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nightlyrequiem · 4 months ago

Note

Hehe I just saw some of you post about reader cheating on Val, but what about Val cheating on reader?.

A thought came to my head about how reader came from shopping, excited to show Valeria all the new expensive clothes she bought ready to model for her. As she searched for her, only to find her in their room with someone else. I know reader heart shattered into pieces, but not only that I think adrenaline rush through her veins thinking, if she’s replaceable, all the things she knew about Valeria aka el sin nombre, is her life now in danger?. So she makes a run for it to avoid talking and also for her safety. Maybe at the end they make up their mistakes or something

-🦋🦂

Hello Hello :) I wanted to write Val cheating on Reader for months now. Perfect for angst and I love angst. Left the ending a little open ended so you can decide if they make up or not. Personally, I think Reader and Val part ways because cheaters don't deserve redemption

Tags/Warnings: WLW, Cheating, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Physical Hurt (Not Abuse), Attempts at Emotional Comfort

Loves Me Not

Valeria was busy today. Too busy to spend time with you so she gave you her card and sent you off to buy yourself things you don't need.

'Get yourself something pretty to show off for me.'

You went to all your favourite stores and splurged and tops, skirts, dresses, pants, bags. You took your time looking over all kinds of glittery, shiny accessories. Picking ones that you think will catch her attention the most.

You tried on the clothes and admired yourself in the changeroom mirror. then finally made the journey back home. When you got out of the car you paused, seeing Valeria's car in the driveway. You thought she'd be away for the day. That's what she told you. You smile, happy that you get to spend more time with her then you originally thought.

You quietly enter the house and sneak off to the ground floor bathroom. Changing into one of the short flashy dresses you bought. Pulling on the hem and looking at yourself. You pull out one of the new necklaces you bought and clasp it around your neck, admiring the way the small gems glitter above your cleavage. You imagine the face she'll make when she sees you, and the events it will lead to. The shimmery little dress won't be on you for very long.

You walk out of the bathroom, leaving your bags to be collected later and creep up the stairs. The door to your bedroom is half-closed. You break out into a grin but stop when you hear giggling. You frown, confused and apprehensive of the noise. You step forward and push open the door.

The sight before you fills you with pain and repulsion. The woman on top of Valeria swivels around at the noise of you entering, eyes widened with surprise. Valeria sits up swiftly, almost knocking the woman off the bed. The woman quickly gathers up the sheets to cover her bare chest from view.

"I thought you'd be gone for longer." Valeria says harshly.

"Who the hell is this?" You ask, staring at the woman with dismay and anger. Her hands are clenched around the sheets - your sheets, tightly.

Valeria runs a hand through her hair, face pinched into a stressed expression.

"She's... why are you back so early?" She snaps, sounding angry at you for walking in on her. A spike of fear shoots through you. What if she thinks you'll rat on her to the feds in revenge for cheating? You stare at them. Feeling your world crashing down around you. Valeria gets off the bed and it sets you on edge. She looks angry. Valeria doesn't deserve to be angry but that's not stopping her. You've never felt afraid of her before but when she takes a step towards you, you turn and flee. Hearing her running behind you.

"Stop!" She calls out. "Stop running, we can talk about this."

The only thought you have is that she's going to kill you in a fit of rage. She'll kill you to stop you from talking. She'll kill you for trying to leave. You miss a step running down the stairs and trip. Your ankle gives and pain shoots up your calf. You end up sprawling at the bottom of the staircase, afraid and in tears.

"Christ!" Valeria exclaims, looking down at you from the top.

"Did you push her?" The woman asks.

"Get out." Valeria snaps.

"Is she okay? You didn't push-"

"Get the hell out!"

You drag yourself away from the stairs, sweating from the pain. Hurried steps go past you and you watch the woman leave. Slamming the door behind her. Your ankle throbs with your heartbeat. Valeria walks down the stairs and crouches over you.

"What's wrong with you?" She growls. "Why the hell did you run like that? Are you a child?"

"Let me leave." You say. "Please let me leave."

Valeria sighs and kneels down. "We need to talk."

"No we don't." You say shakily, trying not to cry. You're not sure what hurts more, your ankle or your heart.

Valeria rubs a hand over her face.

"I'm sorry." She says tiredly.

You go limp. Too hurt and tired to try getting up. "Why did you do this?" You ask.

Valeria's eyes bore into you. "Because I needed something different." She murmurs. "You're so high energy and always wanting to be around me, I needed a break from you."

Each word is a shot right into your heart.

Valeria gently grabs ahold of you from under your arms and helps you to your feet. Your lean on her while she walks you to the ground floor bathroom. You press close to her. Though it brings you about as much comfort as hugging a cactus. She gently kicks aside your forgotten shopping bags and walks you inside. Making you sit on the lid of the toilet.

She avoids your gaze as she trails her hands down your calf, carefully removing your heel. You hiss in pain and look down. Your ankle is swollen and red. Valeria frowns and stands.

"I'm going to go get some ice." She murmurs. Leaving you alone. You replay the image of that woman on top of Valeria, feeling sick. I needed a break from you. Were you really that bad? You thought the two of you were happy. I needed a break from you. Your throat tightens and your eyes sting. You try to fight back the hurt, not wanting her to walk in on you crying but you can't help it.

Valeria comes back, a small clear bag filled with ice chips in her hands. Your head is lowered, shoulders twitching slightly as you silently cry. Lips pulled back into a devastated grimace. Valeria hovers awkwardly, torn between pretending not to notice and wanting to offer comfort. She settles for the former. Bending down she fishes around under the sink and pulls out bandages to wrap your ankle. She works silently. The only sound being an occasional sniff from you.

Your ankle is lightly throbbing, but it hurts less.

"Come on," Valeria says. "Come lay down." She helps you to your feet again. The walk up the stairs is slow and painful. She turns to lead you to your bedroom but you stop.

"I don't want to rest in there." You whisper. Staring at the floor. "Put me in the spare room."

"... Don't be like that." She says. Rubbing your shoulder.

"I don't want to lay in the same bed that some other girl has been in." You reply tartly.

Valeria's mouth opens and closes. "Fine." She says. Leading you down the hall to the spare room.

She helps you into bed and sets a pillow down for you to elevate your foot. Then you're left alone with your thoughts. You don't eat dinner that night. Valeria leaves it to grow cold outside the door. You fall in and out of sleep. Sometime during the night you take off the dress and throw it somewhere. It gets uncomfortable after prolonged wear. You watch the days pass through the window. More and more of your belongings make it into the spare room until it feels more like your actual bedroom.

Valeria gives you space during this time. Or perhaps takes this space for herself. I needed a break from you. You didn't think a single sentence would cut so deep. How long had she been feeling this way? How long had she been seeing that woman? Is she still seeing that woman? All your questions without answers are driving you mad.

One night, Valeria gently knocks on your door. You long to call out to her, but you just can't. She enters anyway, the door slowly creaking open.

"I brought you dinner." She says quietly. Steamed vegetables and some kind of meat. The smell makes your stomach clench with hunger. The bed dips as Valeria sits down on the side. "... I'm sorry." She says.

"Okay." You reply.

Valeria shifts and sets down the plate. "I've realized how important you are to me, being apart like this." You scowl and burrow under the covers. It took her hurting you deeply to realize this. You didn't have to test out other women to know how you feel. "I don't want to lose you, I love you so much. What I did was a mistake and I will never make it again."

"... Do you think that's all it's going to take to make this better?" You murmur tiredly. You don't have the energy for this. It's on you for getting attached in the first place. You should know better than to believe anything will last forever.

Valeria pauses.

"No," she says. "I don't, but I won't give up on us. I'll right my wrongs, I'll fix this and more." She promises. She brushes her hand over your forehead. "I'll earn your trust and love back, mi vida."

You don't respond. You're not sure you'll ever trust her again. No matter how many apologies she gives you. But you don't think you can leave. Despite what she did your traitorous heart longs for her.

#valeria garza x fem!reader #modern warefare ii #valeria garza cod #valeria garza x reader #cod mwii #cod x reader #valeria garza x you #cod mw2 #valeria garza #cod

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orbitariums · 11 months ago

Text

warmth | art donaldson + patrick zweig + black fem reader (a snippet)

full length part 1 here!

i miss posting on here real bad and i keep teasing things (christopher moltisanti, richie jerimovich) and not actually writing/releasing them SO i'm putting this snippet of this oneshot i'm writing to encourage myself to actually put this out.

i think this will probably have multiple parts because the tension needs to builddd. and please, let me know y'alls thoughts!!! what do you think, what do you predict is gonna happen, r u thirsting adequately, etc. i love hearing your little comments <333

& let me know if you’d wanna be tagged when this comes out

essentially: reader, patrick and art were childhood best friends who conveniently were all in love with each other, or at least had enough sexual tension to make it feel that way. fast forward almost a decade later, and reader has made it onto the red carpet with her fantastic pen, and patrick and art have gone pro. when she invites them to her house for a star-studded friendsgiving, tensions rise and old doors open, springing forth new possibilities. this is only the beginning.

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warmth

“We should just turn around now, save ourselves the embarrassment.”

Patrick paid Art no mind, rolling down the window and leaning out of it, pressing the buzzer as you had dutifully instructed them in your email invite.

“Too late now. Already threw away about a gallon of gas just coming up the hill to this place,” he replied, the sense of ease in his voice only egging Art on even more.

“Exactly why we should leave. I mean, fuck. Does she have to live on a hill?”

“Residence of [last name], to whom am I speaking?” a male voice rings on the other end.

“Uh…” Patrick starts, Art reaching up over him,

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

A silence filled the air. Patrick swatted at Art, forcing him back in his seat.

“Why’d you say it like a question, dumbass?”

Art stammered, already starting to get red in the face,

“I was --”

The gate swung open and both the boys let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” Patrick chimed, smirking at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat.

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Meanwhile, you were inside the mansion that you call home, flowing around the kitchen like there weren’t about fifty people milling about and mingling amongst one another. It smelled like something out of Hansel and Gretel -- from the fragrant brown roasted turkey sitting in the oven, to the gourmand scent of perfectly caramelized candied yams, to the vanilla musk perfume you dotted on your wrists. A black mini Schnauzer nipped excitedly at your feet as you added half a cherry tomato to the giant bowl of salad you’ve been prepping for the last twenty minutes. You look like a pro, like a party of this magnitude is no big deal to you.

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“Do we ring the doorbell? Or maybe… should we knock?” Art questioned, hands tied behind his back as he glanced up at Patrick for answers.

“It’s open,” Patrick retorted, but he too stood stupefied at the door, like a weary traveler wavering in horrific awe before the mouth of some epic beast.

“On three?” Art suggested, and when he didn’t hear a response, he started to count, “one… two…”

Patrick stepped in before Art could get to three. Art scoffed, but followed behind him anyway.

The two of them stood there silently, taking the grandiosity of it all in — the sky-high dome ceiling, two grand wooden staircases directly opposite one another, the shiny verdant porcelain flooring, the Basquiat painting hanging above the wide bookcase directly in front of them. Mouths open, they looked like they were ready to catch flies.

“Fuuuck me,” Patrick breathed out heavily. Art’s head was stuck staring up at the ceiling, so high he thought it’d never end.

“You made it.”

Both Art and Patrick seemed to stand straight at the sound of your voice, like soldiers at attention. You almost laughed, but instead you stood there coolly, smiling at them both with your lips and your eyes— in them, a look that was almost knowing, wise beyond your years. It seemed like a lifetime before either of them would speak. They spent half that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were draped in that cream-colored silk dress, the flowy bottom dancing above your ankles. You looked more beautiful than they remembered you, calmer, secure — of course, they hadn’t seen you since they were teenagers. Now there was this air of timelessness about you that was only just poking at the surface when you were in high school. Now it surrounded you. Something mystic encompassed your entire spirit, dripping from your head to your feet. They’d spent years seeing you from behind a screen, being interviewed on live TV, attending red carpets for award shows, blending in with the Hollywood mecca — another beautiful twenty-something industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here.

“It’s so good to see you,” Patrick broke the silence first, practically lurching forward with open arms to embrace you. His beard scratched against your cheek. You could smell the cologne that was beginning to wear off, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. His arms nearly suffocated you.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he smiled at you so fervently.

“Good to see you too, Patrick…” you glanced over at the mousy boy who didn’t seem to have changed much since high school. “C’mere, Artie.”

Art chuckled: a nervous huff of relief, inching forward into your open arms and nuzzling his chin into your shoulder, closing his arms around your midwaist. You could smell the aftershave that still clung to his face, and the detergent still fresh from his clothes.

You pulled away, but took one of each of their hands, squeezing.

“My two boys. Man, how long has it been?”

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected.

“Who’s counting, right?” Patrick grinned, making all of you laugh.

You looked at them almost expectantly, eyes wide like a doe, the slightest smile playing at your lips. They looked back with bated breaths. Always, you were in charge, always. It had been like this since the scabby-kneed days of childhood. If you wanted to play on the swings, they were there on either side of you. You were the queen of the sandbox. In middle school, they snuck extra cookies for you from the lunchroom and fought over who got to surprise you with the treat every day. Senior year of high school, in the hotel room in London, when you had them perched on either side of you like baby birds waiting for mother’s return— when you had both your hands on each of their thighs, had them panting like puppy dogs, inching your hands further and further only to leave the minute you heard “lights out.”

It had been seven years since then and still, it was the same. Only this time, you were stupidly rich, thanks to the soaring success of your two psychological thriller books turned TV series. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about them, or didn’t care about them now that you were rich and famous. You’d gotten accepted to study creative writing at Brown, Art went to play at Stanford, and Patrick went on his path to go pro. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from being reintegrated into your life. Your childhood best friends.

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

Friendsgiving. Who didn’t love the concept? It was a readily welcomed, wholesome idea — friends of all ages and backgrounds coming together to rehash their Thanksgiving with leftovers, stories from the year, and maybe a game of cards. Except your friendsgiving was attended by A-list actresses, Cannes festival attending screenwriters, and the odd Grammy-nominated artist. And your friendsgiving was not at all an intimate affair — it may as well have been a club party. Most people were outside, dancing, shrieking with laughter, drinking, and skipping their way to their seats. Your backyard was vast and verdant green, with a pool in the center, the perimeter lined with lemon and peach trees, and miles to explore.

“This is fucking insane, is that Dakota Johnson?” Patrick scoffed. He and Patrick had been left to their own devices yet again, while you flitted around being the hostess with the mostest, easing and gliding about. A laugh here, a clink of glasses there, and a coolness to you that stood in striking comparison with the warmth that stirred deep down inside you. A warmth that could be served with a ladle into goblets, like some elixir with magical properties only you possessed.

“No, you idiot, that’s— oh shit. That might be Dakota Johnson.”

Clink clink clink.

“Everybody, hi, hi! Thank you for coming, please, sit down,” you called out, clinking your glass to get the attention of your guests. Patrick and Art scrambled to find seats, ending up at a table with people who might have been minor celebrities or art critiques or designers -- at least one of those options.

“I wanna thank you all so much for coming, this really means a lot to me. I know these sorts of things can be really hectic, but you guys make this house feel like a home. I’m glad that some of you will be staying with me for the next few days, there’s always room for more,” you glanced over at Art and Patrick. “Some of you are new friends, some of you I’ve known for far too long. But I think it’s incredibly fucking cool that we’re all here together now in this moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. I do this every year, and every year I meet even more amazing, talented, fascinating people and you all are so dear to my heart. And now, what we’re all waiting for… lunch is served!”

A cacophony of cheers rang out as staff rushed about to place plates in front of everyone. You stood giggling, basking in all of it. Patrick and Art couldn't help but watch on with deeply impressed smiles — you were meant to bask: in glory, in pleasure, in everything. You looked just right standing where you were.

The rest of the afternoon Patrick and Art spent attempting to blend in as best they could. They were pro tennis players, but this was another level of stardom that they couldn’t quite fathom yet. They watched you ruthlessly the entire night, unable to squash those rising feelings of attraction and yearning for you that had never quite simmered to begin with. You’d always been cooler than them, but watching you now there was a certain air to you that belonged to a grown woman, someone comfortable and confident and in their element. You were positively swimming in the sunlight the entire afternoon. It was like you had this sort of magnetic pull to all things good, rich, and warm. People wanted to be around you. And god, did this prove that.

By night time, people were finally starting to leave. The sun hung low in the darkening sky, making the fairy lights glow stronger now. The few people that were staying with you for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend had disappeared to their rooms. Besides the waitstaff still milling about, clearing the tables, it was just you, Patrick, and Art. The two of them hadn’t meant to stay so long, really. It wasn’t like they were forcing themselves to stick around and be acknowledged by you in a way that felt meaningful. Sure, you’d had your small talk and cracked a few inside jokes, but as much as neither wanted to admit it, they needed more. If it was hard to get your attention before, it was nearly impossible now. They were surrounded by so many people who all wanted to network and talk and introduce themselves, they found themselves mingling with your friends, some of them people who they’d seen on screen in the past year, more than you. They’d been dragged onto the dance floor multiple times by multiple acquaintances, only to gawk at you swaying your hips rather than actually dance themselves. It became overwhelmingly clear, in their increasingly present desperation, that they should’ve accepted your offer to stay in this castle of a house for the weekend. Neither of them had packed a bag.

“This is awkward, we’re the only ones left,” Art sighed, still sitting at their table.

“Let’s just… wait, okay? She might come back out."

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

At that very moment, you appeared again, this time clad in a two piece linen pajama set. You didn’t miss the way both their eyes trailed up your legs as you stood in front of them, arms crossed, smiling expectantly.

“I was hoping you two would still be here,” you said. You glanced between the two of them, that awkward silence filling the air once again. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”

You turned and walked back inside, the two of them trailing behind you.

"Your house is fucking sick by the way. I mean holy shit," Art blurted once you got to the main entrance hall.

"Feel like I just walked into a page of Architectural Digest," Patrick added on.

You led them up the stairs. Both their eyes dropped to your ass, which poked out just a bit from under the pair of shorts you wore. Silently watching the way your body curved as you walked.

"Ha, thanks. I think I did pretty okay for myself," you replied.

You led them to the den on the second floor and sat criss cross apple sauce on the lush green couch. Art sat on your left, Patrick on your right. Patrick spread his legs and Art had one foot up on the couch, bouncing against his knee.

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much. I was so busy being the host of the year that I didn’t pay enough attention to you two. My favorites.”

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious! D’you know how much I missed you guys?”

Patrick scoffed playfully,

“All those TV interviews I watched of you? I wouldn’t even be thinking about us.”

You couldn’t help but grin, that warmth coming through once again. It nearly made the two men melt.

“Well I was. I always think about you guys.”

Now came Patrick’s voice again, a heaviness to it that almost made you jump,

“Do you think about anything specific?”

Although it had been nearly a decade since you’d last seen each other, you didn’t miss a single thing about either of them. Patrick didn’t mince words, and he never shied away from not just hinting at, but blaring his salacious intentions every time he spoke. You tilted your head towards him, a cool smile tugging at your lips.

“Just what good times we had.”

A silence, accented with a flood of nostalgia and a pointed reference to those “good times” permeated the air. You took a moment to gaze at the two of them ever so softly — enough for them to feel it, but not enough to make them squirm (though, they were easy to make squirm) — before you decimated the silence by slapping your hands down on either of their thighs and squeezing endearingly.

“So tell me, where’ve you two been? I’m not the only one on TV these days.”

“Ahh, you don’t wanna hear about boring tennis,” Art waved a hand of dismissal.

You chortled, a trademark of yours that Art and Patrick had always poked fun at in school,

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“You still laugh the same,” Patrick said, grinning like he was trying not to but was unable.

You chuckled, this time low in your throat, and turned your head to face him again. You and Patrick were similar in the sense that you were always pushing the boundaries, tiptoeing closer and closer to the line — but the three of you had never quite established where that was. At some point, you were all just too close to even think about “the line” or “boundaries” — all of you appeared clueless to societal expectations of friendship, spurting a sort of cultlike relationship where everyone else was an outsider.

“Do I?” smiling at him like you were warning him not to tease.

“Yeah, that little snort you do,” Patrick replied, unshaken.

“You do do a little snort,” Art chimed in, always chirping like he spoke from a less nefarious place.

“And if I get started on you guys’ little tennis grunts?” you grinned fully now, showing teeth, looking between the two of them and leaning back a bit.

They followed, leaning back against the couch and keeping their heads in line with yours so you were never too far away from them, each of them turning their heads to look at you.

“No way you actually watch us,” Art replied.

“I do!” you insisted. “Seriously, if you’d asked anybody here you would know.”

“Sure, let me just strike up conversation with George Clooney,” Art shot back.

“Ha-ha,” you bleated sarcastically. “I don’t even know him… but I have walked past him once on the carpet.”

“Look at you,” Patrick smirked. “Little Miss Superstar.”

He punctuated his sentence with a hand on your knee. Your eyes flickered over to him and you caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed, felt the way he gazed up at you. You didn’t miss the desire twinkling in his eyes.

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last,

“She’s our little superstar, you know that, right?”

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

You let them revel in the moment for as long as you felt appropriate, then huffed.

“You know you guys can stay for the weekend, right? I mean, you should.”

“Oh… no, we wouldn’t wanna impose,” Patrick said, his hand slinking away from your knee.

Another chortle from you, this time the kind that said everything about how you lived in comparison to them,

“You wouldn’t be. This is a five bedroom house. It’s fine. Besides, don’t you guys wanna actually catch up? I’ll let you torture me with tennis talk.”

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Charles to get you guys all set up.”

“Charles?”

“Oh, he’s my assistant,” you said nonchalantly, as if it were nothing. “You’re not fighting me on this. I want to spend some quality time with my boys. Don’t make me have to beg for it.”

“We could never make you beg for anything,” Art replied, just a little too quickly.

“I know, Art, that’s why I love you,” you grinned over at him. “So, are we all in agreement? Stay with me. Just this weekend.”

“Yes,” they both replied a little too quickly this time.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile.

“You know… I really, really missed you guys. And those good times we had.”

You let the memory of that night of almosts in London resurge, let their minds run amuck with whatever teenage fantasy was still left over from that night. A moment so brief it could almost be forgotten, could even be flagged as incidental, accidental, but the three of you knew, even as grown adults (especially as grown adults), that it would always stick and remain unresolved, unless someone ran to the rescue with some sort of solution. Once again they held their breaths. You stood up, glanced between the two of them like you were sizing them up, and then smiled as if nothing had happened at all — you let them breath.

“Your bedroom’s the second on the right when you leave here. Charles will help you get set up— I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.”

And just like that, you were gone. The air in the room seemed to clear. Your presence was like a thousand tons of pressure weighing on their bodies and their minds. Finally, they could breathe.

They glanced at each other with the same longing, almost nervous expression — high school all over again.

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eek let me know what y'all thought. i wanna finish it by this week <3

#challengers #challengers smut #challengers fic #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig imagine #x reader #x black reader #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x black reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x black! reader

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letsgobarbs · 3 months ago

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WIP Wednesday

Ooh thanks for the tag @probablyreadinsmut you wanna see my little hoard of words? you want a lil peek into my brain lab?

Here's a live of me cooking up my fanfictions this week:

But feeling very overachieving today because I finally posted another Chapter of His Young Wife (Marcus Acacius x Reader) last night.

And here's a little snippet from the new Homecoming (Dave York x Queer, Muslim!OC) chapter:

David Anthony York was wicked. He had to be. There was no other reason he had haunted her thoughts by day and her dreams by night. Maryam was taken by him since the first time she had seen him. He had looked up at her with the softest eyes the colour of molasses. Except, they hadn't been warm or sweet. His eyes reminded her of the dark pebbles down the riverbed smoothed over the years by a steady stream. Even with one eye covered under an eyepatch, they were so pretty that she was tempted to call them a gift that spoke of a gracious Creator. Tempted, but not convinced. She just couldn't trust eyes that told no stories, they didn't have the texture of tree bark, or specks of amber or black. His eyes had been a blank, even slate covered in a shiny, wet sheen that reflected the light but offered no noor, no real warmth or glow from within.

He had looked so lost and pained with the scrunch between his brows and the deep creases that ran along his forehead. But something about the weakness and vulnerability in his eyes had struck her all wrong. His puppy-dog, baby-cow eyes didn't distract her from the falsity in the way David York had held himself. His pursed lips and tight jaw heralded a brewing storm. It had been an anger and rage so all-consuming it took root in his bones simmering under a facade of trained stillness that belied a man who had ceased grappling with his morality, a man who had beat his own conscience back with a stick until it no longer whispered at the back of his mind. The man with the prettiest eyes set on the face of a killer.

Maryam knew the folly of giving any man an unearned chance to be close. But would it be unearned? Every action of his had gone against her first impression of him. He had been kind to Carol. Most other men in his place would have either trapped their wives in the marriage with guilt or threats, or raged against them for ‘ruining their lives’. But David had granted Carol her freedom through a smooth divorce, along with the house and an alimony. He had even stood up to Carol’s parents; he wouldn't allow them to meet their granddaughters if they couldn't accept their own daughter. He was a good father. She had held both Molly and Alice when they missed their daddy and had watched Carol struggle to fill his place in their lives. However, surely, it is best to err on the side of caution. She knew first-hand how monumentally stupid it would be to establish any sort of connection with a dangerous man.

You're being delusional, Maryam. There was no way that man was even thinking about her, let alone contemplating a connection. There was no connection. No spark. No heartbeat skips. No nothing. Men like him didn't want women like her— they lived in very different worlds. So, despite the futility, she was still thinking about the freckles on his right cheekbone, there had been four prominent ones forming a diamond shape and several lighter ones that trailed up towards his temple. It reminded her of the Little Dipper. Maryam was tempted to turn to her mother and request she pray and cleanse the house of bad vibes. Her daughter was likening a man’s freckles to constellations and that had to be a sign of Jinn or some spirits whispering these thoughts into her ear like the stories from home. She was bewitched.

Now, that suburban middle-aged man wouldn't know the first thing about black magic and influence. Maryam recited her verses anyway as she put on her shoes— partially out of habit, but to also ward off evil, protect against accidents and fate’s whimsy, and for mental fortitude and strength. She was going to see David York. Something about the way he had looked at her when she left his apartment made her worry. Molly and Alice are with him half of the weekdays and every other weekend, the custody arrangements were still being tinkered with to suit everyone involved. But Carol was taking the girls to stay with Theresa’s family for spring break.

Maryam had inquired about him with Carol, hoping to assuage some of that worry, only to learn he had recently lost friends. She hadn't wanted to pry further, it was weird to keep asking Carol about her ex-husband even if it was from a place of concern. She didn't want that concern to be misconstrued because that's all it will ever be. Nonetheless, she felt nauseous— not because she felt guilty for seeking out her friend’s ex-husband but because she was hiding it from her. This was the sort of thing you discussed with friends— perhaps not the freckles and doe eyes part, but certainly the worrying bit.

Maryam had been at a club to support a friend at their big DJ gig where she had met Carol. They had both felt out of place, and Maryam had bought her a drink. The night had been life-altering because Carol experienced her first kiss with a woman. Maryam had pressed Carol against the wall in a secluded corner of the club, their kiss had tasted of espresso martini and strawberry cheesecake. The experience had been wholly overwhelming because Carol had cried her sorrows into Maryam’s arms who had ensured she reached home safely to her kids and by the time they met for breakfast the next day, they were best friends.

For context: Carol thinks Dave is dead and this is her 'trying to move on' process that makes her sorta realise that she is a lesbian and she had been trying to conform to that husband and two kids lifestyle her conservative, god-believing parents expected of her. Carol dates Theresa now. And Dave isn't going to turn away a willing prey walking into his home out of concern for him— so stupid of Maryam really.

I'm also cooking up my Pero Tovar in the winter prompt for the writing through the seasons challenge organised by @guiltyasdave (Hope you're having lots of fun and relaxing on your bday trip <3) and @sizzlingcloudmentality

Do I have actual paragraphs for it? No :) But I have plot points and I have ideas, and I love my ideas, I think they're neat. It's going to be a reverse mail-order bride trope lmfao. Because I like a mail-order bride story. Pero thinks he was just interviewing for a servant post, he could figure his way around cooking and cleaning when he couldn't find another fighting gig. But he somehow ends up in one of those medieval rattling wooden prison transport carts with wooden bars and also somehow hired as a mail-order husband. Best believe the other girlies in that cart are giving him side-eyes.

share your stuff you guys lemme see what's cooking: @pedrospookie @slimybeth69 @galaxyedging @iknowisoundcrazy @joelslegalwhre @jessthebaker @pedroswife69 @joelswritingmistress @missyorkswhore @peepawispunk @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist @everybodylovedcontractors and anybody else who wants to share <33

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #wip #dave york x oc #marcus acacius x reader

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bitbybitwrites · 4 months ago

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I was tagged by : @porcelainmortal, @alasse9 @forabeatofadrum

Thanks for thinking of me! . . I should really do this before 2024 is up, right? 😂

BTW its still Dec 31 here where I am, so I'll say it counts.

I've done a lot more than I expected this year, as I look back. And I'm kind of proud of myself.

I started writing for another fandom - RWRB. Its been fun adding these characters to the mix.

I managed finishing 1 multi-chapter fic and a 11 shorter fics.

I'm still plugging away on 3 longer multi-chapter WIP, adding and posting chapters as I go.

I have compiled an additional WIP list of (*stops to count*) 16 other fics that are not posted yet, but are in various stages of readiness. I flitter around adding bits to each when inpiration hits.

I think that's about it for me for 2024 - still writing, slow and steady. 😊

I'm always so happy to see any of kudos and comments if you have left any . . . and I'm still really apologetic that I haven't gotten to responding to many. There's only so much time in the day. I will try to get to them!

WRITING GOALS FOR 2025: Basically write more, and write as often as I can. There are so many of my WIP I want to get into and finish . . hopefully some of you will find them interesting to read!

Wishing you all a Happy New Year and a productive and creative 2025! I look forward to seeing/reading all you create!

See links and descriptions to everything under the cut!

1.) COMPLETED FICS

April 2024

Falling For You (Klaine fic) - 26,089 words

Summary:

Kurt Hummel thought by donating his services as a florist to Memorial Sloan Kettering, that he would simply be giving back to the medical community. A good deed for the month of December. Little did he know that a few chance run-ins with an adorable doctor and a sweet little girl in the hospital lobby would change all that. Written for the Klaine Secret Santa 2023 Gift Exchange.

May 2024

Pretty Shiny things (Klaine fic) - 1,943 words

Summary:

The clangs and shrieks of the alarm system at Christie's Auction House filled the corridors, echoing through the mostly empty building. They were just as loud as the beating of Kurt and Blaine's hearts as they raced down corridor after corridor while they attempted to escape. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Kurt growled through his teeth as he ran, slipping slightly on the polished marble floor as he turned another corner. “I leave you alone for five minutes . . . FIVE MINUTES, Blaine. What on earth did you do?” **** Discovered a fun new thing on Tumblr called Ficlet Friday. This ficlet was inspired by a dialogue prompt by annepi: Prompt: Klaine - “I leave you alone for five minutes...”

June 2024

hold me close (FirstPrince fic) - 836 words

Summary:

Alex has had a rough day. It's a good thing that Henry's home to take care of him. For a Ficlet Friday prompt : "Tell me anything. Everything.”

blythe spirit (FirstPrince fic) - 1,756 words

Summary:

“I . . . I don't know why you're even interested." “Baby, I love you. I'm interested in everything about you." Alex gave Henry a very pointed and heated look that definitely hit the mark. The flush on Henry’s face now deepened. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a few moments as he considered his options. “Come on,” Alex softly cajoled. “You can’t just say things like: ‘I played Elvira in a school production of Blythe Spirit’ and not expect me to ask for pictures . . or at least the lowdown on it all.” Alex pouted again to prove his point. “I’m a weak man, H. These are the types of things I need to know more about.” ***** From a Friday Ficlet prompt: "Tell Me anything. Everything."

nightfall (Klaine fic) - 219 words

Summary:

Blaine sighed as he collapsed onto the sand. With his chin upon his knees and arms wrapped around his legs, Blaine gazed out toward the ocean, deciding that the purple-ish pink sky that stretched out before him was absolutely breathtaking. If only he had his camera with him. It would be a perfect addition to his next gallery exhibit. ***** Based off a Tumblr Prompt/Ask Game - "Create a microstory from the prompt selected" Thanks to Falles for giving me: "49 - nightfall"

i'll always come back to you (FirstPrince fic) - 504 words

Summary:

Alex will always come back to Henry . . .always Based on a microstory prompt: #32 - dust motes

July 2024

fire island follies (Klaine fic) - 3,027 words

Summary:

Blaine Anderson is off to a weekend on Fire Island - well, his good friend Santana is draggng him on one. He's not so sure it's the best thing to do - but a run-in with a beautiful performer from the Fire Island Follies quickly changes his mind. ****** From a Tumblr Friday Ficlet prompt from bowtiesandboatshoes : "We're going to Fire Island. It's like gay Disney World." Title is from an actual burlesque/cabaret show: The Fire Island Follies

i hate waiting (FirstPrince fic) - 555 Words

Summary:

Alex needs to keep his daughter from being bored. inspired by this adorable picture on Tumblr by wordsofhoneydew

study date (Klaine fic) - 945 words

Summary:

"Get your hands off me!" The sound of a scuffle had Kurt look up from his reading. To be honest, Divination was such a bore of a class. It's not like he needed to learn anything new about it. Kurt had all of his mother's crystals, divination tools, and journals tucked away in her old trunk up in the attic of their home. He could read tea leaves and scry with the best of them. He had long ago lost focus on the chapter Professor Holiday had assigned them for the evening, so at this point, any other distraction would be welcome. Even if it was prefect duties.

Originally this was a bit of a false start for my fic, Advanced Potions

The original prompt was "hogwarts!au + 4. meet messy + 6. "what is that?"

August 2024

what can compare with your beautiful sound (Klaine fic) - 1,183 words

Summary:

Kurt’s brow furrowed as he concentrated on the task at hand. He had to get it just right. His hand hovered just a few inches higher, and with a deft flick of his wrist, a drop of wax fell from the lit candle in his hand to his canvas below. The canvas moaned in ecstasy. “Now, darling, we don’t want to shift, now do we?" Kurt softly murmured as he leaned in close. "You've been such a good boy for me so far." ***** Based off of a microstory prompt from Tumblr : "candles"

November 2024

smutsgiving/wanksgiving 2024: rwrb/firstprince - 662 words

Summary:

Prince Henry has been given a new gift for his bedchamber. Entry for Smutsgiving/Wanksgiving 2024.

smutsgiving/wanksgiving 2024: klaine - 580 Words

Summary:

Dinner was lovely, but Blaine is really ready to go home. Entry for Smutsgiving/Wanksgiving 2024.

2.) PARTIALLY PUBLISHED WIP:

(Klaine) If I Can Make Your Heart My Home - (Klaine Reverse Bang 2023) Life in New York City and working in the restaurant industry wasn’t exactly what Kurt Hummel had expected it would be. He’s lonely, stressed out and miserable. He’s almost ready to throw in the towel and return home to Ohio when a chance meeting with a musician in Central Park changes everything. (Warning: an angsty rollercoaster of a ride. Soooo many cameos from Glee characters! 😉)

(RWRB) Puppy Love - (RWRB NYE gift exchange 2023) The cold snowy day that Henry Fox discovers an abandoned beagle puppy in an alley brings handsome, flirty veterinarian, Alex Claremont-Diaz into his life. Alex is a single dad, recently moved to NY with his young son who Henry hasn't met yet - or so Alex thought. (Fluffy kid!fic)

(Klaine) Sanctuary - (Klaine Word Scramble 2023) Crown Prince Blaine has stumbled into a secluded glade, trying to escape the horrors of the bloody war his father had brought upon their kingdom. Mourning his beloved older brother and faced with the burden of taking his place in the kingdom, Blaine yearns for a place to hid from the world to deal with the issues weighing on his heavy heart. He encounters a mysterious elf, the guardian of the magical spring that Blaine has mistakenly defiled, whose growing connection to his life the young prince can't ignore. (Inspired by an idea/ artwork by @datshitrandom and @justgleekout)

3.) WIP FICS TO FINISH AND POST

My WIP list can be found here! I keep it updated. Feel free to ask me about any of them if you're curious . . 🥰. Hoping to finish some of these in the coming year.

******

OK so ( as usual) I'm late to post - so if anyone hasn't done this yet and wants to - take my big open tag for it and maybe some of these folks might want to do one of these wrap ups as well?

Tagging ( participate only if you want to): @wowbright, @gleefulpoppet, @daisyishedwig, @spaceorphan18 @special-bc-ur-part-of-it

@myheartalivewrites, @14carrotghoul, @thighzp @tailsbeth-writes @onthewaytosomewhere

@sophie1973 @getmehighonmagic @tinyarmedtrex @henrysfox @blueeyedgrlwrites

@kirakiwiwrites @madas-ahatters-world @sarkyblueeyes @heartsmadeofbooks @iboatedhere

@little-escapist @littlemisskittentoes @kurtsascot @hkvoyage @lilinas

Psst. . . and if any fanartists see this and want to share what they've drawn this year, tag me! I'd love to see your work if I've missed some!

#bitbybitwrites #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #rwrb fanfiction #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fic #rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #fanfiction

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bunny7567 · 2 months ago

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I got you - Hospital visits (Rex's pov)

Pairing: Rex x Jedi!ofc

Word count: 5.5k Tags/Warnings: this whole thing takes place while Lexie's in the coma so, you know, coma; angst; guilt; mentions of death; grief; Rex is just 🥺; mentioning some OCs that may or may not make more appearances

A/n: I really felt the need to write about the hospital visits that I mentioned all the way at the beginning of the series, to offer a glimpse into the way Rex became attached to Lexie. This is solely his pov. It's not technically a new chapter but i think it's pretty important for the story. Also, I expected this to be a short thing of maybe 3k, I have no idea how it got to over 5k - like in one day alone I wrote about 2k?? how??

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di’kut - idiot vode - brothers kote - glory

~~~

First visit

Coruscant was not like Rex had imagined at all. In truth, he was not prepared for how big and busy the city really was. Growing up on Kamino, seeing only his brothers, the kaminoans and a handful of bounty hunters around, he was quite overwhelmed by the sheer amount of species milling about. But that wasn’t the only problem – the main problem was that they were all staring as he passed them by. He could understand it; clones, they were a novelty and their shiny, new armor was glistening in the light of Coruscant Prime – but it was unnerving.

Rex felt exposed, and he didn’t like it, didn’t like the way eyes followed him through the crowds and the way heads turned as he walked past sentients of all ages. And the look on their faces... the suspicion, the worry, the fear – Rex had not expected that at all. He and his vode were protectors, they were here to defend the Republic and all its citizens. It wasn’t that he believed they deserved cheers and thanks from any of them, he knew his purpose and that was enough for him, but still, he had never thought he would be met with so much mistrust.

Thankfully he had the protection of his helmet, shielding him from the direct ogling of the public. He cursed himself for deciding to walk instead of getting on a shuttle and picked up the pace, needing to find shelter from all the unwanted attention, and soon enough he arrived in front of the immense building that housed the Grand Republic Medical Facility. Stepping through the sliding transparisteel doors, Rex went straight to the information desk and addressed the Nautolan nurse sitting behind the counter.

“CT-7567, here to see Jedi Padawan Alexis Khalla”, he said, curt and to the point.

The man put down his datapad and eyed the trooper stood in front of him with a raised brow. “All military personnel are being treated on the upper levels”, he replied, sounding bored.

Rex made his way to the turbolifts and repeated the words at another information desk higher up in the tower, this time being directed to a private patient room. He strode down the hall, glancing at the room numbers until he found the one he was searching for.

His hand reached for the control panel and he… froze. What was he even doing here? He didn’t know her, what business was it of his to check up on her?

A deep, slightly shaky breath came out loudly through the voice modulator of his helmet as he decided to open the door and step inside. The room was small, containing a single bed, some medical equipment and a window overlooking the busy traffic of Coruscant, while the sharp smell of antiseptic and bacta filled the air. The head of the bed was placed against the right wall, and next to it sat a simple, grey chair.

When his eyes landed on her, Rex felt his stomach drop.

Lexie was laid in the bed, a breathing mask obscuring half her face. Her eyes were closed, but her bright red hair stood out starkly against the sterile whites and greys of the room. She looked so… small, so vulnerable. Rex cautiously walked to the foot of the bed, took off the helmet and ran his fingers through his dark hair. This whole thing felt wrong. It shouldn’t be her on that bed, Rex could still not understand it. Why had she done that? They were expendable, didn’t she know that? Why had she pushed him and his vode out of harm’s way?

The entire situation went against everything he had been taught. Ever since he could remember, ever since he could barely walk, Rex and all of the clones had known they were expendable. They were soldiers. They were made solely to protect the Republic and they knew most of them would die doing so. Had no one told her that? Had no one told her that they– that he was meant to protect her, not the other way around? She was a Jedi, she was worth more than he was, why did she risk her life to save his? Rex tightly clenched his fist by his side and his brows furrowed. Maybe he was the one who was supposed to tell her that they were expendable and like a complete di’kut he assumed she would know. Maybe this was all his fault.

Rex was startled by the door opening, revealing a pink-skinned Mirialan nurse. She took a step in before noticing him and stopping dead in her tracks.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here”, she said, seemingly as startled as he was.

“No, I… uh, sorry. I’ll go”, Rex stammered, quickly placing his helmet back on and hurrying past her, out the door.

“You don’t have to leave, it’s fine”, she called after him, but Rex was already halfway to the turbolifts. He wasn’t really sure if he was allowed to even be there in the first place.

Third visit

A month had passed since he’d last walked the corridors of the GMF and a lot had happened in the meantime. He completed his specialized command training alongside the other clone officers and he’d been put in charge of a battalion despite only being a captain. Rex was quite proud of himself and of the fact that his efforts were being recognised and rewarded. He was in a good mood today.

Rex stopped by the nurse’s desk to check-in as a visitor, then proceeded without any need for guidance to Lexie’s room – he memorised the number in the two times he’d been there. Still, he hesitated once again in front of the door, his hand hovering in front of the panel.

It wasn’t forbidden to visit her – he had checked – but he couldn’t really understand why he felt the need to do so. Was it just guilt? A sense of obligation to check on the one who had saved his life? Rex wasn’t really sure.

He thought about Geonosis a lot, he kept going over that battle in his mind. At first he tried to focus on his action during the fight, analysing what went wrong, what he did right, but then, slowly, without realising it was happening, Rex started thinking about her. That first meeting was definitely memorable… she had defended them against her own Master’s words, she did not have to do that but she did. And then she refused to leave like a coward as he did. Rex wasn’t exactly sure what their bond was, he could only imagine from his own military perspective that the dynamic between them was maybe similar to that of a trooper and his superior officer. And that meant she had gone against his direct orders, and she had done that for him–for all of them.

Defying orders – that was unimaginable to Rex, that took strength he wasn’t sure he himself possessed. That, plus the way she had fought by his side, the way her yellow blades had slashed through the droids so gracefully, yet with such deadly precision – he had to admit he had been a little awestruck.

Rex took a deep breath and entered her room… and immediately chided himself for not checking if it was okay to do so. That Mirialan nurse was inside, stood next to the bed and moving Lexie’s wrist in slow circles.

“S-Sorry”, the Captain stuttered, moving to leave.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to go”, the nurse stopped him, turning her head to look at him. “I’m just finishing up”.

Rex hesitated in the doorway, then took a few steps inside, pausing to take off his helmet.

“You changed your hair”, the nurse remarked, her eyes quickly scanning him from head to toe. “Looks nice”.

“Uhh, thanks. Did it recently”, Rex replied, surprised that she remembered him in the first place. He shuffled awkwardly on his feel and cleared his throat. “What, umm, what are you doing? If I can ask”.

The nurse chuckled at his endearing awkwardness. “Basic physical therapy to maintain joint function”.

“Right, makes sense”, he mumbled under his breath, moving to stand next to the window. He didn’t feel right being there in that moment, it felt like he was intruding on a private treatment.

“Is she a friend?”, the Mirialan asked, following him with her eyes.

“Umm, not exactly”, he replied, meeting her gaze. “She was my CO on Geonosis. Saved my life. But we barely spoke, maybe twice… then she got injured”.

As he talked, the nurse let go of Lexie’s arm and picked up a tray that was placed on a counter by the bed. Rex glanced at it and noticed an empty IV bag on it.

“It’s really sweet of you to visit her, Commander…?”, the nurse continued.

“Captain actually. Rex”, he introduced himself, straightening as he did so.

“It’s nice to meet you Rex. I’m Astri”, the nurse smiled warmly. “I’ll give you some privacy now”. She walked out of the room but paused in the doorway, turning to face him again. “You know, some studies suggest that talking to comatose patients can be helpful for their recovery. You could try that if you want”.

The Captain nodded and watched as the door slid closed before he walked to the foot of the bed. It was still… difficult to look at her. The fragile young woman laid in the hospital bed in front of him seemed like a completely different person from the fierce Jedi that had fought by his side on the barren planet of Geonosis.

Would it really work to speak to her? His words seemed to have helped her back before the battle, Rex had talked her down from a panic attack, after all. He had done that, he had helped her take charge. Maybe he could help her wake up now. He owed it to her to at least try.

Hesitantly, he walked to the grey chair at the head of her bad and sat down. It screeched loudly against the durasteel door as he adjusted it in order to face her better and Rex winced, eyes quickly darting to check if he had disturbed her. She’s in a coma, not asleep, you di’kut, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes. He glanced at her again, studying the features of her face not covered by the breathing mask as he tried to think of anything to say.

“I uh…”, he started uncertainly, “I liked it – the name you suggested. The second one. Not that there was anything wrong with the first one it’s just… Rex felt–it feels right. So, thank you… Lexie”.

He timidly reached for her hand and squeezed it gently just like he did on the gunship. It was a brief touch, only lasting a couple of seconds before he pulled his hand back. It was probably inappropriate.

“Maybe you can, umm… you said it’s a character from a story? Maybe once you wake up you could tell which one it is. Could be nice to read it, you know?”.

The rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor remained steady, nothing indicating that his words had any effect. Rex leaned back in the chair and sighed. This felt so stupid. He instinctively reached his hand up to run it through his hair before remembering he’d shaved it all the other day, so he swiped the hand over the bleached buzz cut instead. Didn’t feel the same – it will take some getting used to. He glanced at Lexie again then stood up and left.

Fourth visit

Rex decided to visit Lexie again, even if he’d only just done so the previous day. After all, there was an update he had to deliver. No that he actually believed she would hear him – he honestly felt stupid talking to her – but on the off chance that maybe it really did work… So, once he was dismissed from the briefing he attended at the Jedi Temple, Rex jumped on a shuttle and came straight to the GMF. The nurse sitting at the nurses’ desk was the same pink-skinned Mirialan from the previous day, and she smiled brightly as she saw him approach.

“Here to visit you CO again?”, she asked.

“Yes. If it’s not too late”, the Captain replied, taking off his helmet.

“You made it just in time. Forty minutes ‘til visiting hours are over”, she commented as she typed on a datapad. Her eyes lifted to his in a silent question.

“CT-7567”, he informed her.

Astri nodded and signed him into the visitor’s log. “All done, Captain”, she said cheerfully.

Rex offered a respectful nod in response then marched directly to Lexie’s room, not even needing to check the room numbers anymore – he knew exactly where it was now. Once inside he walked to the chair and sat down by her head again.

“They’ve finally assigned us a Jedi”, he started”. “It’s Anakin Skywalker. I remember you were asking about him on the gunship – I can finally confirm that he’s alright. He’s been promoted to General recently; I think that means they��ve made him a Knight? I’m not sure exactly how it works yet. Maybe you could explain it, if uh… if you woke up?”.

He waited for any hint that she was hearing him, but all he was met with was the steady hum of the breathing machine and the beeping of her heart monitor. Rex shook his head. What exactly had he even expected? that he would say the name of someone he could only assume was her friend and she would instantly wake up? His shoulders slumped a little as he stared at the window.

“I… I’m a little disappointed if I’m honest”, he admitted quietly. “I sort of kept hoping you’d be awake by now and that you’d become my general”.

He looked up at the ceiling and let out a deep sigh. This was pointless, wasn’t it?

“It seemed like you cared about him – General Skywalker I mean”, he continued. “I’m not sure if you two are friends, but, in case you are, I assure you I will do my best to protect him. I’m supposed to do that, I was supposed to protect you too but…”.

Rex shook his head, feeling the guilt return to his mind.

“The other Jedi you mentioned, General Kenobi, he’s in good hands too. Kote is his second-in-command – Cody I mean, sorry; Kote is the nickname some of us gave him in ARC training. You’ll get it if you meet him”, Rex said with a small chuckle. “That’s uhh… that’s all I came here to tell you. I’ll try to swing by again tomorrow but I’m not sure if I’ll have time. We leave for Arantara in two rotations”.

Rex reached for her hand less hesitantly than the previous day and clasped it lightly before standing up. He walked out of her room and headed to the lifts, debating whether he should go to the barracks or straight to this new cantina his vode had heard would serve them. This was the last night all his batchmates were still on Coruscant – who knew when that would happen again – and they planned to take advantage of it. As he walked past the nurses’ station, Rex offered a small nod to the Mirialan.

“Captain?”, Astri called after him, standing up from her chair.

Rex stopped and turned to face her. The nurse walked up to him, coming to a stop just a step away, her demeanour a bit nervous.

“Do you want to have a drink with me?”, she asked, avoiding his eyes.

The Captain’s eyebrows shot up. “Me?”, he exclaimed.

“Yeah you”, she laughed. “Sorry for being so forward, it’s not usually my style, but I just thought, ‘what the hell’. So… what do you say?”.

Rex stared at her blankly a few seconds before snapping out of his shock. “Uh, yeah, sure”, he muttered, bringing a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“My shift ends soon, if you’re free tonight”, she proposed.

“No, I already have plans tonight. But tomorrow, maybe?”, he offered instead.

“Perfect, it’s a date”, she smiled before heading back to her flimsiwork.

The Captain followed her with his eyes for a few more seconds, still astonished that someone had actually asked him out. It was an interesting development. Technically, clones weren’t allowed to fraternise with civilians like that, he shouldn’t even entertain the thought, but well, that was one rule that all the troopers had quickly started breaking. He hadn’t yet but – as Trojan kept pestering him to do every time they talked – maybe he should too. And the nurse was cute, seemed nice too, no harm in seeing where this went. He’d only agreed to one drink after all.

Tenth visit

Rex plopped down on the chair by Lexie’s bed. He was exhausted. The Tibrin campaign seemed like it would never end, and when it eventually did, it was with a crushing defeat. The outcome had not been as devastating as Geonosis or Jabiim – which thankfully he had not been in and had only heard about – but still, the casualties they sustained were high. It had not helped that the battle had stretched on for longer than anticipated either, and they had only just returned on Coruscant. The Captain initially planned to head straight to his bunk, but when he saw that he still had time for a quick visit to the hospital, he jumped on the first shuttle. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he had sort of missed her during the time he’d been away.

He started telling her a little about the battle, tuning out the med droids as they milled about, checking vitals and adjusting the tubes that poked out of her, their purpose a mystery to Rex. It didn’t seem so weird talking to her anymore; in fact, he realised he actually enjoyed it. But lack of sleep and physical exhaustion was catching up to him, and as he leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, the Captain eventually dozed off.

A loud, clanking noise woke him up, and Rex jumped from the seat, hand instinctively reaching for his blaster. He let out a relieved breath as he saw Astri by the counter, a tray with an IV bag placed on top of it, her hands still clasping its edges. Rex smiled, stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her waist her from behind.

“Hi”, he whispered in her ear.

But the Mirialan didn’t reply and, not only that, she slithered out of his arms. Rex frowned, confused by her unusual coldness.

“Is everything okay?”.

“Are you seriously asking me that?”, Astri retorted, turning to face him, her eyes as sharp as daggers. The Captain stared at her blankly and the silence stretched on uncomfortably for many seconds before she finally continued. “You came to see her as soon as you landed but you couldn’t even comm me to say you made it out alive from Tibrin?”.

Rex was not prepared for those words and recoiled. He ran a hand over his face and mumbled a curse under his breath. How had that slipped his mind? “I’m sorry, Astri, I-I didn’t think–”.

“You didn’t think? About me you mean, because you clearly thought about her”, she scoffed.

“That’s not…”, Rex trailed off. He wasn’t entirely sure how to defend himself.

Astri had not asked much of him, only a comm here and there – and he couldn’t even do that. Rex felt bad enough as it was since he couldn’t give her what he knew she wanted, he couldn’t commit, not fully. In the few nights they had spent together, Rex had grown to care for her – but he did hold back, he simply couldn’t give himself to her, he couldn’t break the rules that much. Astri had not minded at first – she had enjoyed the casual, easy fun they were having – but around the fourth night they spent in each other’s arms she realised she was falling for the Captain. And so she tried to ask for more.

“She’s a Jedi, Rex”, Astri exclaimed, her voice a mixture of hurt and anger. “She would never care about you like this… not like I do”.

“No, it’s not like that”, Rex tried to protest. “She’s… she saved my life”.

“And? That’s what the Jedi do!”, Astri retorted. “You’ve created this story in your head, Rex, that she did it because she thought you were special or something along those line, but it’s not real. You-you fabricated a friendship with her for Maker’s sake”.

“I know we’re not friends, I never said that we were. But she was on Geonosis, that’s… that’s not something you could understand”, he replied, the words coming out harsher than he intended.

The Mirialan huffed a bitter laugh. “Right. Of course not. You and the Jedi are there in the trenches while I’m here, patching your brothers up”. She shook her head, her eyes burning into him. “You’ll never respect me, will you?”. The words weren’t accusatory anymore, they weren’t angry – they were resigned.

“What? No! I respect you Astri, I do. But there are things you civvies will just never understand”, the Captain argued.

“I hope you’ll at least stop lying to yourself if you won’t stop lying to me. You’ll be disappointed if she wakes up–”

“When”, Rex corrected, his voice firm.

“Fine. You’ll be disappointed when she wakes up. Because she will not care about you. Not in the way you want her to. Maybe not even at all”, Astri declared.

The Captain was at a loss for words. This was not a conversation he had expected to have that night, and frankly, he was too tired to keep arguing. It didn’t feel like it would matter if he apologised again anyway. The whole argument, the whole conversation – it felt final.

“You should go”, Astri broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper, “visiting hours are over”.

Rex picked his helmet up from next to the chair, put it on and walked to the door, stopping however right before he left.

“See you around, Astri”, he said softly, but did not receive any reply.

Last visit

“They’re dead. Two of my batchmates. You won’t know what that means – it’s… I’m not sure how to explain it. We grew up together, we trained together… we were always together, since day one, since we were decanted. They were my vode…”.

Rex was hunched over in the chair, elbows resting on his thighs and head held in his hands. He wasn’t supposed to be there actually, he was supposed to be at the 79s with his two remaining batchmates, drinking in the honour of their fallen brothers – he was even dressed for it, not wearing the upper part of his armor so he’d me more comfortable.

But Rex had ended up back in Lexie’s hospital room. He wasn’t even sure how; he had left the barracks, decided to walk to the clone bar, and yet his feet had carried him here.

He’d never expected it would hit him this hard. After so many months, he thought he was prepared for it. They were clones, they were meant to die fighting in this damn war and, Maker knows, he had lost so many brothers already. Tibrin, Christophsis, Mimban – all were harrowing campaigns with devastating death tolls. And yet none of those had hurt as much as losing two of his batchmates now – and both at the same time.

“They were on Ryloth”, he spoke out loud, his voice cracking. “The entire garrison is gone – Keeli too; he was a good friend”.

Tears were welling up in his eyes as the weight of the past couple of rotations finally came crashing down. The Captain had not allowed himself to crack – not when he heard the devastating news and not when he had to relay it to the two batchmates he still had left. But here, in Lexie’s hospital room, he felt safe enough to do so. She wouldn’t judge him – obviously she couldn’t, she was unconscious – but she was there, he wasn’t alone. In a peculiar way, it felt comforting.

Slowly, a couple of tears rolled down his cheeks and landed on the durasteel floor and Rex started quietly shaking as he thought of his brothers –the brothers he would never see again, he would never talk to again. He would never hear Scobie’s infectious laugh again. He would never lose at Sabacc against Dyle again. Both of them were just… gone.

A gentle pressure around his shoulders made him jump in the seat and Rex frantically looked around. That had felt… almost like an embrace. But there was no one there, no other person in the room – not even a med droid. It was just him and Lexie.

His head snapped in her direction, a wave of emotions stirring in his stomach, but the Jedi was still laid in bed, unconscious, not one single change on the screen monitoring her vitals – or actually… was her heartrate slightly elevated? He wasn’t sure. Rex wiped the tears from his eyes, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair; no, it wasn’t possible. He must have imagined it. Yeah, that was the only explanation – he was upset, vulnerable and in all honesty he could use a hug right about now, so it made sense he had imagined receiving one.

He shook his head and pulled out his comm from one of the pouches on his belt. There was a new message, from Trojan. He dreaded to see it, but he opened it anyway.

CT-7175: Where are you?

Rex stared at the question and his fingers started typing a reply. At first he wrote that he was on his way – but immediately deleted the words. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t go to the cantina, he couldn’t be around loud and drunk vode enjoying a night off when his two batchmates would never do that again. He couldn’t pretend he was okay tonight.

CT-7567: Can’t make it.

The reply came almost instantly. Trojan must have left the comm on the table in front of him – he usually did that.

CT-7175: Rex, what the hell? Do you know how hard it was for Pierce to get leave? CT-7567: Sorry. Skywalker needs me for mission prep. We’re leaving for Ryloth tomorrow. Can’t get away. CT-7175: Then come after you’re done. He won’t keep you there all night.

Rex groaned. He should’ve thought of a better excuse.

CT-7175: Rex, this is Pierce. You cannot bail on us! I haven’t seen you since Mimban!

His stomach twisted as guilt crept back into his mind. “What would you do?”, he asked, glancing back towards Lexie. Naturally, he received no response.

CT-7567: I’ll see what I can do but I can’t promise I’ll make it.

Rex put the comm away, sick of the guilt tripping. Should he just tell them? Loosing Scobie and Dyle must be hard on them too, surely they would understand. But Rex had always been the strong one – they relied on him, he was the squad leader. Even if their squad had long been dissolved, the dynamic still remained.

“I could use some of that famous Jedi guidance right about now”, Rex sighed, eyes moving back to Lexie. He took her hand in his, thumb gently tracing over her knuckles. Her skin was cold to the touch and Rex wondered if he could convince a med droid to crank the heating up a little. A breathy chuckle then escaped his lips as he thought of something. “I gave you that pep talk on Geonosis, any chance you could wake up and return the favour?”.

The beeping on the monitor suddenly got louder and he glanced at it, noticing the increase of her heartrate. Rex’s eyebrows furrowed but then shot up as he felt her fingers faintly squeezing his hand. Her eyes were still closed but he had definitely felt it. She had squeezed his hand!

“Lexie? Lexie can you hear me?”, he asked, leaning closer. Hope was bubbling in his chest – could this be it? “You squeezed my hand, can you do that again?”.

She did, but not only that, her head then turned towards him and to his complete surprise, her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused and her eyes lidded, but for just a few seconds, Lexie looked at him, she looked right into his eyes. Rex squeezed her hand tighter.

“Lexie, can you hear me?”, he repeated louder.

But he got no response, and her eyes shut, hand going limp again in his grasp. Rex shook his head – that couldn’t be it. She had woken up, just for a few seconds but she had woken up!

“Can I get someone in here?”, he yelled towards the door, “Now!”.

A med droid and a nurse rushed in and Rex informed them of what had just happened. He was then ushered out of the room so that tests could be run. Rex lingered in the corridor for a few minutes, unsure of what to do, before he decided to head back to the barracks. A lot of thoughts and emotions were swirling around in his head as he walked. Most prominent was hope – hope that she would soon wake up for good – followed by worry that maybe Astri was right and she wouldn’t care about him at all once she did. That line of thought created questions that he was actually scared to answer. Mainly: why did he care?

He shouldn’t really, Lexie was not his friend. They’d only had two conversations – well… while she was awake anyway; Rex had talked to her a lot during all his visits. Would she remember any of it? Or would she wake up and not even know who he is, besides ‘that one clone from Geonosis’? But didn’t it mean something that she had woken up because of him, because he asked her to? He shook his head, trying to shake all these thoughts away too. It didn’t mean anything; it was just a coincidence. And he shouldn’t get his hopes up that it would mean anything to her – that he would mean anything to her.

The next rotation, Rex was aboard the Resolute, going over final preparations before engaging the blockade above Ryloth. It wasn’t an easy mission – somewhere on that planet the bodies of his batchmates lay dead, forgotten, and he couldn’t do anything about it. They wouldn’t even land, their mission was to break the blockade, then they would move on to the next assignment. The Captain was trying to focus on the upcoming battle, shoving everything else to the back of his mind, when a holo-call from General Kenobi was patched through.

“Already checking up on me, Master? I thought you’d have more faith than this”, Anakin quipped as Obi-Wan’s holo-form appeared in front of them.

“No, no. I’m sure you’re doing just fine on your own – for now anyway. I called to let you know that Alexis has woken up”, Obi-Wan responded, “Master Windu and I went to see her earlier”.

Rex couldn’t help the relieved smile that appeared on his face – thank the Maker he was wearing his helmet. He was actually, genuinely happy to hear the news.

“That is such a relief. How is she?”, Anakin asked.

“A little disoriented, but she will be alright. Now that she’s finally awake they can move her to the Halls of Healing to continue her recovery”.

The smile instantly faded. Would he be able to visit her once she was in the Temple? Rex clenched his fists – he shouldn’t think that, he had no business thinking that. The friendship he felt he had with her was one-sided, he shouldn’t allow himself to forget it. Yes, he had visited her a lot, yes he felt there was a connection between them – but that was only in his head. The Captain took a deep breath. She was alright and that was the only thing that mattered. Whether he would see her again, whether she would remember him or care about him, all that was irrelevant now. He had a job to do.

“We’re almost done with preparations for the invasion fleet. Hope you can handle breaking the blockade by the time we get there”, Obi-Wan’s voice reached him, bringing Rex’s attention back to the present.

“Don’t worry, Master, the boys and I will have that blockade down in no time”, Anakin promised.

“Hey!”, Ahsoka exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips.

“The boys, Ahsoka and I”, Anakin corrected.

“That’s better”, the young Togruta snarked.

Rex chuckled. Back to business then.

~~~

Taglist: @selene131 , @yoursrosie , @olasz-2003 , @ichimatsu-gal

#captain rex x jedi #captain rex x oc #captain rex x ofc #ct 7567 #jedi oc #captain rex fanfiction #clone captain rex #swtcw #star wars fanfiction #forbidden romance #idiots in love #star wars the clone wars #captain rex #the clone wars

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milkywayes · 1 year ago

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dreamt a cipher

a shepard/garrus post-destroy ending longfic.

[AO3 link]

I’ve debated a while about when to start posting this. Now it’s the new year, and I’ve been working on Cipher for over a year and a half, and I’ve waited long enough to start sharing it with you all. I’ve decided it’s finally time to start uploading while I work on the final chapters.

I started writing this before I ever drew a single piece of fanart for Mass Effect. It’s all the things that were bouncing around in my head after choosing the destroy ending with a mostly-paragon Shepard—consequence and responsibility and self-recrimination; her relationship with Garrus and with herself; their ties to each other and how much weight they can bear; their differing perspectives and how they slot together—all that fun stuff—compressed into a story, a place, a narrative.

I believe in the power of love, and I promise a happy ending. They’ve just been taking the long way to get there. Feel free to yell at me in the meantime.

A huge thank you to @callista-curations for her meticulous and invaluable beta work, and to @that-wildwolf and @gammaraydeath for being the best hypemen I could ask for!

A more detailed list of warnings can be found on AO3.

I've posted the full cover art here.

────

Summary:

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Rating: M (subject to change) Important Tags: post-destroy ending - angst with a happy ending - slow burn (of sorts) - arguing - reconciliation - survivor guilt - minor original characters Her own personal Noverian peak. That’s what it was supposed to be. Nothing but the discovery: no distractions, no comfort, no windows looking out—no familiar faces. But it's starting to look like her winning streak might have ended in that pile of Citadel rubble, if it ever extended that far to begin with. ──── “How does the Earth idiom go? No use beating a dead—” A long-suffering sigh. “What was it again?” “A dead horse. And yet, you’re here. Beating it.” Pot, kettle. She wishes he’d just fucking say it.

-> AO3.

Read the start of Chapter 1: Constant Velocity under the cut!

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The overhead lights flicker as they always do when the data screens are up and running. It’s not something one gets used to, even so. It stings at her ocular nerves—or something like that, anyway, somewhere along the delicate wires that extend from her eyeballs into her brain—but her focus on the data doesn’t waver.

“In that case,” says Shepard, squinting against the ache, “what we need is salvage from a relay outside the immediate burst zone. Four jumps away. Five, if possible. There’s no point to any of this if we can’t scrape together a control group.”

She glances back at Elsawy, who so far hasn’t made it more than a meter into the room. She nods without looking up from her omni-tool; orange shimmers off her shiny, black hair, giving her the uncomfortable air of a Cerberus operative. Not the worst comparison, except that Miranda would waste no time letting her know if her logic took a faulty turn somewhere. Elsawy’s just as likely to agree now and write a message detailing all her crap conclusions later.

Leaning her hip against the conference table, Shepard shifts her weight off her left leg, bites down on the sigh that almost manages to slip out. Once in the clear, she grouses, “Where the hell is Meyer? He’s the one that called this meeting.”

As it is, it’s three people in attendance and she’s the only one talking. She could’ve achieved the same results with a voice call from her quarters, where she could elevate her leg in peace and without witnesses. In the dark.

“Lab Two,” answers Elsawy, finally ripping her attention off the omni-screen and gracing Shepard with a second of eye contact. Maybe in another life she could appreciate the effort—Jesus, as if she hasn’t had her fill of lives already. “We’re close to a breakthrough on the initial output patterns. Sorry. He’s been feeding his data to me.”

“Right.” She blinks once, twice, in time with the flickering. It doesn’t help; it never does. “I’ll swing by later, then. Anything else he asked you to relay?”

“Just that, Commander.” Elsawy is mumbling just enough that her voice has to compete with the drone of the air vents. The translator takes a second to filter out and amplify it. The result is less than perfect: “More salvage—” bzzrt—“bigger picture, you got it.” She narrows her eyes, and Shepard raises a brow. “Left leg or—” bzz!—“left hip?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Commander.”

“It’s nothing relevant,” she says pleasantly, forcing herself to stand up straight again. There’s a brief tremor shaking up her hamstrings; she waves a hand to distract from it. In the frenzy of the lights, the movement looks jerky, nervous. She soldiers on. “Old field injury. Unrelated. Anything can set it off.”

Funny, kind of, since it’s that very leg that ends in the most perfect, cooperative example of a foot she’s ever had the pleasure of treading on. It’s cloned; a replacement. Not the only one either. They should’ve just done away with the whole limb, but she hadn’t been consulted. Same with her trick shoulder. Not even Cerberus had managed to get that one back on the straight and narrow.

“I’d rather you bring it up with the doctor,” replies Elsawy. This is, apparently, what it takes for her to finally speak at a reasonable volume. “If we manage to fill even one of the data gaps…”

“I know,” she says. “I know, and I’m telling you, it’s unrelated.”

-> continue reading on AO3

#mass effect fanfiction #shakarian #fanfic #shakarian fic #oh GOD. here it is. I'm BIRTHING this baby like Shepard birthed grunt #I'm so nervous but I am really proud of this story so Take it.#cipher tag

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odyssean-flower · 1 year ago

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The Winding Path of Fate Bonus Chapter - The Kingdom of Sunflowers

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: There once was a realm split in two. One was the domain of the sea, and the other was a kingdom of sunflowers. Tags: Voyeurism but it's wholesome (?), fluff, one-sied Note: This is set between Chapter 7 and 8 of The Winding Path of Fate. I've been working on this for so long that I don't know if it's good or not anymore haha Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette as some sort of byronic hero

The small, green sprouts. They were lined up neatly in three rows. You had tried to make them as evenly spaced as you could.

Their shiny, smooth leaves. You liked to rub them between your fingers and feel their fuzziness. The texture was pleasant to the touch.

The white pages of your notebook. They were filled with tables and daily measurements. Just scanning your eyes over them gave you a satisfied feeling.

Your worn pencil and ruler. They were trusty implements that had been with you for such a long time that you don’t even remember when you got them. You hoped they would continue to accompany you in the future.

The—

A prickle on the back of your neck. It was a bump in the train track of your thoughts. A train track you tried very hard to follow since you came out here half an hour ago.

The prickle was not the sting of an insect or a small stray object blown against your nape by the wind.

No, the cause was far more terrifying than both of those things.

You turned your head to the house, looking up at the second-floor window that faced the front yard. You had never been in that room before, and for good reason.

It was haunted.

A flash of white. The curtains fluttered shut.

The prickle on your neck came from a ghost’s lilac gaze.

The dining room of the house with a lovely view of the sea was, for most of its existence, quiet. Every once in a while, that quietness would be broken by the lively chatter of small creatures with bright eyes, but otherwise it was only used by the master of the house.

Recently, a change occurred. If the tranquility of the dining room was a perfectly still body of water that was broken by occasional loud splashes, then now there was a series of gentle ripples regularly making their way across the surface.

On this day, one such ripple formed. It looked to be a particularly large one.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, I’m afraid I have some troubling news.”

The ripple—in the form of a young woman’s voice—made its way to the other side of the table, where the master was sitting.

The cutlery he was holding dropped into his plate. “What is it, Madame? Has something happened? I will do everything in my power to help you.”

“On the contrary, sir, I think you are the one in need of help. Your study is haunted by a ghost.”

“...Pardon?”

“I saw a glimpse of it in the window today. I think it was staring at me when I was out making my sunflower observations. It almost gave me a heart attack when I saw it.”

“...”

The young woman carefully sliced a piece of steak and brought it to her mouth. The master was as still as a statue. For a few seconds, the water was as smooth as glass.

“I think you should do something about it. It’s quite troubling. Creepy, even.”

“...I-I’ll...see what I can do.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

The young woman finished her dinner, nodded to the master, and went to put her dishes away in the kitchen. The master didn’t stir. An outsider might mistake him for a flawless statue, if not for the gradually reddening tips of his ears.

The ghost did not disappear. In fact, it seemed to have grown bolder. It moved to the dining room now, which had a nice view of the front yard.

Perhaps there were some things that even the Chief Justice couldn’t do.

If even he couldn’t get rid of it, then you supposed there was nothing you could do except put up with it.

It wasn’t so scary. It was more amusing than anything, really.

The ghost wasn’t always there. It was missing from its usual post whenever there was a court case or a hectic day at the Palais Mermonia. It wasn’t as though it was missing much, though, considering how you just did the same thing in the garden every day: examine the sprouts, measure and record their heights, feel the moisture of the soil, make some sketches, and repeat the same thing in the back garden. Very thrilling entertainment, you were sure.

Maybe it wants to keep an eye on me to make sure I’m not ruining its garden, you mused as you lay on your side, studying the underside of a leaf. It makes sense. This garden belongs to it, after all.

Well, if the ghost wanted to bore itself to death (or whatever counts as death for a ghost) by watching you, then it might as well. You were a mere human with no power over it. But you had no intention of changing your routine for it either.

As for you, you decided to focus all your attention on what turned out to be a surprisingly engrossing project. You weren’t exactly an avid gardener, but you had fond memories of doing similar activities when you were a child and with the young students back in your hometown, which was where the sunflower seeds came from. It gave you a certain sense of pride to watch over them as they grew, slowly but surely, under your care.

Of course, it wasn’t all thanks to you. These sunflowers were of a specific breed, one that required plenty of water—about three weeks of constant watering—to ensure the seeds could germinate properly. In your region, sunflowers were usually planted just before the rainy season in order to take advantage of all the precipitation, but it was summer now—the rainy season had long passed.

You mentioned the matter to Neuvillette, who said he would see what he could do. You imagined that he would have sprinklers installed or something.

What you did not expect was the daily rains that came after you planted the seeds.

Each day, there would be two rounds of showers. One in the middle of the morning, when most people were at work or school, and one in the afternoon (strangely, it always ended around the time that Neuvillette came home). It was more like a faint drizzle than a shower, a light curtain of mist over the world. You didn’t even need an umbrella.

You were no expert on rain, but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calculated deliberateness in the weather. The housekeeper remarked that it was quite out of season, more fitting for spring than summer.

Whatever the case, you were very thankful for it.

After the rain, the sun would come out brighter than ever, as though to make up for lost time. That was your favorite time to go into the garden. The heat of the sun’s rays shining down upon your back felt pleasant, and you swore that the scent of the grass and flowers after the rain had some sort of addictive quality to it.

Neuvillette never said anything about these suspiciously timely rains, so you didn’t either. But this mystery was something you turned over in your mind quite often.

You looked at the dining room window. The ghost was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. You weren’t fooled of course. You could feel its gaze burning into the side of your head just a few seconds ago.

The ghost was staying within the dim shadows cast by the afternoon sunlight that streamed into the dining room. That was good. After all, you knew that it would fade away if it stepped outside. The ghost should really learn to leave things to other people and relax. You had already made it clear to him that the sunflowers were your responsibility, and that he should just wait patiently until they bloom in two months, so—

The ghost, seeming to sense your gaze, turned his head to you. Driven by a sudden vindictive urge, you gave a little wave and saw the ghost jerk a little in his chair. You stifled a laugh.

Who knew ghosts could be adorable?

The dining room continued to be full of ripples at dinner.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, the ghost has not gone away. In fact, it is now haunting the dining room.”

The young woman calmly took a sip of her stew and met the lilac eyes across from her.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Madame. It troubles me greatly as well. I do know of one way to rid us of this ghost, though.”

“Oh, what is it? Why haven’t you done it yet?”

“That is because it requires your assistance.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Allow me to accompany you in the garden, of course.”

The young woman blinked. It was evident that she had not expected that direct appeal. “Why?”

“To make the ghost disappear.”

“But you know how long I spend outside in the sun. I can’t ask you to accompany me for so long, especially after a long day at work.”

“I’m not so fragile that I can’t withstand a bit of sunlight.”

“I can’t forget that expression on your face when you joined me in the back garden the last time. It was heartbreaking.”

“...Was it that terrible?”

“Yes,” the young woman nodded vigorously. “There’s nothing about what I’m doing that would necessitate you needing to accompany me, anyways. It’s incredibly dull work. You would have a far better time staying inside.”

There was a brief, weighted silence. The young woman shuffled her feet anxiously.

“I would not make such assumptions.” The master’s voice sounded more solemn than usual, a contrast to the lighter tone he normally used at home. “For one thing, you seemed to be enjoying yourself with this so-called dull work.”

“That’s because I—” She was cut off before she could finish her sentence.

“I won’t argue with you anymore, Madame. You need not worry. The ghost will disappear in due time.”

The rest of the dinner was spent in silence. But as they say, still waters run deep.

This is probably payback for how I was acting before, you mused to yourself as you rubbed one of the leaves between your fingers. I think I just have a really warped personality.

When you first moved in, you had been curious about him. But out of a desire to not disturb his life any more than you already did, you opted to watch him discreetly (or so you thought). It was an embarrassing time that you still blushed to remember even now.

But afterwards, you told him that you would like to be friends with him, and he agreed. Yet here you were...

Though the curtains were drawn now, you didn’t even need to turn your head to know that the ghost—no need for this pretense anymore, it was Neuvillette—was sitting in his usual spot behind the window. It was as though he was a cursed spirit, unable to move on from this world.

I thought we were somewhat alike...but I guess not. I just can’t tell what he’s thinking.

You sighed. You genuinely didn’t want him to force himself and to take it easy, but there was another aspect to it. The idea of someone wanting to accompany you in such a monotonous activity simply never occurred to you in the first place, so you automatically rejected it. You enjoyed solitude and doing things on your own. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was your natural state of being that you couldn’t quite break out of. If you had the choice to do something on your own or with someone else, you would go with the first option most of the time. It had become second nature for you to brush people off.

You assumed that Neuvillette was like you in that way, that he also felt more comfortable being in his own company.

But being comfortable with something...isn’t the same as liking it all the time.

Your throat felt a bit parched. “I need water...” you muttered to yourself. But just as you were getting up to go back into the house, the housekeeper Marie came out of the door with a cup of water.

“Monsieur Neuvillette thought you might be thirsty. He said that this was your favorite,” Marie said.

You stared at the clear liquid in the cup. It looked just like the water you’d get from the tap. Neuvillette had you taste a lot of samples from his collection—you probably said one of them was your favorite at some point. He remembered it, because of course he did.

You still didn’t really understand this whole water tasting business, but he always seemed so pleased when you asked him questions and wanted him to elaborate on the mouthfeel (or whatever it was). The way his eyes would light up, the way his voice would soften, made you want to keep going along with him.

Neuvillette, you were slowly learning, was a terribly sincere person. So sincere that it was a little embarrassing for someone as jaded and awkward as you.

He said it looked like you were enjoying yourself. What kind of expression did you make when you were outside with the sunflowers? Did Neuvillette see it?

What did it say about you that you liked that he saw it?

There’s probably something wrong with me...

You emptied the cup in one big swig. It tasted like regular water, but the taste lingered in your mouth long after you finished it.

You told him that you weren’t going to let the Chief Justice dig around in the dirt and that he should leave it to you. He didn’t understand why it was okay for you to get dirt on your clothes. He wanted to tell you that he had no qualms about getting stains on his clothes or even his hair if it was for your sake.

You told him to stay inside where it was cool and shady instead of keeping you company in the sun, where it was bright and hot. He disliked summer, though he always kept this opinion to himself because it was the favorite season of the citizens of Fontaine. It appeared that you were no exception. He thought he could put up with it a little. Maybe with regular breaks under the porch.

You told him that he should look forward to seeing the sunflowers when they bloom in a couple of months and that there was no need to be concerned about them right now. You would take care of them until then. Time had always been a trivial thing to a long-lived being like him, but now, it felt irritatingly omnipresent. Rather than being in the thrall of something so oppressive, he would rather while away the hours with you until that time came.

You were kind and considerate in your refusals. You shared your notes with him in the parlor. But you made it very clear to him.

This was your domain. Your kingdom for you alone to reign over and no one else.

Very well. If that was your wish, so be it.

But still, might I be allowed a small glimpse into it?

He supposed that he had no right to ask that. There were many things about his work, duties, and identity that he could never divulge to you or anyone else.

The window glass only refracted the bothersome sunlight in awkward angles. It irritated his eyes. He had to learn to position himself so that he could stay in the shadows and look at the garden at the same time.

If he had but one selfish wish, it would be that you might perform this work later in the day, when the sun was not quite so glaring and the air cooler. Maybe then, you would permit him to be by your side. But one thing he found both endearing and frustrating about you—you were stubbornly set in your ways when it came to the things you cared deeply about.

You wore a large straw hat with a floppy brim when you worked. He himself had no strong opinion on them, except for the knowledge that most of the ones he tried made him look faintly ridiculous. He was aware that they were popular among the fashionable ladies and gentlemen in the Court of Fontaine, popularized by Furina’s well-publicized love for them. He was familiar with the ordinance passed a few years ago that limited the heights of the hats in the opera house, on account of the complaints that they obstructed the view greatly. He liked the one you wore for your wedding.

But he couldn’t say that he was terribly fond of hats at the moment.

They really do obstruct the view...he thought as you pulled down the brim, hiding your eyes.

He saw your mouth scrunch in concentration as you stuck your ruler in the soil, carefully lining up the notches with the top of the plant. After you confirmed the height, you dutifully jotted down the number in your notebook. The corners of your mouth turned up a little, or was that just a trick of the light? Did the sunflower grow taller than you expected? Ah, how he wished he could see what gave you that look on your face.

Sometimes, you would lie down on your stomach. You brought a blanket outside for that reason. He was glad for that, since the grass was usually damp after the rain. It would distress him greatly if you caught a cold.

You seemed to enjoy feeling the leaves between your fingers. It feels really nice, you told him. He also started to rub the leaves when he left for work in the morning and found that he agreed with you.

The wind sometimes blew your hair into your face, and you would tuck your hair behind your ear, only to have the effort be in vain when the wind came again. His fingers would twitch on these occasions. He didn’t know why.

Once, he had almost leapt out of his seat when he heard you yelp and jump away from the sunflower plot. A bee had flown past your cheek.

Once, you went out to look at the garden when it was raining. It was when the first of the strange rains had begun. He directed his gaze to his house and saw you walking back and forth in front of the tiny seedlings like a general in front of rows of soldiers. The tiny raindrops looked like pearls in your hair. He had felt somewhat guilty about manipulating the elements to this extent and ruining a great many Fontainians’ day, but that guilt had mysteriously disappeared after he saw your sparkling eyes.

Neuvillette knew very well how pathetic and unnerving his actions were right now.

He understood that according to human etiquette, staring at people without reason was considered terribly offensive. He himself preferred to avoid the public gaze when he was off work.

In the early days of his interactions with humans, watching and observing was how he learned to fit into society. Humans had always fascinated him, but the nature of that fascination changed throughout the years.

Perhaps this is just the next stage of it, he mused.

From observing many humans from above to a single one in close proximity.

But he didn’t think he was learning anything. In fact, he found himself more confounded and self-conscious than ever.

Why do you sometimes smile and sometimes not? Why do you draw me closer sometimes and sometimes push me away? What should I be doing? What is this restlessness whenever I see you on the other side of the window...?

Perhaps this was what it was to form a bond with another person. Fumbling around in the dark, trying to figure out how each other worked, what was off-limits and what wasn’t.

The rays of sunlight momentarily disappeared. A passing cloud blocked the sun. Then another. Then another.

Ah...how troublesome...

Neuvillette anxiously glanced out the window. You seemed to have noticed the clouds as well, for you were frowning up at the sky.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his roiling emotions. But the worry that he would ruin your day only added to them. He could almost taste the first raindrop that would make its way to the ground.

A knock on the window glass startled him out of his concentration. He opened his eyes and saw you standing in front of it, staring at him. “Monsieur Neuvillette,” you said.

Neuvillette got up from his chair and moved to the window. It was the only thing separating the two of you. As ever, he was unable to read the emotions in your eyes.

“What is it, Madame?” He could see droplets scattering onto the ground. How he longed to be outside right now. Perhaps that would calm his disturbed heart.

“Let’s sit together in the back garden. I want to take a break.”

“In this weather, Madame?”

“It’s only a little bit of rain. I’ll be sitting under the canopy, anyways, so I'll be fine. But you don’t have to join me if you don’t want to...” you looked away, as if a bit embarrassed. “It’ll be well within your right to refuse me.”

“No, I’ll happily accept your invitation.” The speed at which the words came out of his mouth surprised even himself.

You nodded. There was no smile on your face. “I’ll see you there, then, sir.”

You proceeded to go to the back of the house. Neuvillette turned around and found Marie standing there, holding a bowl of watermelon diced into cubes and a pack of toothpicks.

“Share these with Madame, sir,” she said, holding them out to him.

He thanked her and accepted them, then walked swiftly to the patio doors. However, on his way there, his hair seemed to have chosen the worst moment to take on a life of its own. It seemed determined to get caught in every crack and crevice. By the time he emerged onto the veranda, the rain was steadily pattering onto the canopy.

Thankfully, you were already there and seemed to have escaped the rain. You were staring out at the white sky, lost in thought. You looked up when you heard the doors open.

“Madame--”

“Oh, watermelon!” you exclaimed when you saw the bowl. You stood up and took the bowl and toothpicks from him, then stuck a pick into a watermelon cube and brought it to your mouth. He watched you as you savored the refreshing fruit.

You looked up in surprise when you saw him still standing. “Why aren’t you sitting down?”

Neuvillette cleared his throat. “Madame, I must apologize to you for my disgraceful behavior over the past few weeks. It is no way for a lady like you to be treated. I swear to you, I will never do it again. I shall leave you be.”

You were silent as you ate several more watermelon cubes. Your face was closed tightly, like the doors of a tomb. Neuvillette’s heart sank a little. The rain intensified a little.

“You really should sit down, sir,” you said after a while. “I don’t like having you stand while I sit.”

You patted the chair next to you, and he obliged. He crossed his legs almost automatically before deciding against it. It felt too casual.

There was more silence. The moist air usually calmed him down, but his brain was occupied by the horrifying possibility that you might not forgive him, that you might not speak to him ever again, that...

“Monsieur Neuvillette, I forgive you.”

The words struck him like a lightning bolt. “...You do?”

“Yes,” you said. You still weren’t smiling, but something in your eyes changed. They looked lighter, like storm clouds had receded. “I mean, it certainly was off-putting at first, and I definitely don’t recommend that you do this to any other ladies. You’re very lucky that I'm so merciful.”

You smiled a little bit there. It reminded him of the sun peeking over gray clouds. He always felt a sense of disappointment at that sight, but right now all he wanted to do was to carve the image into his memory.

“I would never,” He was so elated that he almost missed the first part of what you said. “Wait, did you say, ‘at first’?”

Now you looked embarrassed. “I got used to it at some point, but then I started thinking about how you must feel, and that made me realize...I haven’t been fulfilling our promise to be friends at all.”

After you said that, you proceeded to eat three more watermelon cubes in succession. He noticed that your cheeks were dusted with red.

“How did you think I felt?” What a novel thing to have someone try to guess his emotions. He unconsciously leaned forward a little, curious to hear what you were going to say.

You seemed a bit taken aback and lowered your eyes. “Well...I thought you might have been feeling a little hurt and confused about why I kept pushing you away, and probably quite disgruntled about being treated like a child who doesn’t know his limits. I’m guessing it’s that mix of emotions that made you behave in such an uncharacteristic manner.”

“Uncharacteristic manner? I’m curious to know just what you think is in character for me.”

“A gentleman who knows well enough to stare at young ladies so intently.”

Neuvillette cannot deny that he felt a jab in his heart at your words, but he knew that he deserved it. It felt like he was back in his early days, stumbling blindly through the basic tenets of human etiquette. He was about to apologize once again, but then you continued.

“But I think...you probably also felt lonely,” your voice was softer now, like the gentle whisper of the rain. Despite that, it reached his ears clearly and distinctly. “And I don’t want you to feel that way. Especially in your own home. So if you want...you can accompany me when I’m out in the garden. Or continue to watch me from the window. Although, this is your house, so you don’t really need my permission to do anything...”

“Ah, but how can I do that, Madame? I can’t possibly intrude into your kingdom without your express permission.”

“...Huh?” You stared at him quizzically.

“Never mind that,” he shook his head. The watermelon looked vibrantly red and juicy, even more so than before. He used a toothpick to bring one to his mouth. The sweetness filled his mouth and quenched the dryness he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Was I right?” you asked, putting your chin in your hands. “Did I guess your feelings correctly? I’m not very good at this kind of thing.”

Neuvillette thought your question over in his mind. Hurt, confusion, disgruntlement...those emotions might have flitted through his heart like minnows at one point.

But loneliness...that was far more than an emotion to him. It was his natural state of being, one that he had chosen to take on. It had been with him so long that when it was pointed out to him, it became a revelation all over again.

You looked at him expectantly. Your eyes were like mirrors. Lying to them would be lying to himself, and that was something the Iudex didn’t do.

“You’re right,” he said, gazing straight into those mirrors. “I was feeling somewhat lonely.”

You blinked. Then you closed your eyes and nodded. “Okay then,” you said and stood up. “Let’s go look at the sunflowers together.”

The rain had stopped a short time ago. The sky was blue again, and the remaining rain clouds were quickly dissipating.

Neuvillette also stood up and winced. His hair got caught in the gaps of his chair and he had to untangle it. You didn’t appear to notice.

The two of you went to stand at the sunflower plot side by side. The sprouts were small and weighed down by the raindrops, but they continued to aim upwards all the same.

Taglist:@just-simping-over-genshin, @xalphafox, @jqnehr, @favficdump, @thetwinkims, @cielclassy, @the-mxs-of-many, @mxyarylla, @lynettezz, @rosedpetal

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x female reader #genshin fluff #the winding path of fate

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typicalopposite · 9 months ago

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Thank you @judymarch15 & @nine-one-wanton for the tag 🫶

First I thought I had nothing to post for today… then I remembered I literally stayed up until ungodly hours working on the Alt First Meeting/Bartender!Buck idea I had a couple weeks ago! 😂

Tommy brings the glass back to his lips, eyes locked on Evan— whose eyes, interestingly enough, seem to be locked on Tommy’s lips. So he licks the lingering drops of whiskey off them, and relishes in the way it causes Evan’s breathing to falter… causes his hand to momentarily stop its ministrations of polishing the same glass he’s watched him polish all night, again. “Why are you doing that?” Tommy asks, breaking Evan out of the trance he seems to be in. “Huh?” he replies, blinking at Tommy a couple times before it clicks. He looks down at the glass. “Oh, heh. It’s an old— uh, trick of the trade,” he explains. “Apparently it makes people nervous when a bartender just stands there…”. “You’re not making me nervous,” Tommy states, leaning forward over the bar, close enough he can easily inhale the scent of Evan’s cologne. He watches Evan swallow, breathe, laugh… and ultimately set the glass down on the counter. “So,” Tommy continues, moving his eyes back to meet Evan’s. “While we’re here, why don’t you lay some of your bartender wisdom on me?” Evan’s eyes shine at the invitation. He bites his lips as he seems to study Tommy for a moment. “Okay, well… you’re— you’re not where you want to be,” he starts— pauses as if to see if he’s going in the right direction; Tommy raises his brows, intrigued. Evan’s smile brightens. “And— and you feel like you're supposed to be somewhere else…” “You said it,” Tommy says, pursing his lips into a smirk. “The thing is,” Evan continues, walking closer to the bar. “I bet if you could snap your fingers and be wherever you wanted to be… you’d still feel this way; not in the right place.” Tommy thinks on that for a second. He thinks on the transfer papers he’s been contemplating on filling out. He thinks about how he misses flying and how the 217 would give him that back. He thinks about how the excitement of something shiny and new will only last until the first time the guys ask him out for drinks, and conversations turn to the ladies and girlfriends and settling down. Evan leans on the bar, face painstakingly close to Tommy’s. “Point is, maybe don’t get so hung up on where you’d rather be… that you forget to make the most of where you are.” “What are you telling me?” Tommy presses, intrigued by Evan’s sudden confidence in his pep talk; intrigued by the fact Evan keeps glancing down at his lips like he wants to taste the drops of whiskey on them himself. “Take a break from worrying about what you can’t control… Live a little.” “Live a little,” Tommy repeats.

Gonna throw out a few tags even though I’m late to it today 😂 @30somethingautisticteacher (if you haven’t yet lol) @onthewaytosomewhere @bucksxkinard @bidisasterevankinard @kinardsevan @thinkof-england @priincebutt and anyone else who wants to participate 🫶

#wip wednesday #bucktommy #bucktommy wip #tommy kinard #evan buckley #alternate first meeting

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titanicfreija · 7 months ago

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more crucible headcanon

@epsilonhybrid asked for it!

I invented an entire feed, Crucible Feed Alpha7. In the process, I came up with general headcanon ideas, take and leave as you like and add your own please. (In the post, not in the tags please, I always feel like I'm talking to myself)

The feeds are basically like TV sports channels. There's a lot of ways to consume them; audio/visual only, projections, or screen displays, depending on the broadcast and its availability. I'm sure some idiot tried to rig up a whole simulation platform and regretted it.

I haven't decided how the procurement goes, but while Shaxx's feed and maybe a few special others are broadcast live, most of them are between twelve and twenty-four hours old and broadcast by an array of feeds.

Standard-issue features of feeds are the overlay of the broadcast and the pre-selected camera choices, but most of them can change camera angles by choice, turn off and on their commentators, and follow the little text box to profiles of the fighters as stored in whatever databank for this purpose.

The feeds collect and show their selected matches with voiceovers from the commentators of that feed. Commentators will give rundowns on fighter profiles, do play-by-plays, slow things down and explain exactly what happened, etc., and call scores during breaks or down-times. They call for slow-mo replays and recap longer matches.

There's a lot of these, as with sports channels. Most of them follow a theme of some kind, but due to the nature of the crucible, levels of formality and cleanliness can range from weird-streamer to ESPN-official. There's one channel that only shows matches featuring Sweet Business regardless of game mode with no commentary or edits; and then there's a full with-the-shiny-blue-room-and-all-the-scrolling-scoreboards-fancy. Sponsorship is absolutely a thing, there are CERTAINLY foundry-owned feeds that showcase their own weapons.

Alpha7 is about as formal as a local news broadcast. I made up the theme thing after I made up the channel, and also I didn't have one to match my stuff together ^ ^; Halfass decided they do a different game-mode or arena every day on a cycle.

Alpha7 has four commentators that treat the match as live-ish and do play-by-plays and profiles during the matches. Their broadcast divides the matches into segments about 150% of the match-type's maximum game-time (so if it's a ten minute limit, the feed will give it fifteen minutes of airtime). How they arrange the broadcasts changes by type/time. On the in-betweens, after mercy rolls or short elimination matches, they fill in with fighter interviews, weapons breakdowns, and a fashion segment I've named When Looks Can Kill with a set of fashionistas and their episodes of Hot or Not and Style Guides

I'm sure I have more, but I'll have to go look at my notes and stuff.

Feel free to add/ask more!

#crucible #crucible headcanon #destiny 2 #d2 #I did not mean to make this so long

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shy-nightmare · 4 months ago

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🎄MERRY CHRISTMAS!🎄

Merry Christmas to you all and have a frightful, spooky Creepmas to all my fellow Goths and horror fans out there! 🎄🖤🎄

The Twisted Toon Gang would also love to wish you all a Merry Creepmas and a Happy New Year! ✨🖤✨

Please ignore the blood on the present Echo got for you 🤣

I would also like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for all you have done for me 🥰.

@weaselnerd My fellow weasel nerd, you are a gem. I will never forget the first time we talked that night right after I posted that Baked Meme drawing, and I will never forget the times we shared, talking and having fun sharing each other's topics of interest. Thank you so much for everything you've done; talking to me, enjoying my story, and for being one of my new friends. And thank you so much for drawing the twins and letting me draw Pepper and June! 🥰 It was so much fun! And I cannot get over how adorable your art style is! Seriously, you'll make a fortune in making and selling plushies! 💲

@lastofautumn You are like the autumn season 🍂; gentle as the wistful breeze, soft as a baby pumpkin, and you have a heart as colorful as the fiery leaves and a soul as warm as the precious remnants of sunlight before winter descends. You truly made my day that morning when I woke up to find you following me, and you continue to make my days enjoying my chapters, my art, and my moon photos. Thank you for being your wonderful, kind self and thank you so much for drawing the twins too! I also love the outfits you gave them; they're KILLING it! 🤩😍🤩

One more thing. Before you ask, YES, feel free to draw Adam and Echo if you'd like! Just please resist the urge to squish Echo's face off 🤣

@marinerainbow If Autumn is like the autumn season, then you are like a rainbow 🌈; your mind is an opalescent beam of bright hues and shades of color, your kindness is as dazzling as the stars kissing the night sky I spend many praising the moon, and you are an absolute joy and just like everyone I've met, you fill my bruised, longing heart with so much happiness and delight🎇! You were one of the first people I've met online when I accidentally thought Kingston was your OC when he's actually Slash's. I'm still very sorry for that 😅 Anyway, thank you for everything you've done too; you thought my Zombie Roo thoughts were cool, you loved the colorful tarantula photos Twyla and I sent you, and you granted me permission to tag you in my story. You really don't have to make me anything for Christmas, I'm just happy you think my ideas are fun! And thank you so much for letting me draw Shiny and write about Poppy! They are one of my favorite couples of all time! 😍😍😍

I've looked up to you, Slash, and Kit for almost a year now, and you guys inspired me to come out of my shell and expand my growth on Tumblr, so I would also like to take a moment to thank you three for taking the time to chat with me and enjoy my silly rambles! 🤣

@slashingdisneypasta A.K.A. @wicked1will0sparkles You are like Moissanite; your kindness and creativity sparkle brighter than all the diamonds in the world and if you were a gemstone, I would describe you as Moissanite 💎 I still read your stories too, even the weasel and slasher smut 🥵! And thank you for enjoying my Baked Bean Meme drawing, that still cracks me up 😂 Like Rainbows, you've shown me nothing but kindness when I decided to join the WFRR/Toon Patrol community, and I will never forget how generous and honest you were when I asked you if you'd be interested in reading my chapters. It's cool if you haven't had the time yet! I get that you too are very busy, and I hope you rejoice in your accomplishments! I believe in you! 👍

@just-kit-ink You are like all the majestic cats in the world; beautiful, ferocious, and truly unique! 🐱🐯🐱 I admire your humility and kindness towards Toons; this world needs to learn humility and kindness, especially from people like you! You also possess your own element of wisdom and knowledge regarding Toons, their cartoons, and how their struggles greatly relate to humanity's and how people need to understand that no matter what species they are or what they seem to represent, Toons deserve love and respect ❤

Thank you so much for sharing your kind thoughts with me the first time we met, and the twins and I hope you and Kitty enjoy the holidays! 🥰

@imaginarytoon1 and @its-metal-mistress I owe you two all the credit for being the sole inspiration of my story, "The Toonz Twins: Toontown Sleuths". I've read a lot of your stories even before I joined Tumblr, and you both share the same love and respect for Toons as we all do! 😊 While I was writing my chapters, I would look back and think of how many times I read your stories and note my favorite parts, and smile as I feel the same immense joy I felt the first time I read them. Thanks to you two, the twins and their story were born. I owe the birth of my story to you both, and I wish you all the luck and success you find in your lives! 😁

@trashogram You truly are wise beyond your years 📚. You speak nothing but the truth about things in life even I haven't thought of, and I'd always say "Damn, how could I have missed that?", and you too have opened my eyes about the weasels' characteristics. You are special, wonderful, and talented in your own unique ways, and you have a lot of kindness and humanity in your heart that is never tarnished, no matter what you have faced in the past ❤. You are also brave and strong, and you show the determination we need to fight back 💪

Thank you so much for being so kind to me too, and thank you for your thoughts on my story as well! 🥰

@basiabd I know we don't talk much, but I have a lot to thank you for too! You've done so much for me than you think when you too liked my Baked Bean Meme drawing, and I really hope it made you laugh! 🤣 You are also very creative and very kind; I love Kipper and Picket as much as I love Pepper, and to be honest, I wanna take them all home with me. *yoinks them and hides them in my jacket* THEY'RE MINE NOW, BYEEEEEEEEE!!! 🏃‍♀️

And thank you again for tagging me about the news two days ago. I really appreciate it! 👍

@los-angeles-toon-patrol You boys know why I'm tagging you again, so deal with it 💅. And yes, I am going to thank you all again, no ifs ands or buts. Thank you guys so, so much for liking my content! Like for real, I didn't think that ANYONE, not even the OG Toon Patrol blog would not only like my art, but also follow me the day after I got 100 likes! 🥰 I know you said you're not the sentimental types, but it really means so much to me you guys think I'm cool enough to follow!😁

Also, Greasy, may I ask why you're disguising yourself as an ornament right above Twyla? 🤨

Thank you all so unbelievably much for all you have done these last four months for me. When I first joined Tumblr, I thought all I was going to do was post amateur moon photography and read some of my favorite stories now that I have access to reading them. But as time went on, I stumbled across the WFRR/Toon Patrol community and read your stories as well, I started to remember how I too would enjoy the movie and draw the weasels. And I continued to do so while writing my own stories and chapters for the rest of the year until this August of 2024, I decided to come out of my comfort shell and start posting my art and stories.

I did not think anyone would like my posts or even notice I exist, but you all have proved me wrong. You have all given me so much; friendship, guidance, solace, and above all hope. You give me so much hope to keep going, to keep sharing my art and stories, and hope that there are other people who love my work and accept me for who I am. This year has been tough for all of us, and I may not be a seer, but I do see life and beauty in each and every one of you and I hope you all see that.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! 🎄

Love,

Shy-Nightmare 🌙

P.S. I'm going to post Chapter Eight at 11:00 A.M. on New Year's Day and I'm gonna open my ask button on that day ❤💚❤

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carlos-in-glasses · 1 year ago

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Thank you for the tags @carlos-tk @thisbuildinghasfeelings @inflarescent @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @strandnreyes @sanjuwrites @heartstringsduet @whatsintheboxmh @herefortarlos 🩷

Something from Flashback Fic (which I'll start posting on Sunday!) It's 2021, the day TK and Carlos break up. Carlos is drawn back to the honky-tonk...

Smiling politely but tearfully at the barman, Carlos orders a tequila slammer.

The barman blinks. “Excuse me?”

“One tequila slammer, please,” Carlos repeats, “Actually make that two!” He’s only ever had a tequila slammer during Austin Pride, at a pop-up bar with rainbow awning called Mermen on the Rocks. The silver tequila was mixed with red food dye to become pink.

The barman raises an eyebrow. He’s an older guy – a gray-bearded biker type in a leather waistcoat. His arms are covered in aged, greening tattoos of snakes curling around daggers, thorny roses growing around crucifixes. “How about one shot for the road, and then you get a taxi home and drink lots of water, son?”

“No, no, no!” Carlos appeals with flare. “I can’t go home. I have to stay right here.” He spirals a finger and then bounces it against the bar. “Right here.”

“Why can’t you go home?”

“I don’t have one. I mean I do. I’m a homeowner.”

“Okay.”

“But I was staying with my…my…” Carlos keeps swirling his finger in the air, like he’s aiming to land on words visible only to him. “But! You know. Sometimes.”

“Ah. Yeah,” The barman smiles. He has a gold tooth. Shiny. “I think I get what you’re saying.”

“Thank you. You’re the only one who does.” He’s also the only person Carlos has talked to since TK fled from him at 2 p.m. this afternoon.

“Women trouble,” the barman says definitively.

“Something like that.”

“We’ve all been there.”

“I haven’t.”

“No?”

“I mean. I have. Literally with a woman.”

“Uh huh.” The barman surreptitiously fills a glass with water and pushes it towards Carlos slowly.

“But this is different. TK’s different.”

“Flowers. Chocolates. A groveling apology. It’s all we’ve got.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The barman stifles a laugh. “You almost certainly did.”

“All I did was buy an apartment for us. Without mentioning it. But like…it was meant to be a happy thing. A nice surprise. It was meant to be, like…hey I got you a piece of forever, and this piece of forever has great light, and it’s near clubs and that really good bakery. You know?”

“Sounds like a good forever to me.”

“I thought so.”

“Have a little water, son.”

Carlos seizes his glass of water in both his large hands, like he has the dexterity of a three-year-old. He sips from it gently. “This is good,” he says, as if the barman has given him something new and delicious. “My partner is totally sober. My ex, I mean.” His voice cracks as he cries. “I haven’t been drunk like this in a long time.”

“That does not surprise me.” The barman sighs and hunches, leans his folded arms on the bar to create a little privacy with his shadow. He lets the strange man cry in his presence, as many have done before.

“We had our first dance here. First kiss. First–”

“Son, look at me and listen,” the barman says firmly. Carlos does. He looks into friendly blue eyes surrounded by crinkled skin. “Tomorrow is a new day. You sober up yourself, and then you take that pretty girl the biggest box of chocolates your money can buy, and the biggest motherfucking bunch of roses too. You get down on your knees and tell her you love her with your whole dumbass heart. I’ve got no other advice for you, than to try.”

Tags below + open tag!

@eclectic-sassycoweyes @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @inkweedandlizards @redshirt2 @louis-ii-reyes-strand @jesuisici33 @three-drink-amy @orchidscript @basilsunrise @mikibwrites @fitzherbertssmolder @ambiguouspenny @wandering-night19 @catanisspicy @sugdenlovesdingle @noxsoulmate @theghostofashton @paperstorm @reyesstrand @goodways @bonheur-cafe @freneticfloetry @rosedavid @chicgeekgirl89 @spaghett-onaplate @liminalmemories21 @never-blooms @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @ladytessa74 @lightningboltreader

❤️ 🩷 🧡 💛 💚 💙 🩵 💜

#wip wednesday #flashback fic #cig fic #my fic #tarlos fanfic #cig tagged #I'm so exicted to upload chapter 1 soon!

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muffinrecord · 2 years ago

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Rambling Thoughts (Negative)

Putting this under the cut and out of the main tag for reasons. Sometimes people will read my opinion here and then say it elsewhere-- to be clear, I just want to say my own feelings without influencing anyone about the state of the game.

(also I accidentally lost and rewrote this post twice so I apologize if it feels all over the place)

So yesterday I responded to a post about Homucifer and EOS, but my feelings are actually a little more complicated than that.

The truth is, I do think that this game has maybe another year left, but maybe not more than that. I'm not actually sure how it could keep going-- not because of Akuma Homura, but actually because of all the power creep. But let's talk about Akuma Homura first.

Everyone and their mom knows the issues that plague her release. First off, she didn't get a new shiny transformation video but a copy+paste of her rebellion one. Hell, even youtube was like "this shit isn't original" and gave me this:

This video is banned in Austria and Germany for its content, not because of music (for once) but because it uses footage from the Rebellion movie. Like jeez.

The game has been having issues with its transformation videos for a while now, so I don't think anyone expected something revolutionary for her video-- but to have it just be reused animation is very disappointing for an anniversary unit and such an anticipated one at that. Additionally her chibi poke animation looks super weird and offputting (which is such a stupid complaint but it really adds into every other problem with the unit). Her Doppel reuses more animation, which is a shame.

I think that's the big deal for me-- this is a massively anticipated unit, and she was an Anniversary unit. I think everyone, not just myself, expected more effort to be put into her. I say this as someone who wasn't hyped for Akuma Homura-- I didn't have massive expectations to meet.

All that said, I still don't think that Akuma Homura herself is an EOS signal at this point. I meant it earlier when I said that I think the game has another year left. The entire reason that Devil Homura was considered an EOS signal in the first place was because that was the "big" unit that could for sure draw in the most money. She was the one "oh shit" button that could draw in a crowd and force people to spend money.

And in a way... she kind of did, through some scummy tactics. We all know very well why they released Historia Yachiyo the way they did-- she looks like an Anniversary unit, she has gameplay like one, and her banner runs throughout Anniversary. I completely believe that they released Historia Yachiyo to drain folks' pockets of magia stones so that people would be forced to spend money to get Devil Homura.

All that said-- to go back to my earlier point, I don't think Devil Homura is an EOS signal. I think that Madoka & Homura and Kyoko & Sayaka would fill a similar role. They are also both very anticipated units.

Additionally, I don't think that Akuma Homura being released in such a state, no matter how pathetic, is an EOS signal. As mentioned above, the game is having issues with its transformation videos. If they're going to budget the game accordingly, I'd rather it affect the henshins than anything else.

Here's the thing that makes me think the game is starting to wrap up in this year: Gameplay.

This game is suffering from powercreep. No, it didn't start now, or even last year-- I think Madoka & Iroha definitely began a bad trend which has become more and more monstrous. But even before then, we had units like Yozuru and Mikage which just completely outclassed units before them (before getting outclasses themselves).

But imo, Madoka & Iroha were still at least fun to use? But then you get to units like Devil Homura and Historia Yachiyo.

These units are straight up not fun to play with. In fact, they're the opposite of fun-- you don't even need to play the game. I did all of the EX-Challenges with my Historia Yachiyo and... jeez, the hardest part about them is that I can't turn off magia/doppel animations or use auto. And maybe the answer is: well don't use Historia Yachiyo then.

But what did I roll her for? I want to play with this character. I got her four-slotted. I like her aesthetic. I liked Puella Historia and I want to use a character that encapsulates that.

It's just, it feels like lots and lots of parts of the game that used to be important simply aren't anymore. Remember when the poison used by that one uwasa boss was a murderer for teams? Or the curse inflicted by the little uwasa mail familiars? You don't really need to worry about things like that anymore.

I'm not just speaking as a whale either... I do have alt accounts that don't spend money that I play a whole lot of.

At a certain point, the gameplay gets really really stale, but investing in your characters isn't fruitful anymore either, because they're already maxed in episode levels, magia, doppels... The only reason that Spirit Enhancement isn't maxed is 'cause the middle to large fragments are artificially capped and you can't grind them out.

But how do you give players more ways to invest in their girls without increasing further power creep? Attribute Enhancement was introduced and god, the numbers are fun but also jesus christ. Like, in what possible way can you make the girls have new ways to be new?

....

This really is a ramble.

I don't think the game is going to eos in the next six months or so. I base this on all the promo this anniversary put out (that costs money to make money), all the new quality of life things put in place by anni, the announcement of Magia Day + Scene Zero, and the upcoming movie. These are all signs that the game is gonna keep going for a bit.

But man, it also just kinda sucks that this game I love is actively becoming less fun for me.

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smileweakandwrong · 1 year ago

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find the word!

tagged by @eskawrites and big thank you because work is painfully slow and I don't want to be productive.

rules: search your WIPs for the words you're given and share the extract they're from.

the words I was given are: glass, remain, unlikely, loyal, and wrong.

I'm pulling everything from chapters of I Will Remember You that haven't been posted yet because it's the only thing I'm working on that's not just an outline at the moment.

glass

Nancy left the porch and picked up a decent sized rock from what appeared to have been a rock garden before months of neglect killed off any non-local plant life. She balanced the weight of the rock in her palm, said, “Anything can be a key if you throw it hard enough,” and sent the rock smashing through the sidelight beside the door. Reaching through the new opening, careful of the jagged glass that surrounded it like a mouth full of teeth, Nancy flipped the deadbolt and opened the door. Nothing appeared to be disturbed inside, certainly not like anyone had ransacked the place looking for hidden secrets about El or Brenner’s work. The rooms were minimally decorated in monochromatic colour schemes with utilitarian furniture and no photos on the walls, just the framed mass-produced prints that often hung in hotel rooms—snow-capped mountains, a boat at sea, a pair of wolves in the forest. Arbitrary art to break up the blankness. Someone had stayed here but no one had lived here. A turntable sat atop a cabinet with a single shelf of records. A newspaper was folded neatly on the kitchen table, the crossword fully filled in in pencil.

remain

Nancy climbed out of the hole, digging her fingers into the hand holds and feeling the clay cake under her nails as the web-like blackness sunk back into them like it always did when the darkness in her made contact with its home. She scrambled over the top, crawled a few feet on her hands and knees, and threw up that morning’s gas station coffee and muffin onto the earth. She crawled away from her mess and collapsed down into the overgrown grass of the ball field, flat on her back, waiting for the seasick feeling in her stomach to calm. The grass had been left to grow unchecked since July. Mowing seemed pointless when the gates remained locked and large ‘Park Closed’ signs were fastened to the chain link fence that enclosed the field. It grew tall enough that when Nancy turned her head to the side she couldn’t see the base at third, her view swallowed up by feral field. If Robin were lying in the grass with her, she’d be making some joke about bases, trying to make some suggestive comment for only Nancy to hear and being about as successful at sounding smooth as she’d be if she picked up a bat and tried to hit a homerun over the back fence. But Robin wasn’t here to lay in the too-long, too-itchy grass with her, no one was, and that truth made Nancy want to roll over and vomit again.

unlikely (apparently the only appearance in the whole damn fic)

“Look, I don’t know what to do with you, but I can’t call the pound because I’m not supposed to be here and there’s no way I’m putting you in the car and taking you there myself. They’d probably just put you down anyway because you kind of suck, but it’s not your fault. Your job was protecting, you’ve got to be pretty brave and a little mean for that—” Nancy told the dog, opening the bag of food and scooping a generous amount into one of the shiny stainless steel bowls. “But I’ll tell you what, you can stay here and stay warm and fed until I figure it out as long as you dial back the crazy, deal?” The dog just licked its lips and waited until she slid the bowl across the concrete floor with her boot. She just watched as her unlikely new roommate started eating.

loyal and wrong exist in the same passage, how fun

The thing about guilt is that it’s excessively hard to smother, like a stubborn ember hanging onto its heat, loyal to its flame and ready to reignite the moment it's presented with oxygen and a new fuel source. Nancy had been trying to snuff out her guilt and stop dwelling on the shame that came paired with it like a buy one; get one free of her perceived wrongness, but it burned deep, smoldering on her kindling bones and filling her lungs with smoke from the inside out. Sometimes she’d make it an entire day without feeling the burning and think maybe she’d finally managed the impossible—believing that Robin’s reassuringly kind words were true—but then she’d see the freshly healed bite-mark scar on Robin's neck and the fire of guilt would consume her all over again. Guilt was hard to smother, especially when it burned Nancy’s palms every time she tried.

but I also like this bit, so wrong gets two

The centre backed onto a park space, basketball courts and a playground and a splash pad that would have been full of kids hanging onto summer a month ago. Now, it stood empty as the autumn leaves collected in little piles on the brightly painted concrete. A deflated green balloon clung to the branches of a nearly-bare tree like it was trying to recreate the summer greenery, a leftover scrap of latex from the million and a half balloons released over the city a few weeks ago. Nancy just shook her head as she noticed just how many dead balloons littered the city, a stupid idea gone wrong the way that most stupid ideas do. She watched as a small and shriveled but not-yet popped pink balloon bounced along the ground in the breeze and out into the road where it was finally flattened by traffic—just another pretty thing lost to the falsehood of good intentions. She looped around to the next street over that wasn’t blocked off by a police car and officer redirecting foot traffic, and made her way through the park to the back of the rec centre.

I'm not tagging anyone because anxiety, but feel free to play if you want!

Your words are shoelace, sidewalk, rusty, palm, sincere

#ronance #nancy has powers fic #wip word game #find the word #wip games

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kkai-zen · 4 months ago

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ᯓ★ oh damn, i feel like a HOTSHOT

──── featuring ITOSHI RIN.

summary: what happens when your famous pro-soccer player boyfriend ITOSHI RIN finds your Tumblr fan account for him?

contents: 18+ nsfw! MDNI. fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!rin, p in v, porn w plot, established relationship, reader nicknames (pretty, pretty girl, pretty thing, good girl), praise, crying, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation

a/n: part of my new series featuring the bllk boys! the series can be found here!

wc: 1.7k

✰ .ᐟ your pro-athlete boyfriend ITOSHI RIN . . .

finds your Tumblr fan account, "itoshi-rins-world," when you accidentally leave Tumblr open on your computer while using the bathroom.

your blog is filled with itoshi rin thirsts!, bf!rin headcannons!, and, of course, itoshi rin smut.

he sees that you’re following a handful of tags with his name, including (but not limited to): #rin itoshi, #rin itoshi x you, #rin itoshi smut

gets flustered reading the downright pornographic posts you’ve written, liked, and reblogged, but also gets cocky.

tries his best not to let it show.

thinks it’s cute how you post about all of his games, stats, and interviews.

moved by the amount of support you've given him since before the you two even started dating.

more motivated than ever and falls in love with you even more.

Strolling back into your bedroom with a stretch, you raise an eyebrow when you see your boyfriend RIN hunched over your desk, scrolling avidly through something on your laptop. A smile curls at your lips seeing him so invested in…you squint at the screen. A Tumblr blog?

“Rin, what are you- ”

Your heart stops in your chest. There’s no way he’s-

“Reading through your Tumblr account.”

He turns to face you with a cool, stony expression, and you’re frozen in the doorway of your room, brain completely shut down.

“You post a lot on-” Rin starts, but before he can finish, you’re sprinting to your computer, slamming it shut, and collapsing to your knees.

“Oh my god, I- I’m so sorry,” you splutter, a bright red blush erupting over your cheeks as you bury your face in your hands. “I made that account so long ago and I was just a huge fan and y’know, over the years I just- kept up with it, and I- ” you’re rambling on and on, panicking when you look up only to be met with Rin’s stoic expression.

Does he think I’m some crazy fangirl now?! Panicking, a million thoughts rush through your head as you squeeze your eyes shut, missing the faint blush that begins to creep up Rin’s neck. “I’ll delete everything, don’t worry,” you blurt, hesitantly meeting his teal gaze again as you reach for your laptop—but this time, you’re surprised to find an expression of confusion and disbelief painted on his face.

“Why on Earth would you delete it?”

He stares at you in bewilderment. Huh? You scratch your head. “Well, I mean, I figured it made you uncomfortable…” you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor. Heart thumping against your chest, you wait a few quiet moments for Rin’s reply.

“Hey, look at me,” Rin eventually murmurs. Face still flushed, you don’t even find the guts to try looking up at him. “Rin, I- ”

“I said, look at me.”

He grabs your chin and pulls upwards, forcing you to look at him, and oh—

Rin doesn’t think he’s ever seen a sight so tantalizing in his entire life: face flushed crimson, soft lips trembling just the slightest bit, and big, shiny, eyes looking up at him, it’s almost as if you’re begging him to ruin you.

On top of that, the swell of emotions he experienced reading through your blog—filled with hundreds and hundreds of posts about him, following his whole pro-soccer journey—has his heart throbbing and thoughts completely jumbled. He swallows a lump in his throat as he feels his pants tighten.

Fuck.

“Stand up.” Rin orders, and you stumble to your feet. “Huh? W-wait, Rin, I- mmpf!”

You gasp as his lips suddenly crash into yours, kissing you breathless as his arms wrap around your waist in a vice grip. Sitting you on top of the desk, his slender hands had already slipped your pants off by the time he pulled away from your lips with a gasp. You notice his face is flushed pink with an uncharacteristically urgent look in his eyes.

“Fuck- need you,” Rin groaned, slipping a hand into your pants, elegant fingers dipping down into your panties and finding your already-wet hole.

“Mm- Rin- ah!” you squeal as he shoves two long digits into your dripping cunt. Biting your lip, you try to stifle your moans when Rin curls his fingers to perfectly catch each of your sensitive spots.

“Don’t hold back your moans, pretty girl,” Rin breathes into the shell of your ear as he thrusts his fingers into your soft cunt, sending shivers through your body that only amplify the sudden sensation of his thumb rubbing circles on your throbbing clit. Pulling a lewd moan from your throat, you grind your hips desperately against his hand, your cunt pulsing and aching for more friction as you pull him into another bruising kiss.

“Fuck- can’t believe a pretty girl like you has been a fan of mine for so long,” he pants, chest heaving as you pull away from his mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “Always knew y’had good taste,” he grunts, nipping at your collarbone.

The wet sound of Rin’s fingers in your sloppy cunt is so obscene and has you whimpering in need, bucking your hips against him in a frenzy. “A-ah! R-Rin, keep- going- mmm- !” You whine, throwing your head back as he scissors his fingers deliciously inside of you, the sensation tightening the burning coil in your core. “C’mon, pretty thing,” Rin growls. “I know you’re close…go on and cum for me.”

“O-ooh, ffuuuck!~” Crying out in ecstasy, your vision grows hazy as Rin’s husky voice tips you over the edge. You can feel yourself clenching around his fingers, nails digging red crescents into the taut muscles of his back. “Fuck, pretty, you’re clamping down on me so nicely,” Rin whispers, a smirk gracing his features.

Gasping for breath, you see Rin drag his tongue effortlessly across his fingers —the fingers that were just inside you— and you feel arousal pooling in your core again.

“R-Rin,” you stutter, but you barely have time to catch your breath before he rips your top off, pulling your bra down to expose your breasts, where your nipples are perked up and begging for attention. Still smirking, he dips his head down and lets his tongue glide over the curves of your chest, teasing your nipples before latching his mouth onto one and rolling the other between his nimble fingers. “A-aah, no- Rin, I’m still- s-sensitive!” You squeak, nails scraping against the wood of your desk, drool slipping out of the corner of your open, panting mouth. “Sensitive?” He arches an eyebrow. “I didn’t even touch you here earlier. Besides, isn’t this what you want?” Rin huffs out a chuckle between licks, his mind rushing back to absolute filth you’ve written about him.

And of course, he’s right; you’ve fantasized about him railing you senseless for so long that this barely feels real. “Rin-nie! Just- ah! Just f-fuck me already!” You whine, back arching as he tweaks your other nipple between his skillful fingers. His eyes narrow, and all of a sudden you find yourself bent over the desk, legs spread and sopping wet hole in his full view.

“Since when did you give orders around here?” He snaps, and you yelp when you feel the sting of his palm meet the soft flesh of your ass. “Just shut up and be a good girl f’me,” Rin hisses, grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing harshly. You let out a wanton moan, shifting your hips from side to side in desperation.

When you hear Rin’s pants slip onto the floor behind you, you can’t help but steal a glance, twisting your head back to see him lining his rock-hard cock up with your soaking entrance.

Cunt quivering with arousal, you swallow in anticipation just looking at his dick, standing tall and thick against his toned abs, pearly beads of precum decorating his angry red tip. He bends over you, his broad muscular chest flush against your back, and purrs into your ear, “You ready, pretty girl?”

You nod helplessly, grinding back against him in desire. “M’ready, Rinnie,” you whisper, breath hitching.

And fuck, the moment Rin starts pushing his tip into you, you see stars dance in the corners of your vision. The stretch of his fat cock was suffocating, and your jaw drops open with soundless whines as he tries to slowly ease his throbbing length into your velvet walls, inch by inch.

But your sloppy, creamy cunt feels too good, Rin decides. “Fuck, can’t take this anymore,” he grunts, and with one brutal thrust, buries himself balls deep into your drooling heat. You squeal, shuddering with pleasure as your weeping cunt adjusts to his cock, twitching violently inside your snug, soft walls. “Ri-innie, ooh, fu-fuck, you feel- s-so, so goo-od!” you moan, tears pricking at your eyes as Rin’s cock starts to thrust in and out of you at an unforgiving pace, kissing your cervix with each snap of his hips.

“Tight lil’ pussy so- fuckin’- warm and wet f’me,” Rin snarls, speeding up his thrusts. You whine, pushing your hips into him as his cock rearranges your insides, arousal dripping down your thighs in sinful pearls. “Love gettin’ fucked stupid on my cock, huh? Nasty fuckin’ girl.” and you whine in response; hearing the stoic, ice-cold Itoshi Rin spew such filth from his mouth was nothing less than intoxicating.

His heavy balls smack against your clit with each lewd thrust, moans spilling from your lips as the tense knot in your core tightens unbearably. “Riii-innie, I- I’m about to- ah, fuuuuuck!!” You sob, writhing under him, vision going white as your orgasm slams into you, knocking you breathless as your slick squirts over Rin’s cock.

“G-good girl, cumming for me so well-” Rin groans, hips still pounding against the fat of your ass in a punishing rhythm, ripping screams from your throat as his balls slap your overstimulated clit again and again.

And finally, after what feels like a lifetime of fucking you dumb on his dick, you hear Rin pant out a “Fuck!”, throwing his head back as his thick, warm seed paints your throbbing cunt white. Your overstimulated body trembles with pleasure, tears sliding down your face as your pussy flutters around his twitching cock, still spurting ropes of hot cum into you.

His hips stutter to a halt as you gasp for air, and you can feel his heavy breathing on the back of your neck as his cum overflows and spills out from your abused hole. You both bathe in the afterglow of the moment, sweat and slick and cum cooling on your burning skin, before your legs promptly give up on you. You would’ve fallen straight to the ground if Rin hadn’t caught you by the waist, his strong, warm arms wrapping around you and lifting you effortlessly into a princess carry.

“Mm…Rinnie…” you murmur, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“Hm?”

“You really enjoyed reading my blog, huh?”

“…maybe.”

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