for what it is. It’s beautiful. Beautiful like Frank is.

Guess what? Santiago stayed in the room, and it all grew just a little less scary. In no small way thanks to his skilled pilot, who has spent so long learning his awkward, complex controls. Knows how to push all his buttons in just the right way.

His chest feels lighter. The knot in him unspools. An awed smile even cracks his face as he picks up a pile of boxers. “Well. You don’t need a whole drawer do you?”

“¡Ay, dios!” Frankie complains fondly.

“I mean. You don’t wear all that many clothes while you’re here, do you?” He raises an eyebrow suggestively - just in time for Francisco to clock it when he looks up, a smile chiselling itself from his strong features.

“Need extra hoodies, don’t I? You steal ‘em, pendejo.”

The two men lock eyes for a moment. Study one another, almost wistfully. Softer now. Full of feeling and affection.

Santiago knows it. Knows this is far more than hooking-up. And that’s it. That’s exactly what he’s so afraid of. He’s scared because it’s more than he’s ever felt. Deeper than he’s ever fell.

That’s the risk when you’re flying though, he supposes.

Still, there’s something about the soft light dancing in Francisco’s warm coffee cup eyes that makes him feel far less fearful. Makes him feel braver than he thought he could be.

“I’m sorry,” Santiago admits.

“I know you are.”

It’s okay. It’s okay to be scared, Francisco’s gaze tells him wordlessly. Just stay in the room. Just stay in the fucking room.

Santiago moves the final piles of clothes on to the top of the dresser and he crawls on to the bed beside Francisco. He nestles his cheek against the taller man’s chest. Curls his form around him and Francisco wraps him safely in his embrace. He feels the man’s heartbeat thud, pleasantly slow and steady, beneath his ear. He breathes in and out with the rise and fall of his chest, feeling the tension eke out of him.

“For the record?” Francisco begins, his voice striking a deep and robust note which shimmies right through him.

A divot notches in Santiago’s brow. “Yeah?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You got that?”

Francisco’s arms wrap him tighter, and meanwhile, Santiago’s eyes squeeze shut, fighting against hot, spiking tears of relief. He feels a warm, percussive kiss being planted at his hairline. Feels Francisco’s fingers raking impossibly gently through his curls.

“Better?”

“Mhmm,” Santiago agrees. “Yeah.” And, just for a moment, he allows himself to tug a little more forcefully on that thread. The one where you’re all connected. Him and Francisco, and Will and… you. For once, he tries to imagine the thread not as a web to tangle him up, but more like a… safety net. As something he could fall into, instead of run from. After a few moments of contemplating this, Santiago’s face splits in a tentative grin. “You know. She’s gonna look hot as all hell in a wedding dress.”

Frankie’s throaty chuckle, which sounds out, has to be his favourite sound in the whole world, and so, as he’s still laughing, Santiago opts to prop himself up on one elbow. Seeks out Fransisco’s gaze to meet with his own. He wants to tell him while he’s still laughing. Wants to believe this can all turn out happy.

“I love you.”

The words flow from Santiago’s chest so naturally, so freely and yet, immediately, a more solemn note chokes Francisco’s laughter. Weighs his smile down like a stone, until he is looking back at him with wet, shining eyes, his plush, mauve lips slightly parted in surprise.

He looks at Santiago as though he’s been waiting for him to figure that out.

He looks at him like he’s surprised, or like he never expected he’d live to hear those words out of his mouth.

Then, screw being on solid ground, Santiago thinks. As Francisco - after a dumbfounded beat - meets his revelation with a searing kiss, Santiago’s heart takes flight.

Francisco’s tongue curls tenderly into his mouth. His body rolls to shift Santiago beneath his weight, his knees falling open either side of his tight hips.

“I love you too,” Francisco says, voice revving with deep feeling as he braces on top of him. Then; “thank you”.

Santiago blinks. “For the drawer?!”

Francisco’s curse under his breath is nothing but fond. “Idiota. No. For trusting me enough to say that.”

Francisco’s tongue delves into his mouth once more, opening him up.

Frank, everywhere. All over him. With his tongue; his body; his heart.

Opening him up. Opening him up. Opening him up.

He’s opening him up, and what’s more… Santiago wants to let him in.

He wants to let Francisco into the deepest parts of him.

#Pedro pascal #Oscar Isaac #Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #Francisco catfish morales #Santiago pope Garcia x Francisco catfish morales

34 notes · View notes

bettyshoweduptotheparty · 3 months

Text

More thoughts on TTPD and the track list

I keep seeing people saying the colour scheme is black and white. I do think white is going to be the associated colour but the cover is much more sepia. Like an old photograph. Goes with the evidence file/academia aesthetic. Rep was much more black and white to go with the newspaper visuals. And grey is obviously folklore. I think the colours being similar is for a reason. I could see it being thematically between folklore and rep. Sweet tortured love, but also sass and vengeance.

I like the fact that we’re getting a title track. Haven’t had one since evermore.

A lot of gaylors seem unhappy about the track titles and amount of male pronouns. If Lavender Haze has taught me anything it’s to WAIT FOR THE ACTUAL SONGS before making a snap judgement on the titles. I’m not excusing Lavender gate but all was in fact fine when the song came out. I trust the process with the music until we have whole songs. Not interested in judging titles.

However, I did find it interesting and totally unexpected that she dropped the whole track list two months in advance. No mystery or slow unveiling. Seems odd. Almost like the quick judgement on the breakup album branding is intentional….

Track 5 is So Long London. So it’s a sad song. Gaylors seem disappointed, and all the swifties collectively decided it’s a Joe breakup song. Could be. Maybe in an ironic way(like London Boy). But in British use of the phrase ‘so long’ it means ‘until I see you next’. Is that what you’d say to someone you’re breaking up with? 🤔 My mind immediately went to leaving a place you love and have good memories with until you can go there next. That’s what I felt when I moved from London to the countryside. Taylor lived in London for a year to recover from everything that was 2016 and to start the love blackout, just her and her lover away from the world. She’s often described that as her happiest year. I’m doing better than I ever was. So I could see it being a goodbye to the city that helped her recover from all of that, until I see you next. I’d love a homage to London song but that’s just me :)

And one more thought on the bait and switch that we all fell victim to 😉 I too totally thought rep tv was coming. But every day that album lives another day in its current form I’m honestly relieved. There’s so much at stake with rep and I don’t think we’re there yet. The rep vault tracks are what could be the karma album. And we all remember that the reputation album we know and love is the version that had its wings clipped. I really don’t think that, having got the chance to revisit this, Taylor would want to make another half truth version. If she’s gonna put her name to it, she’ll make it fly this time. And I don’t think we’re quite there yet. So I’m looking at this new album with a very open mind, because I know rep tv and/or karma are waiting for us when the time comes.

#the tortured poets department #rep tv #karma #more thoughts

30 notes · View notes

owlish-owlhouse · 1 year

Note

I read headcanons of the older sibling of the collector, can I request what would their sibling relationship be like if they were together? (without shadows or Belos around lol) the same as with the headcanons of the human reader being next to him with the difference of being his brother/sister, thank you!

Of course if you don't wanna its totally ok 👍💖

I love your writing skills! Keep going (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

So I'm going to do Collector Sibling Headcannons before cannon happened. I haven't seen the new episode yet so some of this lore may be disproven. Oh well.

These are all based off Headcannons I have about an o.c of mine who isn't related to the Collector but their both Star Children and she's older so she takes care of him.

...

You're both celestial beings, children of the stars. Born in the same universe from the same event happening thousands of years later you are the closest thing your species gets to siblings and families outside of mentors. Celestial bodies usually being singular entities (unless they created multiple consciousnesses/ personalities)

Because of this it's your job to take care of The Collector. While they can take care of themselves they are a young star child that need guidance while you are much older and understand your roll better. You bring balance to their chaos, order to their fun, and make sure they don't go too far in their games.

You've seen the beginning of time. You know the ending of the universe. Yet none of it matters to you. Your life is separate from the beings who live below. You are a cosmic entity someone who explores galaxies and the ruins of ancient civilizations. You have seen magic, science, technology, and everything inbetween. You document it all just like you were taught.

You spend your days playing and dancing in the stars. Holding each other's hands as you spin and laugh scattering stardust across the ages. Racing shooting comets across the sky and taming wild constellations, changing them to your image. You explore the vast cosmos and see the people below documenting them before you move on.

Every Collector collects in a different way. Some are more artistic and metaphorical in their approach. While others Collectors are given certain abilities and roles in how they collect depending on how they were made or formed. Different celestial bodies have different celestial abilities after all. Elements and where and how they were made in the universe forming who they are and what they can do.

You are more artistic. You write and draw out pages and pages of history and culture documenting everything and everyone into a large book, as large as their planet in some cases. Weaving their stories into the Collectors common languages for all your kind to observe.

You use your collection as a storybook to read to other young Collectors when they visit or cross paths with you. To help them learn how collecting works and what collecting does if they are still learning. You answer their questions and guide them as well as you know how before sending them off back to their other mentors and galaxies where they are collecting.

While your exact style is unique to you it's easy to learn and allows young Collectors to experiment in their own ways. Collector your brother copies you in a sense, but he started much smaller.

Trapping various creatures into scrolls is similar to your book. You help him catalog everything so he would never lose his toys and while he's not supposed to play with his collection you never told when he wanted to revisit something he captured often bending the rules to do the same.

The Elders are the ones who pick where you go and how you collect if you can not find your own way. While you are older and help guide the young if your species you are not yet an Elder. You listen to them dutifully as the ones before you did and make sure your brother does the same, upholding your species traditions. Until one day everything changes. You and Collector change. You get to close to the beings your observing and you become attached.

That's when everything goes wrong.

#majesticas the star child #o.c majesticas #majesticas lore #collector lore #star child lore #platonic collector #collector #collector x reader #platonic collector x reader #toh collector #toh star children #toh collectors sibling #collector spoilers #the owlhouse collector x reader #the collector #owlhouse collector

70 notes · View notes

monstersinthecosmos · 7 months

Text

September 22, 1973

In the dream, Louis fucks him right there on the table.

“You must understand,” Louis had told him, in the interview, “that by now I was burning with a physical need to drink. I could not have made it through another day without feeding.”

If he thinks back on it later, he’ll know this part was real. Listened to the tapes so many times that they’re carved into his head now, still hearing them even in captivity.

The rest of it, though.

Are you afraid of me? The truth, Daniel.

Railed on his back, on the table, in Louis’s gross little room. There’s some version of events, somewhere in the universe, where this happened instead. Just another interview, another hookup. Daniel could’ve gone on living his life. But even in his dream, something is off about Louis. Too cold, and his teeth too sharp. Daniel believes him. And he is afraid, but that makes it hotter.

Louis pounds into him and he stares up at the ceiling, staring at dead flies in the light fixture.

The rhythm surrounds him. Louis’s thrusts, and how it bumps the table. How it matches his heartbeat, rushing his ears, how matches the sound of water dripping somewhere. He closes his eyes as he listens and thinks it’s the sink in the corner, at first, until he starts smelling all the must.

Eyes open.

And his heartbeat isn’t a steady pounding anymore. It’s erratic, fluttering; he tastes it in the back of his mouth.

He’s seen things in the dark. A rational part of him, every so often, can admit that it’s imagined. That same part of him, now, asks if he can trust what he’s seeing.

Eyes burn like he’s never used them before, seeing light for the first time. He wants to believe it’s real, but maybe he can imagine pain as easily as he can see visions. The thought aches in his head the way the light does.

(For weeks, he’ll linger on this question. Even years from now. He’ll revisit this moment again, and again, realize that his own trust in reality is broken forever.)

But he’s too tired to think of that just yet. Brain is too slow. Too hungry and tired, and if he knew he was alive he might know he’s close to death.

Not sure where he is, how long he’s been here, if he’s dead, but he knows there’s someone else in the room. Pathetic instinct inside almost asks for water, before anything else, but his eyes slowly adjust to the dirty greenish light from the doorway and he makes out the pale skin, the gleam of the fingernails.

It’s you.

There’s no energy left for him to recoil, though. Takes all his strength just to lift his head.

The figure stands up straighter, away from the wall, and as Daniel squints it steps into the light. Blocking it, which is a relief, but Daniel can’t quite make him out now, backlit like this.

He drops a bag onto the floor.

“Get out,” he says softly. Gentle, pleasant accent shaping the words. “Take your tapes with you. They are there beside you.”

Instinct to reach for them, to drag the bag closer, to hug it to his chest, but Daniel’s too dizzy.

“I know of your book,” he continues. “No one will believe it. Now you will go, and take these things.”

He won’t kill me, Daniel thinks. Thoughts struggle to form in the mire of his headache. And he’s too dehydrated for tears, but feels the sob swelling in his chest all the same. Breath hitching as he tries to figure out what he’s supposed to do.

Unsure where he is. How long it’s been. Fucking hungry and everything hurts and he doesn’t know where to go now, unsure who else to ask if Armand won’t make him, if he can’t find Lestat.

“Make you one of us?” his accent sharper now. “Why would I do that?”

I can’t… I can’t…

“I would not do that to those whom I find to be despicable, whom I would see burning in hell as a matter of course. So why would I do it to an innocent fool like you?”

Daniel rubs his eyes. His palms scrape the floor as he tries to push himself up to his feet. He stares hard at Armand’s silhouette, coming closer to see him better.

I could be dead already, he thinks. Pain squeezes behind his forehead. I could be down here forever. This might be it.

Armand chuckles.

“I want it,” he manages to say. I want to live forever. Voice thin, like paper, like sand in his throat. “I want to be with Louis. And with you.”

I want to be you.

The laughter grows. Maybe this is the first real sound he’s heard since he’s been here. Maybe everything else was a dream. It’s quiet, and gentle, and condescending, but somehow thunders through the small room.

“I see why he chose you for his confidant,” Armand says. “You are naive and beautiful. But the beauty could be the only reason, you know.”

Did you listen to the tapes? Daniel wants to ask. If he had the energy he’d scream it. He wants to grab Armand by the lapels of his suit jacket, to beg him. Was it all true?

“Your eyes are an unusual color, almost violet. And you are strangely defiant and beseeching in the same breath.”

Daniel sways on his feet. His stomach cramps. Breath hitching again like he’s going to cry, but he might faint first.

Make me immortal. Give it to me.

Armand laughs again as Daniel waits there. Almost sad this time, though. Full of disappointment. He takes a small step back, further away from Daniel, so that he catches the light from the hallway.

Beautiful, up close. Daniel hadn’t had time to really look before, and now he can’t stop. Awakening his insides, even as weak as he feels. Afraid, but… it’s something else. Armand’s cheeks even have a faint pink tinge, like he’s fed. The light highlights the edge of his hair, clipped short but such a warm rich red, and Daniel has been so understimulated that the color burns him like it’s fire.

“It was all true, what he told you,” Armand’s lips curl around each word, carving them into the damp room. Even his mouth seems pink and alive. Some marvel here. “But no one will believe it. And you will go mad in time from this knowledge. That’s what always happens. But you’re not mad yet.”

His knees feel weak. “No. This is real,” he says. It’s got to be real. “You’re Armand. And we’re talking together. And I’m not mad.”

“Yes. And I find it rather interesting…” Armand says. His jaw sets, and the light catches the amber color of his eyes, staring into Daniel like he can see into his entire soul. “Interesting that you know my name and that you’re alive. I have never told my name to anyone who is alive.”

I’m alive, Daniel thinks. He presses a palm to his chest, feels for a heartbeat.

“I don’t want to kill you. Not just now.”

It gives him that same sick feeling, the way Louis had. That uncanny sense that this wasn’t a person.

Real, yes. It’s real, I’m alive. But this is a creature.

“I am going to let you leave here,” Armand says. Gently again. Polite, even. “I want to follow you, watch you, see where you go. As long as I find you interesting, I won’t kill you. And of course, I may lose interest altogether and not bother to kill you. That’s always possible. You have hope in that. And maybe with luck I’ll lose track of you.”

Everything is hot. He looks at his bag on the floor and wonders if he has the strength to carry it.

“I have my limitations, of course,” Armand says, shrugging. He takes another step back, and leans against the wall in the corridor, leaving enough space for Daniel to pass by. “You have the world to roam, and you can move by day.”

Daniel doesn’t take his eyes off Armand as he bends to reach for his bag. It feels like a vice on his temples as he leans forward.

“Go now,” Armand says. And so casually, as if it were normal. “Start running. I want to see what you do. I want to know what you are.”

What I am… ?

And his eyes blaze a moment later, like his mask slipping. Ghoulish thing. Inhuman.

“Go now, start running!”

Not quite a run, really. More of a stagger, and he clips his shoulder against the door frame. He’s so weak that it’s all he can think, all he can feel, and he’s not even frightened as Armand holds out his car keys, dangling them on one of his fingers.

Even well fed and pinker than Louis had been, Daniel feels how cold he is as their fingers brush. Armand gives him the briefest nod, towards the left, as if showing him the way out.

The keys dig into his palm as he tries to follow the hallway. Keeps crashing into the wall. He feels Armand’s eyes on his back as he drags himself further and further away, to the tiny stairwell at the end.

And Daniel has smokers’ lungs on a good day, but he’s seeing stars by the time he makes it to the top. And he barely has the strength to push open the heavy metal door that spills him into an overgrown parking lot.

No time to worry about it, though. He doesn’t try to make sense of it.

His car is right there, parked perfectly, directly ahead of the door. And, god, is he in any shape to drive? Absolutely not. But he wants to get away now. Get away, get somewhere safe, think about this some more, make a new plan. He’ll fucking kill you.

Hands shaking as he unlocks the door, and he doubles over before climbing inside. Feels like he could hurl, but there’s nothing in his body. His stomach clenches around the emptiness and he breathes though it, then crawls into the front seat, the center console digging into his ribcage as he sprawls out.

Go now. Go now. He presses his palms to his eyes. Wants to cry again and doesn’t think he can.

Breathe. Breathe.

You’re not mad.

Takes all his strength to pull himself up on the steering wheel, to slam the door shut. Back in the fucking car, okay. Okay.

You can do this.

Tapes safe on the passenger seat. Road atlas tucked against the passenger door. He cracks the door open for the dome light, studies the map for a moment, unsure where the fuck he is.

But there’s a little red circle.

He looks back towards the door he came out, whatever facility this is. Doesn’t want to know, just wants to make sure Armand hasn’t followed. Studies the map long enough to see which direction to the highway.

Back to New Orleans. Maybe get his clothes from the hotel. Late out; he doesn’t think he can get a flight now. Maybe go shower. Figure out where the fuck to go. Maybe he can call someone.

And fuck, he’s thirsty.

Maybe there’s…

Stale half eaten bag of chips in the glove box. An empty soda can on the floor that he tilts back for the warm syrupy dregs. Desperate for anything. But he can figure this out later. He needs to go, before Armand comes up.

Maybe he needs a fucking hospital.

But no, no. They commit people for talking about cosmic horrors, Daniel knows that.

The car rumbles to life as he cranks the key into the ignition. Radio too loud and he doesn’t think he’s built for this type of shock right now. Heart racing as he turns the volume down, catches his breath, tries to orient himself to the exit of the parking lot.

A DJ cheerily introduces the new ELO song as Daniel peels out onto the road. Not in any shape to drive but no one is around. It should be okay. He watches the rearview as he speeds through the industrial blackness, approaching the light pollution of the city.

“Bad dreamer, what’s your name?” the radio asks him.

Longest night, indeed.

He pulls over at the first open shop that he sees, on the outskirts of the city. Not going to worry about the copious amount of cash he finds in his bag. That’s for later. Too hungry now. No energy left to worry about vampires, not yet. You’re here and you’re not mad and you need to eat because you’re not one of them. Not yet.

People probably think he’s drunk, standing in front of the fridge doors in the back a few minutes later, guzzling milk straight from the carton. Then a bottle of orange juice. He wonders if they’ll kick him out if he pukes on the floor, or if they’ll still make him pay for it.

Midway through the orange juice he gives it a try.

Enough self control to turn away from the fridge. It arches out of him and splatters on the floor.

Like a fucking creamsicle.

The thought makes him laugh. He falls back against the glass door, holds his stomach. Too cold inside. A few women stare but no one approaches him. He doesn’t blame them. He hugs the two bottles to his chest and reaches in for a third, grabbing the first thing he sees, and heads in the opposite direction.

Not even sure what he wants, or what his body needs. Grabbing random items that he can balance. A loaf of bread, a box of cereal, a candy bar. Canned peaches. Tuna. A jar of pickles.

Too weak for all of this, but he makes it to the register. The cashier is an older lady who reminds him of Ray’s mom. Or his mom. Maybe Alice’s mom. He’s not sure. He dumps everything down and rubs his eyes. Maybe seeing shit, who knows. Not sure how long he’s been gone, and he turns a circle looking for a newspaper.

September 22nd… but he’s not sure what day Armand took him. Or when he left San Francisco, or when he met Louis.

If the cashier knows that he’s the puker she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t comment on the empty bottles he’s paying for or the torn open bag of bread. He’s still chewing the slice he pulled out. Maybe she just wants him out of here, counting out his change and shuffling him on his way as quickly as she can.

Start running.

He rummages through the grocery bag with his right hand as he drives. Slice of bread, bite of chocolate. He opens the pickle jar at a red light. Orange juice propped between his knees. Handful of Freakies.

It’s not a cure, really. Not like the fog lifts right away. But thoughts keep brewing, keep trying to form. Louis had told him all about killing. The burning need for it. The pleasure of it. Part of Daniel thinks of it that way, but his stomach hurts too much to enjoy it. He feels the cold in his guts every time he swallows a mouthful of juice, and feels the cramps immediately after. Human bodies are too weak for this. Shoveling limp slices of white bread into his mouth, one-handed while he drives, isn’t like taking life at all.

He’s gotta figure something out.

Shaking again as he hugs his bags to his chest, as he approaches the hotel lobby. Not sure how long he’s been gone, if his room is still here. Can’t imagine what he even looks like right now. Or what he smells like. If anyone will stop him.

But it’s the same kid that checked him in. Practically dozing at his desk. Newspaper folded in his lap.

What’s going on in the world, Dad? Daniel thinks, but keeps his head down as he crosses to the elevator.

It’s surreal, the way he felt after he met Louis. Like he’s in the world, but isn’t. Nothing changed, everything exactly how he left it, the same elevator, the same musty smell in the hallway. His door still the third one on the left.

And the bed made when he opens. Fresh towels stacked on the sink counter. Typewriter still on the table by the window.

Odd, that it could be like this. Like his time in the dark meant nothing.

Tears come now, as the door shuts. He double locks it, unsure if that will matter. Drops his things onto the bed and crawls towards his bag on the floor in the corner. Hadn’t unpacked when he got here. Clothes still in a messy heap, spilling from the duffle bag, but his jacket is gone. As he looks around for it—the floor, the back of the chair, the closet—he realizes he’s fucking freezing.

He pulls one of his t-shirts to his face, breathing it. Smells like his apartment in San Francisco, and his cigarettes. Stale human smell of laundry. Deep breath, even as he hiccups around it, as he tries to hold the sob inside.

Smells safe, or something. Like another life. And he wishes he knew who it belonged to.

[previous day] | [next day]

#vamptember #vamptember 1973 #daniel molloy #louis de pointe du lac #armand #armand/daniel #louis/daniel #vampire chronicles #stuff i wrote #cw tummy aches & vomit lmao

27 notes · View notes

amhrosina · 10 months

Text

Two Ghosts Part 1B (Frank Castle x OC)

Series Masterlist - Read Premise, Warnings, etc. here!

Pairing: Frank Castle x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature

Read it on: AO3, Wattpad // Follow me on: Instagram

Previous: Part 1A - Chemtrails // Next: Part 2A (coming soon!)

(1B) - Always an Angel

A/N: Just a quick reminder that all of the chapters that have a 'B' after the number take place in the past, prior to Frank's death. All the 'A' chapters are present day for Lucia!

Lucia was seven hours into her double shift at the diner when her favorite regular walked in. It was three o’clock in the morning, his typical arrival time, and the diner was starting to clear out after a busy Saturday night rush. Her favorite regular - she called him this because she didn’t know his actual name - sped toward the booth he’d unofficially claimed as his months ago when he’d first stumbled in, punch-drunk and beaten to a pulp. They’d exchanged only a handful of words since then, mostly about the specials and once about the pancakes, and that’s what Lucia preferred.

She gathered a menu and utensil set, even though she knew he would end up ordering the same thing he always did, and made her way toward his hunched figure. Most of the other waitresses were wary of him, some outright afraid of the man, and Lucia could see why. He was massive, covered head-to-toe in muscle that stretched against the fabric of his clothes, and had a gleam in his eyes that dared you to try messing with him. He was a scary looking dude. Lucia thought he was handsome, and he’d never given her any trouble before, so she gladly took his table anytime he came in.

“Hi.” She said softly, placing the menu on the edge of the table. “The usual?”

He looked up from his hands, and Lucia steeled herself in order to not cringe away from the swollen, painful looking bruises littered across his face.

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head once. “And some coffee, if it’s not too much trouble. Please.” He added after a pause.

Lucia politely smiled, “I’m brewing a fresh pot now.”

He nodded again, returning his focus to the table in front of him. He was her favorite regular for this exact reason. He never said more than he needed to, opting instead to observe the people around him. He also tipped well, which never hurt.

Lucia went back to the counter, eyeing her other tables, all of which were mostly self-sufficient and rarely needed her intervention, favorite-regular’s included. After she dropped his coffee and food off, she didn’t see the point in wandering from table to table when so many booths in her section were empty or being used by loners, so she pulled the book out of her backpack that she’d been avoiding opening since it was assigned.

Shakespeare was not up Lucia’s alley, so to speak. As an English major, she knew she’d have to study him and other playwrights eventually, but she much preferred the draw of a classic novel. She’d been assigned to read and analyze Hamlet for her final semester project, which wasn’t as terrible as some of her peer’s assignments, but annoying, nonetheless.

She read through the first act over the next hour, stopping every so often to refill coffee cups, run food, and process payments. She made notes in the margins of things to revisit when she was home later, and realized, after the diner felt unusually quiet, that she’d been sucked into the story and hadn’t noticed the comings and goings of the people around her.

Her favorite regular caught her eye, and she jumped up, embarrassed that she started reading so intently when he was clearly trying to get her attention. She hurried over to him, apology on the tip of her tongue.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

“You a fan?” He asked, nodding to the book still grasped tightly in her hands. She didn’t even notice she was holding it until he pointed it out. She had meant to leave it with her backpack.

“Oh, um, sure.” She tried hard to keep eye contact with him, but his gaze was unflinching and focused solely on her, so she inevitably ended up flicking her gaze at things around her as she spoke. It was one of the things that used to drive her mom crazy. “Are you?”

He bobbed his head once, opening his mouth to say something and then decidedly closing it before opening it once more. “A friend gave it to me to read a few months back. Said it would help with-,” He cut his sentence short, glancing away from Lucia. “Anyways, you reading it for some kind of class or something?”

Lucia bit her lip nervously. Since she’d first served this guy, they’d exchanged only a handful of words, and now he was asking her about her reading habits and education.

“I’m, uh, I’m an English major.” She stumbled, subtly kicking her left foot into her right. It was never more apparent to her that she could not act like a normal human being than at that moment. Was it because the stranger, who had become a fixture in her routine, was handsome and smiling at her, or because she was truly incapable of conversing with another human without being weird? She worked the night shift for a reason.

“Looks pretty new.” He said, referring to the state of the book. “Can I see it?”

He was observant. Lucia had purchased it a few weeks before in a bookshop in Brooklyn. She handed it to him, noting the gentleness in his movements. He was overly aware of how scary he probably looked and was actively trying not to frighten her. Her heart warmed at the effort.

“It is. I had to buy the sparknotes version of it too, because I thought all the important stuff might go right over my head.” She laughed at herself as she spoke. He couldn’t hide the grin creeping onto his face.

“I’m Pe-Frank.” He cleared his throat. “I’m Frank.”

Lucia tilted her head curiously and smiled. “Well, hi Pe-Frank. I’m Lucia.” She stuck her hand out. “It’s nice to finally have a name for you other than “favorite regular.”

She had added the last part accidentally and immediately blushed.

“Favorite, huh?” Frank looked pleased, and Lucia impossibly blushed an even brighter crimson than before.

Before she could respond, the unmistakable sound of a large group of drunken party-goers stumbling through the door cut her off. She smiled apologetically before approaching the new table, a little disappointed that her conversation with Frank was over. For all she knew, the interruption would force him back into his shell, never to be heard from again.

After tending to the table, which took a form of patience Lucia had grown all too familiar with being a night shift waitress in New York City, she was finally able to turn back towards Frank, only to find the booth completely empty. Disappointment flooded through her, and she couldn’t really pinpoint the exact cause of it. Frank was still, mostly, a complete stranger to her. Why is she so upset about his sudden disappearance?

She noticed, upon approaching the table, that Frank had stacked up his used dishes in a similar way to how she did it. He had also left her copy of Hamlet on the table with a fifty dollar bill sticking out the top of it. She had completely forgotten that she’d given it to him to look at. She took the bill back to the register, grinning at the incredibly generous tip he had left her. Favorite regular, indeed.

A few days later, Lucia was knee deep in the early morning rush when Frank appeared again, haunting the same booth he always sat in.

“It feels weird to see you in daylight.” Lucia said as a greeting, setting a menu down on the table in front of him.

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you.” He grinned.

“The usual?” She prompted, fiddling with the laminated menu. He made her inexplicably nervous, especially when he managed eye contact with her for longer than a few seconds.

“Thought I might try somethin’ new.” He shrugged. “What do you suggest?”

“Well, pancakes are half off on Tuesdays.” She felt bare under his gaze. It felt like having her soul stared at.

“I like pancakes.” He absentmindedly tapped the table with his knuckle.

“You do?” She perked up.

“I do. I really like pancakes.” He said, and Lucia noticed something different buried deep in his tone. He couldn’t possibly be flirting with her, could he?

“Anything else I can get you?” She asked.

“Some of that world-class coffee you guys advertise so much.”

Lucia stifled a laugh. “I’m not sure about its global standings, but it’s hot and ready 24 hours a day. That okay with you?”

“Just the way I like it.” He winked at her. Yes, he was certainly up to something.

She walked away from the interaction with a flush crawling up her neck. Why couldn’t she just be normal? Why did this, again, stranger have such an exhilarating effect on her? And why, all of the sudden, had he taken an interest in her of all people?

Lucia didn’t get a chance to think about it, though, because her section was packed. She hurried from table to table, running food to and from the kitchen, refilling drinks, and pretending to be interested in her customer’s anecdotes when really, all she wanted to do was talk to Frank more. When she finally made it back to his table, she was flushed for an entirely different reason.

“You read any more of that play?” He asked, taking a large bite of his pancakes. He let out a moan as he chewed, and Lucia couldn’t stop the giggle from bubbling out of her at the sight of him so thoroughly engrossed with pancakes.

“A little. I’ve been working doubles so I haven’t had a lot of time.” She realized she was wringing her hands again and forced her hands to rest on the table in front of her. “Do you like the pancakes?”

“Love ‘em.” Lucia didn’t doubt that Frank was being completely honest about that. The look on his face showed pure ecstasy and not much else. “You gonna be here tomorrow night?”

Lucia nodded, absentmindedly biting her lip. “I’m always here.”

“What time do you get off?” He continued, finishing the last bite of pancakes on his plate.

Lucia didn’t know why, but she answered truthfully and without any hesitation, which was a big no-no in this city. Frank wasn’t even the first guy that week that had asked her the same question.

“6am.”

“Mind if I walk you home?” He smiled a disarming smile at her, and she realized, after a moment, that she was smiling back at him.

What if this man is a serial killer?

“Sure.” She said, again wondering why she was so at ease around him. Everything she was doing was against her better judgment, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from continuing.

“It’s a date, then.” He winked, and she was sure she could feel her entire heart in her throat.

Later, when she collected his neatly stacked dishes from the now abandoned booth, she noticed something strange. Her eyes flicked between the book on the table in front of her and the book, twenty feet away, sticking out of her backpack. They were the same, and yet, the copy in front of her was clearly used and well loved. Understanding dawned on her as she picked up Frank’s copy of Hamlet.

She flipped through the pages, uncaring that she was in the middle of an incredibly stressful breakfast rush. The margins had been filled to the brim with neat, analytical notes in what she could only assume was Frank’s handwriting. A sticky note had been stuck to the very first page with scribbles that sent Lucia into a giddy haze when she read it.

From: your favorite regular

Figured you could use this for your class. You’re my favorite, too.

Frank was waiting by the diner entrance at exactly 6am, and Lucia did her very best impression of someone who was not overly excited about this walk. Before her shift, she’d considered trying to make herself look more presentable, but figured he had only known her in her diner uniform and wouldn’t mind seeing her in it again.

Lucia had expected their first encounter outside of the diner they were so used to seeing each other in to be an awkward one, but Frank wasn’t really the type of person to make things awkward. It probably helped that they had something specific to discuss - the paper she’d been putting off writing for weeks.

“I’m thinking about analyzing it through the lens where Hamlet is actually the true villain.” Lucia said, walking beside Frank. “Like I know Claudius is the obvious choice, but Hamlet is just as impulsive and reckless.”

“You’re probably onto something there,” Frank agreed.

“I only got the idea after reading your notes. Has anyone ever told you you’re sort of a genius?”

Frank chuckled earnestly, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that.”

“Well, I’m happy to be the first. Frank, you’re a fucking genius.”

Their walks became somewhat of a regular occurrence after that, and even after Lucia’s paper was due and they no longer had to spend their walks discussing the moral and ethical dilemmas of Hamlet, Frank continued to show up for Lucia. Lucia had never experienced a friendship like the one Frank consistently offered her, and while that terrified her, she couldn’t find it in herself to shy away from him. He was her friend, and she was his, and they were happy to spend their mornings together, learning each other inside and out.

“Dogs or cats?” Frank asked her one brisk morning, arching an eyebrow at her. “There is a wrong answer to this, by the way.”

Lucia rolled her eyes, giggling. “I never had either growing up, so I don’t have a preference.” At Frank’s incredulous look, she laughed again. “I’m neutral! I’m Switzerland!”

“The correct answer is ‘dogs’, in case you were wondering.” Frank added.

“Ah, okay.” Lucia teased, “I’ll write that down.”

Comfortable silence followed them down the sidewalk, and Lucia tried to remember if anybody else had successfully managed to make her feel like a normal human being after so many interactions.

She was not used to people wanting to spend so much time with her. She’d long since accepted that she was the kind of person people wanted in their lives only for brief moments, holding tight and then letting go as soon as she’d fulfilled whatever role they needed her to play at that point in their lives. Not with Frank, though, who seemed just as content to walk beside her in silence as she worked through her confusing thoughts, no matter how often she fell silent without realizing it.

“You don’t talk about your childhood much.” Frank pointed out, nonchalantly shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“There’s not much to say.” Lucia said truthfully. She’d moved on from that part of her life and hadn’t thought about it much since.

“You got parents?” He asked, gently probing her into opening up.

“I did.” She shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on her feet. “I still do, I guess.”

Lucia took Frank’s silence as encouragement to keep talking, though they were entering a territory Lucia was not entirely comfortable thinking about.

“They weren’t nice to me when I was younger.” She struggled to find the words that could express the intense dread her parents were responsible for. “I mean, it wasn’t just ‘not nice’, it was mean.” Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. Had it always been that loud? She swallowed thickly. “I was fifteen when I came to New York. I haven’t talked to them since I left. I can’t-”

Frank’s scent enveloped her, and she realized she had stopped walking, curling into herself on the sidewalk as the sun crept behind them. Frank was standing close to her, concern written clear across his face. Lucia inhaled deeply, trying to regulate her breathing. She would not have a panic attack in front of Frank. She would not.

“Breathe. It’s okay.” He ran a finger across the inside of the wrist she hadn’t realized he was holding. “I get it. Just breathe.”

They stood there for several minutes, gazing at each other while Lucia learned how to breathe again. All the while, Frank ran his fingers along the inside of her wrist at a steady pace, matching her shaky breaths.

“You get it.” Lucia mumbled, repeating Frank’s words back to him, as if it had taken her those several minutes of dissociating on the sidewalk to process what he’d said. She raised her eyebrows in question. She wouldn’t ask outright, but she couldn’t deny the fact that she was now even more curious about Frank’s past. He was elusive on his best days, and completely secretive on his worst.

Frank looked more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him. His jaw clenched, unclenched, and then clenched again. He broke his gaze away from hers and took in their surroundings before finally flicking his eyes back down to her curious gaze.

“I’m sorry the people who hurt you were the people meant to protect you.” He finally said, sighing. “I couldn’t protect someone I loved once, and I’m still haunted by those memories.”

Lucia nodded, content with the tidbit of information he’d chosen to trust her with, but he continued talking, seemingly unable to stop once he’d started.

“I had a wife.” He briefly closed his eyes, willing the ache to stay in his chest. “And kids. Before I started coming to the diner.”

“Had?” Lucia whispered, horrified by the implication of his wavering voice.

“They died.” He stated simply, shrugging, as if their deaths weren’t the catalysts for the man he’d become in the aftermath. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh, Frank.” Lucia sighed, and before she could stop herself, began mirroring the comforting touch that had calmed her down moments before against his skin. “Thank you for telling me.”

And she left it at that. He would, eventually, expand on the information he’d just revealed to her, but at that point in time, surrounded by the rising sun and New York’s earliest risers, she was content with just knowing Frank a little more than she had the day before.

Frank appreciated this about Lucia more than he could ever admit to out loud.

The long story did eventually come out, and Lucia surprised both herself and Frank when she continued making plans with him after she learned of his transgressions. He had not, of course, been as thorough with his retelling as he could’ve been. He decidedly had left out the gore of it all, instead focusing on just the events that had led him to that diner for the first time.

He told her very little about his family, deeming it a topic that simply hurt too much to talk about, but she knew, probably better than anyone, the depth of his love for his family, and how entirely empty Frank felt when he thought about them for too long. She took it in stride, encouraging him to be as honest as he felt like being. Frank was, quite simply, astonished at her ability to compartmentalize it all.

“How can you just accept that I was a murderer before I met you?” He had asked her one night over a shared plate of pancakes.

“It was another life. Another you. I don’t know that version of you, Frank, but if I’m honest, I think your actions were justified. Either way, it’s in the past.” She replied, shrugging.

In reality, Lucia was in so deep with Frank that he could’ve been committing the murders in front of her, and she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to push him away. Frank was different from any person she’d ever met before. He was soft in his interactions with her, touching her in places she’d never felt a gentle caress in her life: across her cheekbones to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, along her lower back when they were navigating a crowded subway car, and across her wrists when she was feeling overwhelmed. She was quite convinced that he could kill the Pope and be forgiven by breakfast the next morning.

Both felt as though they’d known each other for much longer than they actually had. What was a month or two in reality felt like years in the dreamlike haze they’d drawn around themselves, separating them from the rest of the world. Neither Lucia, nor Frank, could explain the bond between them or why it had grown to be so fierce, but it was a welcome change in their lives. Very quickly, they’d gone from strangers to friends to something, and though they hadn’t addressed the growing tensions between them, it came as neither a surprise, nor an unwelcome advancement, when Frank leaned down to kiss Lucia for the first time outside the diner one morning.

She was certain her hair smelled like a mixture of bacon and hashbrowns, and she hadn’t gotten a chance to fix the rumpled fabric of her uniform yet, but he didn’t seem to care. She had walked directly into his arms, as if they’d done this a thousand times before, and accepted his kiss with ease. He’d taken her hand in his and whisked her away, because they had done this a thousand times now, and began the journey to Lucia’s apartment.

“What about you?” Frank asked later as he led her across the street. They were amidst a philosophical discussion that had seemingly sprung out of nowhere.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What do you want out of life?“

“What I want…” Lucia paused, seemingly lost in a memory so potent that it had completely darkened her features, creasing her brow line in a way that Frank had come to recognize as sorrow. He waited for her response patiently, quietly observing the wringing of her hands before she finally opened her mouth and said, “I want to be kind.”

Embarrassment washed over her. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It’s a ridiculous answer, and surely not the one he was looking for. She blinked up at him, a little wary of his reaction. Would he laugh at her? Call her an idiot for saying something so illogical?

Whatever she was expecting never came, because moments went by, and a small smile appeared on his face before he asked, “And your biggest fear?”

This time, she didn’t have to think about her answer. It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

“I don’t want to end up alone.”

They both had unanimously stopped walking moments earlier, though neither of them could remember making the decision to do so, and as they blinked at each other in the middle of a seemingly abandoned crosswalk, an understanding passed between the two of them. They were so alike in ways they couldn’t yet fathom.

Lucia, who had spent her entire life searching for a single person to see her, who had grown up in a family that didn’t know how to love her or her damaged parts, who struggled to breathe under the scrutiny of her own gaze in the mirror every morning because it reminded her so much of her mother’s.

Frank, who felt as though he’d been drowning since his family had died, sucked into a violent cycle of grief that, when unmasked, was actually all his love searching for a place to call home again.

Neither moved, and yet the world felt like it was shifting underneath their feet. The sharp blast of a horn, courtesy of a very pissed off taxi driver trying to get around the oblivious pair, was what brought them out of their stupor. Lucia laughed loudly, something she rarely allowed herself to do, and tugged Frank to the other side of the street.

Series Tag List:

@telepathay @messymissy@123passwort@lemon-world1@itwasthereaminuteago

Frank Tag List (Let me know if you want to be removed from being tagged in this series!):

@xleiaorgana@blackwidownat2814@emiemiemiii@mylifeispainandiloveit@mossexe@fightmilk@spikedhe4rt@fictional-hooman@babyslyth@legocity2@quackson03@certifiedhunter@deliciousfestsalad@dumb-fawkin-bitch@thatgirljayy@hiyabyeyababy@theesexystallion@scoliobean@myguiltypleasures21@fxlsealarm@evyiione@gpenguin666@desert-fern@ginnysculture@ryebreadsworld@laaundromat@coacaiyne@niki-is-a-thing@kelp-dreaming@ladymercury8@joalslibrary

34 notes · View notes

kleiner-ghost · 5 months

Text

10 Charachters, 10 Fandoms

Thank you @rowanisawriter for giving me the opportunity to fangirl about my fictional crushes.

Tagging @spacejammie-eimmajecaps, @ashamefulplace and @the-lastcall (and anyone who wants to tune in).

I wasn't sure if I should do this chronologically, or in order of how much I've simped for these people, so let's just get to it:

P.S.: you'll get kudos (and maybe candy) if you pick up on the common themes here.

1. Zuko - ATLA

He was my first fictional crush.

I would write self insert fic about him (which never saw the light of AO3 thankfully), and I would rewatch all of ATLA just to his character go from "I can fix him" brat to adorkable edgy brat.

2. Bill Cipher - Gravity Falls

He had what I at the time called the "sexy British accent". I never even joined the school of thought "he'd burn the whole world down but me". I was chill with burning.

3. Bucky Barnes - MCU

And the bad boy parade continues. I firmly believed that I could fix him, and going back to the (once again thankfully unpublished) self insert slash fics of the time, I realise that I had no idea what in him needed fixing.

4. John Hancock - Fallout 4

Nothing makes me fall harder for a sad meow meow than him going "I'm gonna stop bugging you with my problems, I know I'm too fucked up to love".

I have a save file right before that convo, and I like to revisit it every so often.

5. Egor Serling - Deathloop

While on the topic of sad meow meows, let me introduce you to mister "I've been invisible my whole life 🥺". He's pathetic and slightly unhinged, what is there not to love? ( y/n in my fic about him agrees).

6. David Sarif - Deus Ex

It's hard to pick only one character from the DX games, but I think "Daddy Sarif", as I affectionately call him whenever he's brought up in conversation, belongs here.

He is rich, smart, and believes the illuminati want to tear down his company (and has 0 evidence to back that up).

7. Crosshair - Clone Wars: the Bad Batch

A sad meow meow, a bad boy, and white hair? Can a man be more perfect? Well he's also a sniper ...

He's like Egor, but he'll talk back when you tell him to get on his knees, you know?

8. Billie Lurk - Dishonored

You know the jist by this point, sad, with questionable morals, daddy issues, and missing an arm.

My favourite thing about her is how she goes "this is a robbery" with an audible smirk, as she robs a bank. And also that she kept the creepy art project her girlfriend gave her a decade ago. How sweet is that?

I need to write a self-insert x her fic. But I don't have any Dishonored OCs :/

9. Alyx Vance - Half Life

She was my first girl crush. And I still remember the exact moment I went "damn that chick is cool". It was shortly after reuniting with Barney, when I had to shoot my way through some stupid combine stronghold, and Alyx just crawled through the vents and waited for me on the other side.

(She is the reason I have £500 saved to one day buy a VR set)

10. Bo-Katan Kryze - the Mandalorian (no this isn't cheating, it's a different sub-fandom XP)

Is she just a mommy version of Alyx? Maybe. But the Mandalorian (the TV series), sure helped with the popularity of her character... (I'm talking about that one ass scene).

She also has that sad kitty side to her, when she sits alone in her massive space castle after all her friends have left her.

#atla #bill cypher #gravity falls #zuko #bucky barnes #mcu #john hancock #fallout 4 #egor serling #deathloop #david sarif #deus ex #tbb crosshair #dishonored doto #billie lurk #alyx vance #half life #bo katan kryze #star wars

11 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 8 days

Text

Happy Happy Birthday Jennifer!! @whimsicallyenchantedrose

So, while I wasn’t able to write you a brand new birthday story this year, I thought it might be fun to highlight my all-time favorites of your stories. You were the first fandom friend I met and interacted with, we talked the show and plot points and character development together, and you helped me begin to navigate Tumblr back when I first joined. It’s been a gift to know you all that time, and your writing is a gift to us all! You’ve written so many GREAT stories that it was hard to narrow down, but I have settled on my top half dozen at last to highlight for your special day -- with some cover art for a few of them!!! 💖 Hope this gift serves to remind you of all you’ve written and created and how much all of it - and you!! - are loved. 🥰

The Strongest Magic - This short MC is one of your very early works - a Neverland season 3a divergent tale, but where it diverges gives us powerful adventure and emotion, sacrifice, and much earlier admission and acceptance of the love between our Pirate and Princess. I simply adore it - it squeezes your heart for sure, but it also wraps you up in a wonderful happy ending by the time you are finished.

A Wish Your Heart Makes , Getting to I Do & Mysterious Fathoms Below - This series of longer, connected multi-chapters (The "By Land or By Sea" trilogy) is simply EPIC!!! I don't know how to sing the praises of this story half as much as it deserves. There's adventure in the Enchanted Forest, Camelot, and even under the sea! There's so much beautiful love story for CS (and even some lovely, redemptive Outlaw Queen as well), and @whimsicallyenchantedrose even incorporates some unexpected and perfectly cast characters of myth and legend and her own creation alongside our faves. I don't want to give too much away, but these stories MUST BE read! Once you do, you'll want to read them over and over again.

Happily Ever After - This short MC was originally part of your Fluffy Fridays compilation, and I have often revisited the few chapters of this on their own and definitely think of them as their own little stand-alone story. I love the family recipes, the competition, the rivalry that becomes something much sweeter.... it's a truly delicious addition to your collection of writing!

Caribbean Shores - This lovely little MC reads more like a modern day AU, though they are in Storybrooke and many of our favorite characters still appear. I love the cute sweetness of this one, and the adorable addition of a few scheming cuties from MM's class when she takes them for a field trip tour of the Jolly Roger from Killian. ;) All the sizzle and attraction is there for Emma and Killian right from the start, and though she tries to resist (Why is she always so stubborn?!?) She can't do it for long...

Under the Apple Tree - It's hard to even express how much I adore this fic originally written between season six and season seven of canon. The way @whimsicallyenchantedrose wove in what we knew might be coming in season seven and then supposed what still could happen (a lot of which I would have loved to really see!) is simply brilliant. I love the relationships explored and the way the plot unfolds. It's a special and unique version of our beloved characters, and of course the unstoppable power of Captain Swan to always find each other again is fully on display too! ;p

Until the Stars are all Alight - Wow, this story must have been such a daunting task to undertake - one I would have been afraid to tackle, but the skill with which the OuaT world and the LotR world are woven together, how the plotlines come together and reach fruition, and how the characters coincide for best use so seamlessly is truly admirable and just adds to the depth and power of this full multi-chapter adventure. It has heart and hope and True Love conquering all - all the best things we love so much from the world of fairy tales and the brain of J.R. R. Tolkien!

6 notes · View notes

zepskies · 6 months

Note

Hey Zep!

I love your writing, especially been enjoying the Soldier Boy series stuff and the latest with Smoke Eater!

(Btw are you taking inspiration from One Chicago (Fire, PD, Med) with it? If so kudos and I love it, big fans of those series myself 😊)

Anyway! I’ve really been enjoying your works, been pouring through them and the stuff you have on AO3. I also thought your tips for writing were super helpful!

I’m back to writing myself after a long ass break, but always struggle keeping inspiration so a lot of my work sometimes goes unfinished. I’d like to ask how you keep motivated and continue a fic even if sometimes you’re not into it? Do you have any tips or tricks?

Thank you and again, love your work!

Hey there, lovely!! ❤️

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked Break Me Down and are enjoying Smoke Eater too! ❤️‍🔥

(Oh yes, indeed I am! 😊 I love all things Law & Order and One Chicago. I based firefighter!Dean on Lt. Matt Casey in Chicago Fire, with a little Severide flair lol.)

Thank you again for reading my work, both here and on Ao3!! I'm also glad that my writing tips have been helpful to you in any way. I came back to Tumblr and writing in general after about a year break myself, so I feel you there.

I absolutely LOVE your question though...

Because it's something I still battle with myself. I think all of us writers and artists struggle to stay motivated, no matter how much we love our craft. I do, however, have a few tips that help me immensely.

5 Tips to Stay Motivated to Write:

Be organized. Create a realistic, attainable schedule. ✍️

My brain works in checklists, bullet points, very methodical. I can't write chapter five before chapter 1. I can't write a series (even a mini series or a long one-shot) without outlining first.

So my first step is creating a schedule for myself: from sketching the premise, to bullet points/outlining, to actually sitting down to draft, to then editing. When I'm working on a series, I write the first 3 to 5 chapters before starting post it.

This means I have a head start. I commit to writing a chapter per week after that until the series is done. This give me lots of time and wiggle room for editing before posting each chapter afterwards. For example, I wrote the first 5 chapters of Smoke Eater before I started to post. I'm now in the middle of drafting Part 19 out of 20 even though I just posted Part 11.

Now, this doesn't mean I don't slack off lol. If I don't follow these steps I lose my discipline. I can get lazy. (We won't talk about And So It Goes. 😅 I've been sitting on writing the last 5 chapters for a painfully long time.)

But I have other tips that help me get my head back into the game.

2. Revisit the thing that gave you inspiration in the first place! 🍿

Rewatch, reread, revisit the episode, movie, book, story, artwork that stroked your muse and had you daydreaming and brainstorming about the WIP you're working on. That can be a good way to revitalize you when you feel your motivation lacking.

3. Create a music playlist. 🎶

I love doing this, especially for a series. I often create a playlist of songs that remind me of the setting, the characters, the romance I'm trying to create. Whether it's the words or the tone/rhythm that get me going, music inspires me greatly.

(For Break Me Down, for example, I listened to songs like "All My Living Time" by Radio Company for the vibe of the plot, and oldies like "If I Didn't Care" and "You're Getting to Be a Habit With Me" by Mel Torme for nostalgic 40s vibes/the romance.)

4. Go for a walk. ☀️

I walk for exercise, but it also gives me time to daydream and run scenes in my head while vibing to my music (sometimes looking like a crazy person as I nod and make hand motions lmao). This helps me clear my head, get some fresh air, then come back to my laptop with a little more pep in my brain, ready to write.

5. Encouragement and feedback from others. 💞

This really helps, of course. Whether it's someone you trust to read over your work, or seeing how people react to your initial chapters after you post them. Both can be very motivating to keep going, at least for me!

And I'll be transparent, I've gotten a bit fatigued while writing the back half of Smoke Eater. I have a lot going on at work and my personal life at the moment. But seeing how people have been commenting and giving feedback on each chapter -- the mystery, the connection between Dean and the reader, the various storylines happening -- it's been incredibly motivating for me to read those back and remember that people are enjoying what I'm coming up with. It helps give me the push I need to get the rough draft out.

And a rough draft doesn't have to be perfect on the first try. That's why it's rough. I call it the "throw up draft." Just get it on the page. The editing process is where I truly find the nuance in the dialogue, refine the plot, exposition, etc.

Anyway. I'm long-winded again, as usual. 😂

I hope this helps you! If you have any other writing questions just let me know. I love talking about this stuff! 💕

#ask me stuff #reader appreciation #writing is hard #writing tips #staying motivated #tips for writers #support writers #support artists #smoke eater #break me down #dean winchester #soldier boy #spn #the boys #zepskies answers

12 notes · View notes