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grimesgirll · 6 months

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alexandria is the break you've been yearning for since shit hit the fan.

an independent walled and gated community is exactly the place to catch your breath. the past eighteen months had been a blur of grit and gore; you deserve to decompress in a pretty house, not that you spent all of your time in your new settlement inside. you made a point to take judith on daily walks.

you're returning from one of your new routine walks to get judith down for her afternoon nap when you find olivia - the neighbor lady who ran the armory and the pantry - on the porch, greeting your name.

“hi,” you reply with a smile, bolstering the cooing baby on your hip. “what do i owe you the pleasure, olivia?”

“i’ve been meaning to get over here ever since shane brought it up to me-,” you pause. “-i wouldn’t mind having another set of hands around the armory at all, especially with the background shane mentioned you had.”

you purse your lips. “thanks. could we talk about this another time? maybe after the weekend? i’ll stop by.” you gesture to the little girl on your hip. “it’s just that i want to get her down now so her routine isn’t all out of whack later tonight.”

olivia nods, glasses bouncing a bit. “of course. come see me whenever you’re ready.”

you’re smiling and thanking her again before crossing the threshold with a huffy chest. it takes patience on your part not to slam the door but with judith in your arms, you slowly close it.

why would shane sign you up to work in the armory? is he stupid? you ponder. he didn’t even ask if you wanted to do something like that. you dismiss the thought the best you can and just focus on getting judith to sleep.

thank god for the blackout curtains jessie had sent over. judith sleeps like the dead with those things drawn.

a little rocking and the dark room do well to help the infant fall asleep in no time. that allows you to meander down the living room and hear the door swinging open.

"babe, we're back.”

you perk your head up when you see shane and rick come through the door. “hey, guys,” you forget to ask them how their day’s been when you see their new uniforms.

you have to pick up your jaw when you see the two men dressed in matching constable’s uniforms. you and shane hadn’t been dating for long when the world went to shit. he’d met you right after work before, even picked you up in the cruiser before but you forgot how strapping he looked in a uniform. brown and form fitting, you’re thanking the constable’s office inventory for stocking such flattering apparel.

you almost forget the frustration you’re harboring - the anger that had boiled, all because of how his ass looked in those brown fucking slacks.

“good to see you,” rick says with the same tone he had back on the side of the road when he helped you step back into your underwear.

“good to see you too,” you repeat, biting your lip.

a smirk appears on shane’s lips once he realizes you’re checking out their asses as you take their coats.

"why don't you head upstairs? we'll be up in a few minutes."

you nearly drop the jackets from your arms. “for what?” you ask, playing dumb.

rick is wordless and shane just smiles at you, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “you’ll see. we’ll see you soon enough.”

the bedroom is your next destination.

you’re tiptoeing up the stairs as not to disrupt nap time. those light treading feet are carrying you straight to the bed where you crumple into the comforter.

long was your day, longer would be your night. this is by virtue of the fact that you’ll have to ask shane about why olivia was about to onboard you to work in alexandria’s armory. and you’ll probably get split in half by an eight inch cock by the end of the night. you decide to put off your conversation with shane when your mind wanders to the newly clean shaven constable downstairs.

god, did he fit those pants wonderfully.

the man had been on your mind ever since this situationship of sorts emerged between the three of you - sans labels. awkward as it seemed, given all of your histories.

and then there’s shane.

don’t get you wrong, shane would give you the world if he could. whatever it would take to keep you nice and happy and purring “yes, shane” at his every word. he goes to greater lengths not just for your safety but for your convenience.

the man who’d circled back on a run after realizing he didn’t bring back your favorite brand of tampons. then again when the tampons be found had cardboard applicators. the one who held you at night in your shared cell back at the prison, kissed you and petted your hair, nuzzling as close as possible and telling you it would be alright. the man who trusted you to take care of his baby girl.

the one who had taken the time to give you not one but multiple masterclasses on firearms, shooting, and gun maintenance. he insisted that you know how to take care of yourself if it ever came down to and it boy, had it come down to it. more than once, you’d found yourself aiming your pistol and being forced to make a split second decision. the same man embraced you and reassured you in the aftermath of your beretta’s rounds claiming your first non-walker kill.

the man who’s about to fuck you into the mattress with his best friend.

you try to hold onto that thought as you shimmy out of the blue levi’s, deserting them on the floor thoughtlessly in search something cozier. digging through shane’s newly filled dresser drawers seems like an easy enough solution.

speak of the devil, he walks in with rick while you’re appraising a pair of gray sweatpants with a georgetown insignia on them.

“thought you had your own sweats.” shane’s behind you in an instant. just like rick, he’d noticed the way your sweatshirt falls to your thighs. “why don’t you just save those for later and let me help you take the rest off, huh?”

a telltale smirk takes over your face. a slant back into shane tells him all he needs to know.

he waits to toss you over his shoulder and situate you on the bed before he's yanking your boy briefs down your legs and brushing your clit with his fat finger. it's only natural that he's chuckling into your skin when you tense beneath him. prodding and playing with your newly awakened nerves, shane still managed to signal rick over to begin a maddening campaign, attacking your flush skin with their lips.

the lips on your that skin feel so deliciously inviting that you disregard how tender they turn you.

of course, shane is the one that can’t stand to wait.

“down you go, pretty girl.”

in an instant, he’s behind you with a finger in your pussy. you want to be upset that he's not still paying attention to the blushed out surface of your body but you’re too preoccupied with the hand in between your shoulder blades, encouraging your forearms down to the mattress. shane’s maintaining his grip on your hips and propping them up to send your ass straight towards the ceiling.

the moment that you feel a warm tongue, licking painfully slowly, and thoroughly towards your center, your hips jerk. shane is already bracing them, cooing, “easy, girl,” into your thigh before continuing the languid assault on your lips.

the lips on your face are pecked, if only briefly, by your boyfriend’s former crimefighting partner. licking your lips, you’re wishing he would circle back to connect your mouths again when a sharp sting interrupts your thoughts.

“fuck!” you cry into the comforter.

the obvious culprit is already testing the skin of your ass with his palm again. another yelp has blue eyes boring down, as if trying to memorize each moment you react - so expressively - to shane’s ministrations.

“what was that for?” you question, rotating your head to stealth a glance at him.

“fun.”

you’re about to tell shane about his idea of fun before a final slap and a sudden return to teasing your core spurs you away from the thought. pressure and heat course through you; shane just raises your internal temperature with a purposeful finger. you're whimpering at just the first stretch. past your throbbing rings of muscle, shane weaves a path with a single finger.

a heaved out moan has shane licking his lips. “gettin’ worked up off my fingers, baby?”

you nod. without a doubt.

another finger continues the mission of prying your tight cunt open for the men that would be taking turns with you until you’d come all over both their cocks. knuckle deep inside of you, the pressure is going to kill you before that third finger does.

“shane,” you’re hissing when he adopts a pace that has you clawing at his two fingers. “why are you being so aggressive with your fingers?”

“weren’t you complainin’ that it was ‘too much,’” he denotes with air quotes, “last time?”

rick seems to give you some breathing room at his friend’s taunt. he slinks back like his massive cock wasn’t the reason you’d been a sobbing mess in cowgirl on top of him the night before your group had reached noah’s old community in richmond.

you’d come so pornographically hard around him that you swear it’d been in your top five orgasms. but your cervix was still shot.

rick felt guilty. so guilty that he hasn’t fucked you since. only your mouth. of course he treated you to his mouth, his perfect tongue and his hands but you crave him inside of you. the thought of it with shane’s two pronged touch has you nearly grinding up the bed.

“fuck, shane,” you’re mumbling into the comforter, fists clenching when another finger worms into you.

“you ‘bout ready, baby?” shane asks, placing a strategic stripe down your clit as he fully buries his middle three fingers in you.

“mhmm.”

“wanna ask?”

a steady sentence isn’t going to come out of your mouth with how shane’s thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “please,” you sputter when he entrenches his fingers deeper inside of you.

“what was that?” the condescension in his voice has you squelching around his fast moving fingers.

you’re blushing at rick who has a hand on his cock and is staring straight into your teary eyes. “i want you to fuck me now, shane.” you don’t break eye contact with rick. “please.”

another smack lands on your reddening backside and suddenly those pleasure granting fingers are digging into your hip and you feel shane’s girth at your entrance.

“what do you want, baby?” shane asks. “you want me to fill you up?”

“yes, i want it so bad,” you’re begging through pouted lips.

rick doesn’t miss your doe eyes or how you moan shane’s name as he fulfills your fucked out request and fills you. even someone in the hallway can hear the wet sound from shane teasing your leaking cunt.

a few experimental strokes and shane is already balls deep. he didn’t heed the same new code of chivalry rick had adopted upon finding a hint of blood on the tip of his dick. that experience made you want to pull your hair out. stupid fucking cervix, you’d thought, ruining me getting fucked. rick didn’t usually treat you to such a pounding but the road did that to one. besides, he was freshly addicted to your cunt.

the electric feeling from how he’d taken you with shane that first time reignite as your boyfriend adjusts himself to brush against your g-spot. the fucked out look on your face can’t be missed as you let shane shovel his hips into you and closer to the only finish line you’d ever had no problem crossing. just like rick had plowed you into the mattress of the barracks you’d all stayed at in norfolk.

these thoughts of rick can’t escape you - even with shane groaning your name. the swats to your ass just go straight to your cunt and do little to rouse you from your daydreaming about the man lining himself up with your mouth.

yeah, you’re out of your mind already and he doesn’t even have his dick inside of you again.

“so good for me, baby,” shane’s gasping, his hand sliding down your ass to brace your thigh and fuck you deeper. “so good for us.”

rick nods, fingers pushing your hair out of your face and letting you take your time with him in your mouth. you hollow your cheeks and rock forward with shane when he cants into you. he’s gazing down at you as if this is the prettiest he’s ever seen you.

you could keep your eyes on him forever if it weren’t for the orgasm searing through you. it’d built up as you backed into shane and imagined how full rick would have you feeling - how connected, how close you’d feel with him inside of you.

“should’ve knocked you up back at the farm.”

god, that would’ve been inconvenient. you just focus on the pleasure you’re receiving and how you’re in alexandria with two men amazingly attractive men. it’s not the time but then again, shane doesn’t give you much of a choice with how revved up this whole coming in you business seems to be getting him. you can’t lie; it’s affecting you too.

so much that you’re nearly protesting when rick withdraws his twitching cock from between your lush lips, less than when shane pulls out of you. you won’t be protesting about what comes next though.

the first time rick had fucked your pussy you’d been whining, and you’re doing the same thing now.

“you wanna get on top?” shane questions, requiring you to repeat yourself before rick leans against the headboard.

still snickering at the whine that came out of you, your boyfriend helps to lift you and lower your hips onto rick who’s sprawled on his back, bronzed curls against the propped up pillow. rick hisses when his tip makes contact with your drowning heat again.

shane doesn’t waste any time. his hands are off you so he can situate himself on the bed to accommodate the best view of you two.

unfortunately, you’re not in shane’s lap so rick has him beat for the best seat in the house. or do you hold that seat?

your boyfriend hadn’t seemed too worried about you sliding too far down onto rick but rick was. his hands are firm on your hips - holding them in a semi-permanent place, only maneuvering for you as you rotate your hips down onto him.

“rick,” you rasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. you want to hear more from him so badly - to hear him panting your name. that’s your goal when you hurry your hips against him. you can tell that he’s hesitating, holding you back at first until you wiggle enough for him to allow you to break free.

grinding onto him, you watch a puffed out series of breaths escape his mouth. not missing a beat, you reposition your hips to sink deeper, hissing with rick and leaning into him. that’s when your clit begins to explode with pleasure from the friction.

“fuck,” you’re chanting. “fuck, that’s good. feels so good. fuck. fuck, that’s perfect.”

“dirty girl.” shane is teasing.

“just feels so fuckin’ good,” you’re twisting on top of rick, angling yourself against his pulsing member to stimulate all the perfect parts of your pelvis.

“is rick fucking you good, honey?”

you nod, having been given full license to be honest about how rick is making you gush.

“how good?” shane asks, hazel eyes on you while you ride rick.

your lip quivers. you feel rick thrum inside of you. “soooo good.” you’re saying in the lust addled way only you would. “you both make me feel so on.”

shane’s cock jumps and rick is picking up the pace. whatever motion your clit’s endured against rick is nothing once he crescents his fingertips into your sides. nice and deep, rick is threatening your cervix again but you don’t need to worry because he’s just taking the scenic route to your g-spot.

the same spot that’s making your toes curl and you chant for rick. “i’m close again,” you warn him. your head is falling onto his shoulder, blocking shane from view.

“you’ve got it, almost there, sweetheart,” rick rumbles into your ear.

his now gravelly voice against your ear has your cunt tightening. teeth pressed into your shoulder, you yelp and moan when rick brushes the flesh of your skin with his teeth. the purple marks being sown onto you will bloom later on but you don’t mind. not when your legs are shaking and you’re whimpering, “god, rick, you make me feel so fucking good.”

and suddenly you’re being fucked through your orgasm face down.

“so jessie cut your hair?”

rick nods and you’re hyper aware of how short his hair is. he’s so polished too. not that it’s terribly difficult to be after traveling on the road for so long.

“i liked your long hair. you should grow it out again.”

the new constable raises an eyebrow, leaning up on his forearms to sit up. “gotta’ shape up at some point.”

you would argue but shane’s distracting you with kisses to your shoulders and promises of morning sex already. you’re not distracted enough to miss rick’s weight absent from the pliable surface.

rick rises from the bed and you whine.

“i want rick to stay.”

shane scoffs. he extends his brawny arms across the bed. “baby, there’s barely enough room in the bed for the two of us.”

you shake your head, sitting up on your knees. “i think we can make it work. please,” you take a breath. “i just feel safer with you two in bed.”

“honey, there’s no room.”

“okay, i’ll just sleep on top of him then.”

you end up basically on top of rick - not that he minds. the night is spent with cuddled up into his chest; shane cupping the occasional hand around the curve of your ass.

weirdly, you’re falling asleep in no time. the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulls you. sleeping on top of rick might have to become a part of your bedtime routine.

shane wants you to pull a hostile takeover of the armory.

you stand with your arms crossed, giving the man one of your signature frowns. "why would i want to keep an eye on olivia in the armory?"

shane looks at you as if it's obvious. "it's good to have a hand on things," he explains, sighing your name. "it's good to have someone on the inside, in case..."

"-in case what?" you question.

shane stares at his feet.

you smolder. "you seriously can't be expecting to have to seize their guns, shane. we just got here for christ's sake."

"it's not even like that, baby," shane says, trying to walk back his conspiracy plots from you. “i just would feel better having you there. besides, it’s not like it’d be all the time and you could learn more about gun storage, whatever you want now

“that doesn’t sound like whatever i want, it sounds like you’re shoving me in the armory.”

“baby, you don’t have to do anything, i’m just sayin’-,”

“i’ll work in the armory if you stop giving me shit about going hunting.”

shane frowns af you. “now, you know that’s different.”

you cross your arms. “it’s not. i need a change of scenery, maybe some greenery to be specific.”

shane presses a flexed hand against the wainscoting he’s leaned up against. he shakes his head. “maybe once we know things are stable here, but for right now these people are far less capable than we are. i’d feel better with you in the armory.”

you want to ask him to consider what you want for a change. you honestly want to tell him to go fuck himself but then you remember.

ah, the thing that you want. the man that you want. the man you can only have with shane’s smirking approval.

so you just smile, walk over and take him by surprise, planting a kiss on cheek and telling him you’ll start tomorrow. it’ll all pay off in the long run.

the welcome party is a success.

if not for the fact that shane didn’t kill spencer just for saying hello to you, then for the fact that you got trashed.

so trashed that rick had ended up hauling your ass home when you hurled in one of deanna’s planters and shane was too embroiled in a push-up contest with abraham to even think about heading home. not that shane had ended up any better. the man drank so much johnny walker that even he came home and passed out face first in the bed bedside you.

you’re hungover the next morning, so hungover that rick moved you out of shane’s bed and into his to hang off the edge and puke your guts up.

rick even roped carol into coming over to cook and watch judith while you and shane recovered.

he even brings you soup.

“damn, look who’s still out of it.”

seems shane had recovered.

“she drinks like she’s still in kappa delta.”

rick rubs a circle or two into your back. “what’d you say? you won’t puke all over your bed, will ya’?”

when you’re well enough, you patter downstairs

“you’re looking better.”

“thanks, carol,” you return her jab with a wry smile.

“so,” the gray haired woman braces her hands on the picnic table at the base of the orchard. “are you going to help me with these apricots are what?” your gaze falls from the woman to her basket and circles back to the trees overhead. “the apricots came in early here. what do you think of apricots in march?”

you shrug. “i really don’t know much about fruits,” you admit as you take the chestnut colored basket into your hand.

it’s so odd seeing carol in her little pseudo-mr. rogers act, costume and all. the cardigan and capris paint a picture of the picture homemaker - a real martha stewart type.

and one of the most tactful, five steps ahead of you types that you’d ever met.

you wonder if this carol had laid dormant for some years.

the two of you work through the trees, plucking the precious fruit that was ready for harvest and leaving the rest.

“so, you having fun playing house?”

your mouth gapes open. you nearly drop your basket and waste quite a lot of apricots.

carol snorts at you. “i’m just kidding.” she sends you a look like you’re incredulous or something. “do what you want.” you pluck an apricot from the tree before you. gossamer head tilting when your apricot picking partner speaks again. “but just keep your priorities straight.”

you stiffen. that’s not what you were expecting. maybe some more sage or cunning advice is what you thought would be coming out of her mouth. priorities? you don’t wanna think about them. the priorities that you’ve been saddled with.

you moan someone about your hangover and muddle through the rest of your apricot picking, trying to keep your mind from defining your priorities.

the two of you part when at the sidewalk in front of your porch, with her last words to you being:

“you be careful.”

“gonna have to go out and find a king sized bed if rick’s gonna be stayin’ over this often.” shane comments and rolls onto his side to face you.

you shrug. “i’m fine with the arrangement the way it is.”

“yeah? sleeping on top of rick?”

you continue brushing your hair. “beds are hard to come by, especially great gigantic sized beds.”

“i’m sure there’s a king somewhere.”

“yeah.”

shane’s eyes don’t leave you as you set your hairbrush down on the vanity and tie it back. he’s even closer once you settle into your spot on the mattress. arms clutch you into him and lazy patterns begin to materialize on your skin, from massages into the nap of your neck to a dull squeeze of your ass. it makes you feel easy - subdued almost by shane’s unhurried touch. but you’re still wound up. you don’t know how you can be anything else nowadays.

"night, baby," shane mumbles into your ear.

"night." you reply, eyes focused on the single beam of moonlight tumbling through the window.

with rick down the hall, you won’t be sleeping tonight.

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unforgettwble-sumii · 1 year

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DATE NIGHT — W. A

( Wednesday Addams x Fem!reader 📖 )

⭐ A lovely date night with Wednesday.

⭐ Warnings ‼️: not proofread! mentions the grim reaper, if I miss any more please do tell me ♡

⭐ Word count: 1.8k

a/n: My brain was itching for some Wednesday and soft!R fluff ☹️

—

"How does this look, Thing?" The infamous goth spoke to her companion, Thing, who was currently on her desk helping her pick out an outfit for your date night. The hand signed, saying that she was being too extra. Wednesday scoffed. That was very out of character for the appendage to say. But he was right. She didn't need to dress up that extravagantly, as it was just a lovely date night through the park. A pair of black jeans and a black hoodie will do.

Wednesday rummaged through her closet once more to look for her beloved hoodie that had both of your scents merged in it. She switched her clothes one last time, looked at the mirror, then at Thing; who finally gave her a sign of approval. She nodded and grabbed her backpack, which was full of items you both loved: snacks, a book, a pair of earphones, etc. She turned to the table where Thing was, grabbing the precious flower she grown herself just for you.

As she was about to open the door, you knocked; causing Wednesday's heart to skip a beat. With a soft inhale, she opened the door to see you with a soft smile. You greeted her with a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Mi sol, how are you?" She had asked, exiting the room and closing the door behind her carefully as to not draw attention or cause disruptions to any of the other students who were currently in deep slumber. "I'm more than fine, Wednesday. Especially now that I'm here with you." You giggled, skipping down the stairs of the Academy happily and without care. "How about you?" You returned the question, glancing at the goth who followed behind you.

"I'm doing well. I had grown this myself for you." You abruptly stopped, eager to know what Wednesday was talking about. You hummed, turning to look at her. She had a flower in one hand. She brought her hand up to give the flower to you. You carefully took the flower from her hand and admired it; entranced by it's beauty. "It's gorgeous, I love it!" You almost fully screamed in enthusiasm. "I'm glad you adore it. Even if I'm not one to enjoy these type of plants, I'm glad you find joy in them." She took the back of your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the finger where you had worn the ring she had given you.

It was a simple black ring with her initials on it. She wore the same one, except engraved on it were your initials.

Both making your way out of the school gates, you once again skipped your way to the park. It was a cold and breezy night, and a jacket would do you so much justice. Unfortunately, because you were so excited; you had forgotten to bring your jacket. You slightly shivered, not enjoying the cold. Wednesday took notice and took off her own hoodie for you to wear.

A small yet heartwarming gesture that made your heart warm and soft. You thanked her and happily put it on, twirling to show off that you were wearing her hoodie. "What about you, baby? Aren't you going to get cold?" Your voice now lacing with concerned as you walked closer to your lover.

"As long as you're not freezing to death, I'll be fine." She sighed, walking over to a bench and looking up at you. You followed suit; sitting beside her and leaning your head on her shoulder. You let a puff of breath out, contented with the current event you were in right now.

"Wen, you should def learn how to text." You say, breaking the silence. Wednesday glanced at you, clearly confused. "Why would I need to learn how to text when I can talk to you perfectly fine? Besides, I don't want to succumb to the horrible effects technology has on teens these days." You playfully rolled your eyes. Wednesday could be such a mom at times.

"Well, yes—but what if we're not near each other? Plus, I've been meaning to add you to our girls only gc" You stated, looking at her slightly; thinking wether to plant a kiss on her cheek or to peck her on the lips. "I think that would be unnecessary. I see no proper use for such thing."

Wednesday sighed, even though she had no clue why you were so attached to a piece of technology, she tried her best to understand it. Grabbing her phone from her backpack she put it on her lap, staring at it. This made you gasp in excitement; an idea popped up on your head. Wednesday wondered what could have been going on in that mind of yours yet didn't ask about it. Instead waited on for you to dictate your idea.

"Let's take a selfie!!"

Oh dear. The young Addams was not a fond of 'selfies', infact, she hated them with a passion. But, you had changed her perspective on life for the better, so she had thought that maybe a small selfie wouldn't be as bad as she thought.

You unlocked her phone; surprised that it didn't have a passcode. Opened the camera app and held up her phone so that both of you would fit in the frame. "Smileee!!" You giggled. Wednesday wanted to rip her eyes out, but, for your sake; she followed what you had asked her to do. Scooting closer she placed her left hand on your right shoulder and tried to muster up a small smile. With a simple click, she felt her world stop. Instead of her looking at the camera, her gaze trailed over to your face instead.

'Click.'

You giggled excitedly, not noticing Wednesday's gaze on you. You clicked the icon beside the button in order to view the photo. Your heart suddenly skipped a beat once your eyes examined the picture. Pure joy and love erupted from your heart as you tried to find the right words to say. You looked at Wednesday, who was already gazing at you.

Her harsh eyes filled with softness she didn't know she had. She was admiring you, something that the young Addams did in secret or when it was just the two of you. You cupped her cheek with your hand, leaning in closer; glancing at her lips then back on her dark eyes. She leaned in, signing for you to continue. With a smile, you closed the remaining gap between the two of you. Suddenly, the night wasn't as cold; the warmth of both of your bodies radiated the air, creating a soft and perfect atmosphere.

You broke off the kiss after a few minutes, then fell into a giggle fit which made the young Addams sigh. Yes, you were a handful at times, yet that never stopped her heart from beating for you. If you asked her, she would rip her own heart out and feed it to the kettle of vultures that flew freely outside her home.

She loved you dearly. That you for sure knew. When it comes to love language, Wednesday's is definitely acts of service. She would do anything for you, she could climb the tallest mountain to obtain a special flower in order to show you just how much you mean to her. When it comes to you, Wednesday never hesitates to risk her life to make sure that you're happy.

Soon after, you both decided that it was a great time to eat the snacks you both had brought.

Throughout the night, you both shared your thoughts and other random things that needed to be let out of your mind. Everything was calm and absolutely perfect. Every once in a while, one or the other would let out a chuckle. However, there was this one story that caused you to have a laughing fit and, laughing while eating certainly wasn't a bright idea. You started to choke on the sandwich that you were munching on, causing Wednesday to violently and aggressively pat your back.

Somehow that experience made the night even better, even if the grim reaper was around the corner to take your life. But you know that Wednesday would always be there to save you if he happened to stop by.

Even if you wanted to stay much longer, Wednesday noted that it was getting late and that both of you had classes tomorrow.

You sighed, sad that this night was coming to an end. However, another idea had popped up in your head that positively affected your mood.

"Come back to my dorm with me? Please?"

You begged Wednesday to sleep over at your dorm. After much consideration, Wednesday complied. Earning a kiss on the lips from you.

When you arrived at your dorm, you opened the door for both of you. The smile on your face was so evident that you resembled a child in a candy store. "I'm going to go change and brush my teeth, okay?" You told Wednesday as you made your way to your drawers to pick out a pajama set. Then, your eyes landed on a black pair of pajamas that had another set to match with it. This sparked another idea in your head. You quickly went to the bathroom to brush your teeth so your idea can be in motion.

You clasped your hands happily as you looked at yourself at the mirror, Wednesday right beside you. Wearing the black pj's that matched yours except you were wearing shorts instead of pajama pants. "Don't we look adorable?" You asked, admiring yourself. "While I wouldn't describe myself as 'adorable', you certainly look dashing, Cara Mia."

You set a soft and tender kiss on her nose, before replying, "You remind me of the moon, my dear. So perfect."

"I love you, Wednesday." You slightly giggled. How many times have you giggled and kissed Wednesday this night? You don't know. But one thing you new though was, both of you were getting tired and needed some sleep, especially Wednesday. You have learned after awhile of dating her, that once she got tired she gets a tad more affectionate. While yes, it was adorable, you wanted to go to bed more than anything.

"My darling girl, you are everything to me. You bring me joy that the world is incapable of giving me. You bring light to my dark world. I love you, Cara Mia." Wednesday replied, kissing your knuckles just as she did awhile ago.

You belly flopped onto your bed, then moved to make space for Wednesday. You made grabby hands at her before she made her way beside you. You found yourself moving closer to lay on top of her. Your head rested on her chest, listening to her heartbeat that soon lulled you to sleep.

"Mi amor, you may not hear me but, you mean so much to me. I may struggle tell you, but I can and will show you." Wednesday mumbled before she herself fell asleep.

Little did she know that you heard her, and it brought a soft smile to your face.

— ⭐ ©unforgettwble-sumii's work. Pls do not repost, steal, modify, or translate.

I love u elmo

#jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x fem reader #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday imagines #wednesday x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x fem!reader #jenna ortega #wednesday fanfic #netflix wednesday #Tumblr #spotify #netflix

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googleitlol · 6 months

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I'm impatient so I'm getting right to what I wanna write. It doesn't take long for Zhenyuan to get back and figure out what happened to his tree and boy was he pissed.

He catches up pretty quick, fighting with the disciples before scooping them all up in his sleeve to take them back to the Abbey and make them pay for uprooting his ginseng tree. That's where the drama continues to unfold…

(PS this is a bit of a longer one)

Dove Masterlist:

Guan Yin

Last night was supposed to be relaxing, a break from camping in the wilderness. A moment of peace on this long and tedious journey. Now, after spending the entire night running away from the temple your group had disrupted, you all were presumably being taken back.

Zhenyuan, the immortal daoist that ran the temple and owner of the uprooted ginseng tree, had returned in the time your group made their escape. After fighting off the three demons followers of Tripitaka, the daoist managed to capture and drag you all back to the hall where the disciples were originally accused of thievery.

In the main hall once again, Zhenyuan orders his disciples to have you each tied to the pillars of the hall while the horse is left tied to a post at the gates outside. The immortal looks to his prisoners, his eyes shifting to each of you with a look of animosity. His violet cap nearly covers the stray crow feathers mixed amidst his hair, the pearl whit of his beard shows the extent of his time on the earth. If not for the current situation, you might have felt honoured to meet the old daoist.

One of his servants, likely one of the men he had taken with him on his previous trip, approaches. “What would you want done now, Master?”

The immortal whips his head towards his servant as he speaks, his frown deepening. “I’ve waited ten thousand years for my tree to bear its fruit. They will all be punished accordingly.” As he continues, he looks back to your group. “The Tang Monk is mortal, and so neither knives nor spears, hatchets nor battle-axes should be used.” Your hopes of survival widen at that, if only by a smidge. Perhaps you and Tripitaka could survive this after all. “Bring out the whip.”

Nevermind.

“What?!” Tripitaka shouts, his eyes wide as a disciple goes to fetch the whip. It’s quickly brought out, and you’re sure that if not for the rope keeping the monk tied to the pillar, his knees would have surely given out. You don’t trust any weapon owned by the immortal. Even if it wouldn’t kill a human, it surely won’t leave one in the state to travel ever again.

“You can start with the unworthy senior member of the party, the Tang Monk.” Zhenyuan orders, ignoring the man’s exclamation. “He will pay for the waste my years of labour has been reduced to.”

Before you can object, a voice calls out as the servant begins to wet the whip. “Wait!” The daoist looks to Sun Wukong, seemingly annoyed by his shouts. “Start with me, I’m the one who stole the fruit. I uprooted your tree.” Your brows lift up in surprise, his gaze refusing to look away from the immortal. He’s actually admitting to it? His eyes are wide, panicked as he speaks.

Zhenyuan grits his teeth, the confession only angering him further. “Insolent ape! Even if that is true, he should pay for not delivering the proper punishments for your offences.”

“He didn’t even know I did it!” Wukong objects. “When my brothers and I were asked by him and your disciples, I became spiteful and tried to trick them instead. If anyone deserves the punishment for your tree, it is me.” He lowers his head, as though he was ashamed.

You look at the demon, his head hanging low. It takes you a moment to realise you aren’t misinterpreting what is being said. Sun Wukong is really taking ownership of his actions. You never thought you would see the day.

Zhenyuan glares at the simian for a moment, sharp enough to pierce through solid iron. His servant looks up to him in silent confirmation, and after the passing of a moment, he nods. “Very well.”

With the command, the servant approaches the Monkey King instead. You watch, anxiety picking at your skin as the man raises his arm in preparation. Before your mind can register your mouth moving, you shout. “Stop!”

“What now?!” Zhenyuan’s head swivels to face you, his teeth gritting as the others turn to look at you more in confusion.

You take a moment to breathe, knowing what you have to do. You really didn’t want it to come to this, but there wasn’t much else of a choice. With one last glance of annoyance to Monkey, who was looking at you with wide confused eyes, you face Zhenyuan. “If you truly seek justice for your ginseng tree, we can revive it.” The daoist is silent for a split second before he keels over in laughter. “Revive it? And how would you do such a thing?” He asks, clearly amused by your claims.

Mentally preparing yourself, you shake your head. “I cannot give your tree new life, but I know who can. My master, Guan Yin.” Some of Zhenyuan’s disciples share looks of shock with one another at the mention of the bodhisattva’s name, some muttering to one another while the daoist remains still. “I am certain she has a cure to bring your tree back, I have seen her perform similar miracles before. If you release me, I can bring her here so she can heal it and bring your fruit back.”

The room becomes heavy in silence, the immortal narrowing his gaze as he considers your words. “And how can I trust that you won’t abandon these men to hide with your master?” He asks, gesturing to the pilgrims.

Before you can affirm your claim, Wukong jumps in with little hesitation. “I could go with her.” The response makes your stomach drop. Out of everyone in your party, why is he the one volunteering? Looking back to Tripitaka, his wide eyes seem to show he carries the same sentiments. “Trust me, if I tag along, Guan Yin will want to rush me back to my master as soon as possible.” You do suppose there was truth in the statement, though it carries truth in the context of any of the disciples leaving the monk. Nonetheless, the glare of the immortal slowly shifts. It feels clear how greatly he mourns his ginseng. You can’t blame him for his anger, after returning home to see the fruits of his labour be massacred in such a way. After a moment of contemplation, he sighs. “Very well, then. You have three days to return with your master.” As he speaks, his servants quickly approach you and Sun Wukong to untie you.

“Your companions will remain here under my care until you return. You have my word that no harm will come to them.” He promises, and you nod in thanks before looking back to Wukong, the two of you eyeing one another warily. You can only hope he isn’t doing this as some way to get back at you for slapping him. You doubt Tripitaka would believe any ‘unfortunate’ accidents that might happen on your way to Potalaka Mountain. You catch the poor monk’s eye, who’s making a terrible effort to conceal his lack of hope. You don’t blame him for the sombre look on his face, this very obviously isn’t how this stop was supposed to go. All you can hope for is that things can go smoothly from here.

One of Zhenyuan’s disciples ushers you and Wukong to the gates while others go to untie your companions. You can only manage to glance at your travel partner for a moment, uneasiness weighing you down inside. He looks just about as thrilled as you feel, which is more comforting than you thought it’d be. Better than seeing that devious telltale grin that usually meant he was up to something.

You think again of his confession to Zhenyuan, almost impressed by the fact he took sole ownership for what happened. It feels… uncharacteristic from what you’ve seen of him. At that moment, he had sounded genuinely concerned for Tripitaka. You always assumed he felt your travelling party was more an obligation, a means to his freedom. Even in his defence for his actions the night before, it sounded like he only used the disciples' rudeness towards his master as an excuse. But in the main hall with Zhenyuan, the trickster’s words truly felt honest.

The disciple leaves the two of you at the gates, and the tension only seems to grow in his absence. You quickly clear your throat, averting your eyes to the path instead of looking to the demon. “We should be on our way, then. We don’t have much time.”

He replies with only a grunt, supposedly in agreement, and the two of you begin your trek away from the abbey and towards Potalaka Mountain. The silence feels thick as you move, this tense feeling of awkwardness almost drowning you. It felt so normal to be bickering and at odds with the demon, and not having to deal with his insipid jabs for once feels off.

“…I didn’t expect you to volunteer yourself like that.” You finally break the silence, glancing to the side to see him rolling his eyes.

The monkey looks away, seemingly irritated from how he crosses his arms. “Things were easier before this stupid journey. I can handle any sort of punishment because I– I’m me! Poor Master is so frail, his heart might have given out before the whip could even touch him.” He shakes his head with a prolonged sigh. “I never intended for him to face the consequences of my actions. You were… right.”

The gasp that escapes your lips catches even you off guard, though not as much as hearing those words come from the supposed Great Sage himself. “What was that?” You look at him with wide eyes, the demon grumbling when he glances at your expression. Hearing the Great Sun Wukong admit not only that he was wrong, but that you were right? You’re almost feel unable to comprehend how he continues to surprise you.

“I won’t repeat it a second time. You heard me, woman.” You can’t help but grin at his seeming annoyance, amused by his obvious reluctance in admitting his wrongdoings. Despite how much you enjoy this, though, you can’t help but truly feel… you’re not quite sure. You have always been so sure of the Monkey King’s inherently selfish nature, seeing him act in any way that doesn’t align with it felt unnatural. “Why did you stop Zhenyuan?”

The question takes you off guard, the amusement dropping from your face when you take in the inquisitive look on Wukong’s face “What?”

The monkey demon smirks, a brow lifting at the sense of the tables turning in the conversation. “You didn’t think a little flogging could really hurt me, did you?” He leans over, stopping you in your tracks with a raised brow. “I honestly thought you would have revelled in my pain.”

“Don’t think so low of me.” You roll your eyes, resting a hand on your hip and glancing away. “The thought of asking my master for help came to me just moments before. Zhenyuan would have moved onto the rest of us after you anyways. I’m not so cruel as to watch another get whipped just because of my own feelings, even if that person is you.”

“Could have fooled me.” He laughs, making you scoff. There’s that annoying monkey you’re used to. Done with the conversation, you transform and take flight, in hopes of making the detour home quicker. You assume he’ll follow suit.

What you don’t expect is to be plucked from the air, ochre arms taking hold of your small form. You jump in a panic, your wings flapping manically before hearing Wukong’s sour tone of voice. “Stop! Calm yourself, Dove, the trip will be faster if I carry you.” He explains, huffing in a bit of amusement as he adds, “Your wings aren’t nearly as swift as my cloud.”

Of course he has to get one last jab in. You don’t find yourself too annoyed with it, though. If anything, it means you get to sit back and enjoy the sky instead of exhausting yourself. You silently tuck in your wings and try to relax, despite how bizarre this felt. It really crossed your mind earlier that Wukong volunteering was his way of making your death look like an accident, and you still haven’t crossed that situation out as a possibility. However, you can’t deny how you’re taken by surprise with how gently he holds you. He carries you in one arm, his other shielding you from the strong winds rushing past.

Though, despite the protection from the powerful gusts, you can’t help but reel from the whiplash of it all. So many of his words, his actions in these last few hours clashed with the loud and brash monkey you know him to be. Of course, you never really expected him to be heartless, but you find yourself surprised nonetheless. Atop Sun Wukong’s somersault cloud, it hardly takes any time before you spot Potalaka Mountain in the distance. In a blink, you start to feel your stomach twisting. Seeing your home again, it feels almost surreal after so long. If it wasn’t for the pressing matters you returned for, you would love to see everyone again. The mountain itself is beautiful, flowers of every kind paint freckles of colour over the grassy green surface. Bodies of water trailing from the top of the mountain run down in graceful twists, trees older than yourself towering over bushes of berries. As Wukong begins your descent, you notice the village home of your old friends. It seems bustling with life, but before you can take in anymore of the small home, you pass by it on the cloud.

Facing forward once more, you find yourself heading towards a nostalgically familiar bamboo grove. The cloud disappears, the Monkey King landing as you transform back and take in a deep breath. You quickly turn to Wukong. “Thank you, Great Sage. I am grateful for the… quicker trip.”

The King gives you a funny look, perhaps because of the more formal thanks but is unable to respond before you turn back towards the grove. You can feel her presence, an aura you can recognise even on the other side of the mountain. She emerges from the grove, a serene figure cloaked in white holding her precious vase in one arm, a willow branch in the other. A small smile emerges from the warm feeling that grows in your chest when you see her, and you quickly bow in greeting.

“Hello, Master. I–” You can barely continue when your words get stuck in your throat, caught by surprise when you feel Guan Yin’s arms wrap around you in a warm embrace, pulling you closer.

“It is good to see you again, my little Dove.” Any resolve you had mustered quickly dissipates at her words and you quickly find yourself returning the gesture, holding your master tightly in your arms.

Your smile cracks wider ever so slightly when you feel her embrace tighten. “It is good to see you as well, Master. I’ve missed you.”

You slowly release from the reunion, your mind brought back to the problem at hand when you see Guan Yin glance back at Sun Wukong. “And I see you brought company as well.” You turn to look at the demon yourself, the man giving a somewhat awkward wave to the bodhisattva, his worried smile saying enough about the situation. “Tell me, if the two of you are here, where have you left the Tang Monk?”

“About that, our travelling companions seem to have found themselves in some trouble.” You lower your gaze as you speak, searching your mind for the right thing to say. You felt bad having to come here and bother the bodhisattva at all, and now the words feel caught in your throat.

“I angered the Great Immortal Zhenyuan, Bodhisattva.” Sun Wukong steps forward, in front of you. “I stole some of his ginseng fruit. When his disciples accused us of stealing, I struck down the tree in a bout of anger. Now we have come to ask for your help in restoring it.”

The answer makes Guan Yin’s eyes widen, and you look away when you feel her gaze focus on you. “My help?” She sounds surprised, but you keep your eyes trained to the ground. Even without looking, you can hear the smile in her voice. “I am impressed.”

The words have your head whip back to face her, your mouth almost going agape. Even your monkey companion shares a look of befuddlement. Impressed? By what?! “You are?”

Slipping the willow branch into her other hand, Guan Yin holds out a hand that you take, bringing you closer as she addresses Wukong. “My little Squab has always made it a point to show her independence. Though, it was the right decision to call on me for this. I will revive the ginseng tree.” She looks at you with the same comforting smile you’ve seen since you were a child, and it quickly absolves your anxieties. You had been worried that asking for her assistance on a matter like this would be tedious to her, but the bodhisattva quickly settled your fears with her words of reassurance.

“Squab?” Wukong snorts, quickly dragging you back into reality with his snickering.

You feel your face flush, and try your best to ignore the ape. “Shall we be on our way, Master?” You clear your throat and turn to face her. The Bodhisattva lets out a titter of amusement herself, which does little to tone down the growing warmth of your face.

Luckily, she doesn’t comment on it. “Yes, the faster your journey can continue, the better.” With her words, you turn back into your dove form.

This time, Guan Yin is who you accompany on the flight back to the Abbey, perching on her shoulder. Fortunately enough for you, the importance of the situation at hand left little time for conversation between Wukong and Guan Yin. You soon catch sight of the home of Zhenyuan once more. As you descend, you spot a servant catching sight of your group and quickly run inside.

By the time you reach the ground and transform back, the old immortal Zhenyuan, accompanied by your own travelling companions, are at the gates of the temple ready to meet you. “Bodhisattva Guan Yin, it is an honour to have you with us.” The daoist bows in greeting, your master doing the same.

“Thank you, Great Immortal. The Great Sage and my disciple have informed me of your misfortune.” She nods politely, gesturing to the two of you. “Please, bring me to your ginseng tree so that I may restore it.”

“Of course.” At her request, your group is led to the gardens. You follow behind your Master, your companions a little ways behind. There’s a slight tension in the air you try your best to ignore while you are all escorted to the tree, a nervousness amongst the others. Maybe they were unsure of whether Guan Yin can do what you said she could, but if that is the case, there’s no need for them to be antsy. You have faith in your master. Entering the garden, the damage outshines the beauty of every other plant in the space. Grass and dirt overturned surrounds the thick roots that point up towards the sky. Shrivelled leaves lay scattered beneath the branches they once decorated, pieces of bark and twigs chip off the trunk, the aftermath of prideful destruction.

The group looks back at the Monkey King, who lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. Guan Yin raises an unimpressed brow, and points to the tree with her willow branch. “Sun Wukong, will you step forward, please?” With a small nod, he complies. “The hand that fell this tree will be the one to lift it back up.”

The Bodhisattva dips her willow branch into her vase, using it to brush a charm onto the sage’s hand before closing his fist. “Now, place your hand at the base of the tree, and– do you perhaps own a jade ladle?” She turns to Zhenyuan.

“We have wine goblets and tea cups made of jade.” The daoist responds, and she nods.

“Good, have one brought here.” Guan Yin smiles, and he turns to give one of his servants the silent command to retrieve one while she returns her attention to Wukong. The demon places his fist against one of the roots of the tree, one of the few that were still in contact with the ground. The dirt beneath the root starts to tremble as he follows her instructions, the ground dampening before a pool of water spurts up from below. A few of the disciples gasp at the trick, though Guan Yin remains unfazed. “Thank you, Great Sage. Now, if you would please reorient the tree to its original position.” Wukong is quick to obey, lifting the tree with relative ease and placing it carefully back so that its branches could reach up once more. The Bodhisattva then has several of their observers help in covering the roots with more soil, you and your fellow companions putting a hand in yourselves.

Just as you all finish in replanting the tree, the servant returns with the jade goblet. Once it is given to Guan Yin, she hands it to Sun Wukong. “Use this to pour the water over the tree. Once you have done that, the bark and the roots will grow back together. The leaves will come out, the branches will turn green, and the fruits will appear.”

The Monkey King nods, following the bodhisattva’s instructions and uses the jade goblet to scoop up the water from the ground. On his cloud, he hovers over the tree before drizzling the water over its branches. Guan Yin begins to recite a spell under her breath and as the water makes contact, the leaves begin to grow once more. The spots where the bark had chipped away reemerge and the uniquely-shaped ginseng begin to grow and ripen spontaneously. The servants and disciples of the temple begin to murmur amongst one another, shocked by the miracle performed.

However, it is Zhenyuan whose voice carries above them all. “Thank you, Bodhisattva.” He is almost beaming with joy as he speaks, relief transcribed over his expression. “This deed must be celebrated. Please, allow me to hold a feast in your honour. To celebrate the revival of my ginseng tree.”

Your master looks at you with a smile, one you return happily. You guess it was a good thing to have called on her for assistance after all. “Of course, I accept.” With that, Zhenyuan and Guan Yin left to speak while you finally have a chance to speak with your friends that were left behind. Tripitaka is the first to approach you, relief radiates off him in waves. “Thank goodness you came back. I’m impressed with how quickly you were able to return.” He admits, looking over to where Monkey King was talking to Sandy and Pigsy. “I thought you and Pilgrim Sun would have more of a… difficult time reaching Potalaka Mountain.”

“The trip was… quiet.” You give a shy smile, not sure how else to describe the short journey. Surprising was the first word that came to mind when describing it, but you’d rather not have to explain why the monkey’s actions felt so surprising to you.

As though he could sense being thought of, Sun Wukong jumps between the two of you, taking Tripitaka by surprise. “Looks like everything has turned out alright in the end. Right, Squab?”

“Squab?” You let out a groan when Tripitaka echoes the nickname. He really isn’t letting that one go anytime soon, is he?

With a sigh, you begin to walk away from the boys. “If the two of you would excuse me, I would like to catch up with my master while she is still in our company.” You dismiss yourself, walking just a little faster than normal to get away from the irritating face of that demon. Even when he’s out of sight, his snickering echoes through the halls as you go to find Guan Yin.

~~~~

As night creeps upon the Abbey, Sun Wukong and his companions gather in the main hall for the feast hosted by Zhenyuan. As the feast is in her honour, Guan Yin sits at the centre of the table, the Tang Monk to her right and her young disciple to her left. Pigsy and Sandy join their master on his right while the Monkey King sits to the right of Zhenyuan and the left of Dove, though her other name is beginning to grow on him. With the matter of his tree resolved, Wukong feels as though Zhenyuan is much easier to get along with. The two have already spent some time talking and, well, having fun drinking. This was a side of the old man Wukong could really appreciate.

Only when the immortal excuses himself for a moment does the Monkey King begin to pay attention to the other side of the table. His fellow brothers and master seem to be deep in conversation with the bodhisattva, sharing with her chronicles of their journey thus far. “And she dove into the river while the others were planning on how to bring you onto land?”

“I was so confused as it happened, until I recognised her, of course.” Sandy laughs, the girl in question offering a timid smile as he does. Wukong can’t help but furrow his brows at her change in demeanour. He questions whether or not it was possible for her to sit straighter, her body language tense. The usually bossy know-it-all is somehow even more composed than usual, it’s almost scary. “Our little Soother tells us she has been your disciple since childhood, is that true?”

The King almost misses the twitch in Guan Yin’s smile. “Yes, she has always been one of my most faithful. Despite the occasional pranks she would play, she has always been quite attentive from a young age.”

The room goes silent at that. Wujing looks between the Dove and her master, bug-eyed, Wukong himself feeling his mouth go agape. The pig lets out a dry laugh. “Pranks? Her??” The four men all look over to Dove, her eyes practically burning holes into the table, her cheeks growing red for the second time that day.

Guan Yin laughs softly. “Yes, it wasn’t a rare sight to see Moksa angrily chasing after her through my grove. I remember when she made him believe she had killed my favourite fish from my pond. The poor prince was distraught at the thought of me finding out.”

“Oh, really?” Wukong jumps into the conversation at that, leaning against the table to get a better look at the woman’s burning face. “Now that you mention it, I can see Squab being a bit of a troublemaker.” Her eyes flash to him as he calls her by Guan Yin’s nickname, the flames in her eyes so palpable he can almost feel their heat. Despite the very obvious anger, however, she remains silent aside from a quiet, “Hhmph.” The lack of reaction only makes the King grin. She’s obviously holding her tongue because of her master, maybe they could call Guan Yin in for some favours more often if it results in this. Wukong could get used to this poised-yet-flustered birdie.

Whether Guan Yin is aware of her disciple slowly dying from embarrassment, she doesn’t show it. “I wouldn’t say she was any trouble for us, those jokes were merely harmless fun. If anything, seeing how they made her light up was reassuring, with how reserved she was when she first came to me.” Reserved? The master and disciple look to one another, something silent in their eyes speak to one another, but before Wukong can get either to elaborate further, Zhenyuan returns.

“The food has been prepared. But before we feast, I would like to offer you all a serving of the fruit that was saved today.” He addresses the table as servants follow him into the hall, each presenting a plate of the very ginseng that Guan Yin had restored.

Thanking their host, the travellers begin to eat, Wukong remembers it well from the first fruit he stole and partly wonders if eating the fruit twice now means he has ninety-four thousand years added to his multiple immortalities. The fruit is bitter, with subtle sweet notes followed by a bit of an earthy aftertaste. As he eats, he looks to his fellow brothers at the table, enjoying the fruit. Tripitaka makes a slight face at the first bite, likely not expecting its taste while Guan Yin… she somehow looks even more serene and composed while eating the fruit.

That’s when he notices the Dove. She’s still, her fruit laying in front of her uneaten. It doesn’t take long for the bodhisattva to notice, either. She silently places a hand on her shoulder, snapping the woman out of wherever her mind had wandered. “Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, though Wukong’s more superior hearing is able to catch her words easily.

“Yes, thank you. I just find it a little funny, I suppose.” She gives the woman a smile, and though her master returns it, Wukong can’t help but feel there was something underneath the expression.

Her eyes are sympathetic. “I know, you feel it is too late. It’s not what I planned for you, but after all this time, you deserve something for your efforts.” Wukong feels lost in the conversation, likely a sign that he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but his curiosity will always get the better of him.

Dove sighs, her eyes falling back onto the fruit on her plate. “What was planned or not, everything I have has been given to me by you.” She looks back to her master, the bodhisattva’s smile dropping. “Now, what you’ve done today has given me something new. Thank you.”

“And who brought me here to revive the fruit?” Guan Yin questions. “Everything I’ve given you is what you have earned. Never forget that, Squab.” She brings the woman’s plate closer, the disciple nodding before taking the fruit in her hands.

“…Of course, Master.” She smiles, taking her first bite of the fruit. Sun Wukong can’t help but frown before turning back to his own plate. What were they talking about? Whether it’s his business or not, the Monkey King feels intrigued now!

Would she tell him if he asked? Likely not, but the monkey is sure he can figure it out one way or another. He’s clever when he wants to be, this surely won’t be too difficult to figure out. Besides, he has the rest of their journey to ask about it.

#wukong wants the tea #dove has 100% accidentally called guan yin mom #multiple times #the bone demon arc is next…#little dove #jttw sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #jttw guan yin

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wordywarriorwrites · 1 year

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Burning Hearts

Burning Hearts | A03 | Master List | Rating: M

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Frankie gave you up for all the right reasons, but he just can't seem to let you go...

Pairing: Frankie Morales X F! Reader, Triple Frontier AU

Warnings: Language. Smut. Mentions of violence.

It’s well past last call, but the bartender pours Frankie another without him having to ask.

He knocks it back and chases the burn with a long drag off his cigarette. The combination of nicotine and booze gives him a pleasant buzz, but his favored tried-and-true vices bring him no relief.

All the club’s patrons shuffled out about an hour ago, but the staff carries on, seemingly content to remain open just to wait on him. Frankie knows they won’t cut him off or boot him out, but the need to maintain appearances, at least in public, prompts him to reach for his wallet.

He doesn’t pay for drinks – not at this particular watering hole – so, the Benjamin he slaps down on the counter is more for the speedy service and absence of questions than anything else. He stabs out his smoke, and when he gets to his feet, the peanut gallery on the peripheral of his pity party of one simply moves off to do other things.

An armed enforcer – especially a drunk one, out after hours and clearly spoiling for a fight – would prompt most people to run for cover, but the strippers are pros, and the guards don’t flinch easily. Plus, Frankie’s part owner, which means he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and what he wants, more than anything, is to see you.

So, he gives in to the urge.

He walks by the stage, tips the lone dancer for still bothering to put on a show, and salutes both the DJ and bouncer as he exits out the back. His driver is seated behind the wheel of his always-at-the-ready Bentley, and Frankie parks his ass on the supple, buttery leather of the backseat for the journey. By the time he reaches your estate, he’s sobered up a bit, answered all the texts he’s been ignoring, and pulverized about a half-dozen mints into the grooves of his molars.

The security guys at the gate know who he is. They take pity on him, allowing his vehicle to pass and continue on up the winding driveway. As the car crests the small hill, Frankie’s eyes sweep over the acreage, taking note of the tables and chairs set up on the grass. There are also at least a dozen catering trucks and twice as many hands, all busily taking apart centerpieces, pushing overflowing bins of linens, packing away decorations, and breaking down a podium, dance floor, and sound system.

There are other armed guards – way more than usual, in fact. Vested bodies dressed in black, with their intimidating visages dispersed in strategic places along the peripheral and in blind spots. Frankie isn’t nervous; he knows they’re on the job, and he doesn’t intend to do anything that would spur them or their semi-automatics into action.

Foregoing the bell, he uses the knocker, allowing the old, iron lionhead to wallop against the mahogany front door. Your head of security, Will Miller, answers promptly, weapon drawn and ready for action. He’s young and a bit tetchy, but he’s got sharp eyes and knows how to handle himself. Will’s been by your side for years and takes his job very seriously, and though Frankie would never admit it aloud, he’s relieved the guy is ready and able to protect you with unhesitating ruthlessness.

“Morales,” Will greets tersely. “State your business.”

“I just wanna see her,” Frankie replies without preamble.

He scoffs and curls his upper lip, but before he can reply with something undoubtedly and deservedly curt, your voice lilts through air.

“William?” you call out. “Who is it?”

It’s clear by Will’s thunderous expression that Frankie’s unexpected arrival has caused a disruption of the regularly scheduled programming. He’s positive the guy is just itching to plug him, but that doesn’t happen. Instead of being pumped full of lead, a quiet exchange between you and Will takes place, ending with him re-holstering his weapon and you graciously inviting Frankie inside.

The polonaise runner just beyond the threshold guides Frankie into the foyer, the hardwood floor beneath it polished to a high shine and positively gleaming under the soft light emitting from the chandelier hanging overhead. The ornate mirror situated above the marble console in the entryway reveals his slumped profile and wrinkled suit, and Will’s unimpressed sneer is all it takes to get him to straighten his tie and square his shoulders.

Will resets the alarm, and takes your slight nod and murmured thanks for the polite dismissal it is. Once he’s gone, you motion for Frankie to follow you, traversing a familiar path toward the kitchen. He clocks the sway of your hips as he trails behind, paying no mind to the cleaning crew who stops mid-task to hurriedly make themselves scarce. The chef and small army of assistants packing up leftovers and scrubbing the hell out of cookware are just as respectful, filing out in a silent, quick procession.

The two of you are alone, so, you play hostess, going for the fridge and emerging with a bottle of Voss in hand. After placing it on the island within his reach, you move off, and the physical distance between you isn’t lost on him. It hurts, but affords Frankie the opportunity to take you in. Louboutin heels. Trendy cocktail dress with a modest hem length and neckline. Tasteful jewelry, light make-up, and hair pinned back in an elegant twist.

You’re straight-up class. And so far beyond his reach.

You – blue-blooded and born into generational wealth. Him – a nobody from nowhere. Your name commands respect. His incites fear. You’re an admired, contributing member of the community, full of kindness, and always willing to help. He’s a trigger man, constantly on the precipice of chaos, dragging around a sordid reputation, and always ready to run.

You’re the real deal. You’ve got the pedigree that demands a high-class match with someone important. Someone who doesn’t have a permanent target on his back. Someone safe, who doesn’t always have to fight, fuck, kill, or steal to keep what he’s got. And he knows – damn it, he knows he’s not worthy…

“Why are you here, Frankie?” you prompt gently.

Thoughts grinding to a halt and at a loss for the right words, he simply shrugs. The picture of patience, you remain silent, which is just as well. He knows he can’t keep doing this to himself or to you. He needs to do right by you. He needs stay the fuck away, but it’s always so much easier said than actually done.

In fact, it hasn’t been that long since he last saw you. A month, maybe? He wondered then, as he does now, if you’ve moved on because he certainly, obviously, hasn’t. And the thought of anyone else touching you? The mere idea of you with another? Someone who could be part of your world, whose mere presence wouldn’t put your life at risk? It makes Frankie reexamine both you and his surroundings with a more observant, suspicious gaze.

Beyond the obvious chaos of a messy kitchen is a small chef’s table, and on the surface, a half-eaten chartreuse board and an open bottle of Merlot. Two pieces of stemware; one stained with lipstick matching your shade, and the other, blemished by the remaining inch of red at the bottom. The lingering stench of a cigar. The presence of your favorite handbag on the chair.

What he perceives amounts to nothing more than a collection of assumptive, so-called evidence that fits the wild narrative in his mind. Still, Frankie seethes with jealousy. Mind and body all tilt-o-whirl, he snarls – deep and nasty, like he’s some sort of fucking animal protecting his territory, but you don’t balk. Instead, you reach for your clutch, pop the clasp, and fish out what looks like a folded piece of paper.

“The charity fundraiser was this evening, remember?” you explain without any guilt or guile. “Pope asked for a private audience after. Apparently, I forgot to rescind his invitation.”

Frankie runs the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, eyes narrowing at the nondescript check you slide across the island’s countertop. Temper unjustifiably flared and now subsequently doused, he snatches up the proffered bottle of water, uncaps it, and forces gulps past the fist-sized lump in his throat.

Fuckin’ Pope. When it comes to making money, he’s merciless, indiscriminate, and not one to let personal feelings get in the way of business dealings. Of course, he’d want to rub elbows with your people. His presence at your soiree, along with Will’s trigger-happy mood, and all the extra staff and guards? It makes complete sense.

But a one-on-one so late afterward? It must’ve been important – something urgent that couldn’t be spoken of in mixed company or discussed over the phone. There are only so many things a man like Pope and a woman like you would have to talk about. Last Frankie knew, the police were still sniffing around, and the lawyer you have on retainer is having a fucking field day, but the heat isn’t bad enough to warrant a face-to-face.

Then again, maybe Pope sought you out for personal reasons and professional gains. Pairing up with the big Boss would guarantee your continued safety and silence a lot of wagging tongues. Your connections would also open up a plethora of new revenue streams, providing Pope with unfettered access to some very deep pockets. Shit, Frankie can practically hear Pope listing the mutual benefits, spinning the rationale of it all, and it makes him feel sick.

Sick and absolutely fucking murderous.

You’re an honest, good woman. All that forthrightness and decency – it’s right there, in your beguiling, steady gaze. And you’re not stupid. In fact, you’re too damn smart for your own good, and the thought of you putting yourself at risk makes Frankie itchy all over. You’re so disarmingly calm, while he’s barely fucking holding it together, and damn it, he has to know for sure…

“Did Pope –” Frankie croaks, scraping a hand through his hair. “Did he ask you to do something for him? Or want to take you out on like, a date, or whatever?”

Lips parting in shock, you blink as if taken aback, and that’s answer enough. Relief buoys and deflates him, and Frankie downplays his seesawing emotions and outlandish, self-sabotaging thoughts by moving over to the table and busying his hands. He pokes at the slices of baguette and the cubes of gourmet cheese. Feigns interest in the thinly sliced prosciutto. Tilts the wine bottle to glance at the label.

None of it interests him because the only thing Frankie’s interested in is you. He gave you up for all right reasons, but still, the feelings you stir inside of him, and the white-hot desire he has for you – they’ll never go away. They roll through him now, stronger than ever; dark possessiveness and furious agony punching him in the gut and pulsing between his legs and clawing at his already tender, bleeding heart.

Frankie met you while scouting some swanky restaurant ripe for poaching, and after cajoling you into abandoning a dinner party, he somehow talked you into drinks, and then, seduced you into his bed. What should’ve been an amazing one-night stand morphed into eight months that quite literally rocked his world. Your acceptance of who he is, your ability to compartmentalize, the way you simply fit in and adapted to his extremely fucked up reality – hell, if the shoe were on the other foot, Frankie’s not sure he could’ve risen to the occasion or withstood it.

What he’s found and experienced with you – it’s fucking lightning in a bottle. Insane, magical, incomprehensible. It never happens for guys like him because guys like him don’t get the girl or the happily-ever-after. Too good to be true? Maybe. Was he in too deep? Absolutely. But it didn’t matter if you were ignorant or a willing participant – it was dangerous either way.

And Pope’s not just the Boss – he’s Frankie’s best friend. His brother. And Frankie’s a loyal soldier – has been since the two of them were in diapers. Yes, he’s in love with you, and if you moved on, he’d get over it eventually. Someday. Maybe. But if you moved on with Pope? He wouldn’t – couldn’t – survive that. And because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment, he has to ask the million-dollar question.

“What if he wanted to?” Frankie asks, pressing his thumb into what he believes is a hunk of Parmesan Reggiano and mashing it flat. “Would you consider it?”

“Consider what?” you wonder.

“Being with him?”

A sharp breath. A ragged exhale. Your lower lip trembles before it gets bitten into submission by your teeth, and when you meet his gaze, he sees his own pain reflected back at him a thousand times over.

You tell him to leave, heels tap-tap-tapping as you hastily move for the intercom system, voice clipped and cold as you inform him a maid will see him out. He hasn’t just offended you; he’s hurt you, again, but a halting hand on your waist and a fervently whispered apology keeps you from the call button.

Frankie knows he’s got no fucking right – no right to question you or touch you, and certainly no right to step forward when you step back. He’s got no right to dig his fingers into your hip or press you up against the pantry door or burrow his nose against the crown of your head and slowly, greedily inhale.

“I’d fuckin’ kill him,” he growls. “If he ever – I swear, I’d fucking rip his throat out.”

You place your hand over his, and your touch is so soothing, immediately calming his too-hot temper like top-shelf whiskey. Your index finger ghosts over his knuckle tattoos. Ink that means nothing to outsiders, but showcases to anyone who knows his world just how dangerous he is. It’s the hand he uses to dispense justice; it’s scarred, tainted and stained with blood, yet, you touch it with such reverence, such fearlessness…

Frankie closes his eyes and rolls his jaw, “I shouldn’t have – I didn’t mean –”

“I wouldn’t,” you interject, words weighted and insistent. “Not ever.”

“You don’t – shit, you don’t need to tell me that,” he insists, shaking his head at his own uncouth stupidity. “Besides, it’s none of my business. And you’re right – I should go. I should go and stay gone.”

You let out a soft, contrary sound, “You shouldn’t have left.”

He swallows hard. You turn your head. Then, your nose and cheek are brushing against his jaw in a gesture of affection that settles something inside of him that’s too feral to define. Your palms gliding up his arms, along his shoulders, and down the expanse of his chest – it pulls him back from the ledge he’s been tiptoeing along since the day he said goodbye to you.

Frankie meets your eyes. Cups your cheek. Allows his thumb to caress your soft skin. You say nothing, but you look at him as if he’s the only one – as if there could never be another – and he wonders if you can tell that he feels the same way.

“I love you, Frankie,” you assert. “It’s always going to be you.”

“Cariño…” he sighs against your temple.

You’re braver – so much braver than he’ll ever be – and you’re the one who gives into it. You press your lips to the scruff covering his chin, and that gentle, achingly familiar prelude to a kiss destroys his already too-flimsy resolve. Frankie is the one surrendering to you, but you’re the one who yields to him, tilting your head back and opening up to his eager mouth.

He dreamt of you every night. Woke up every day to cold sheets. Had been unable to throw away your toothbrush or part with the half-full bottle of your shampoo. Was unwilling to change the lock screen on his phone from a picture of you to something less painful to look at. He couldn’t delete the playlist you made for him or stop buying the books you put in his Amazon cart. Your favorite fuzzy socks are still in his top drawer, tucked safely next to the pristinely folded, ridiculously threadbare boyband t-shirt you’ve had since you were a teenager.

You have no idea what you do to him. No clue about the kind of hell he’d raise for you, the bodies he’d put in the ground, the lives he’d destroy – all for you. He can’t explain it, not in words, so, he coveys it with his body. Seeking the taste of you with his tongue and searching for your skin with his hands. Sliding his thigh between your legs and rocking into you because he just wants to be close – he just wants to feel you, to lose himself inside of you, to make you smile at him again.

“Upstairs,” you whisper into his ear. “Come upstairs with me, Frankie.”

Powerless to resist, he follows you to the privacy of your room, located on the second floor at the very end of the hall. Jacket, belt, tie – you divest him of his modern-day armor, letting the pieces fall like petals leading up the path to the altar that is your California King-sized bed. Frankie’s shoulder holster is last, and once he’s placed his gun safely on the nightstand, you begin frantically working apart the buttons on his shirt.

“Love you, cariño,” he pants as he yanks his arms free of the sleeves. “I love you so goddamn much.”

You kick off your heels before giving him your back, “Show me.”

Frankie lowers the zipper on your dress. Pushes at the straps. Watches the inky, supple material slip and slide off your figure. You work your panties down, ass teasingly meeting his crotch as you push the delicate silk and lace past your garter belt. Then, you ease down onto the bed, back hitting the downy comforter with a soft thud.

He’s palming himself through his pants, trying to decide where to start, and your thighs parting in invitation help him make up his mind. He kneels. Hooks his arms around your calves. Yanks you forward until your ass is practically hanging off the mattress. You let out a peal of laughter, and he grins up at you rather dopily as he hitches your legs over his shoulders.

“This okay?” he breathes against your calve.

You touch the tip of your tongue to your upper lip and nod, “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Are you?”

It’s impossible to miss the vulnerability and doubt in your eyes. Frankie knows he wasn’t the only one brokenhearted and that his mistakes hurt you both. An apology seems so inadequate, but he says it anyway, listing the litany of ways he intends to make it up to you, but only if you’ll allow it.

You cup his face and let out a sigh, “I just want you. That’s all.”

Frankie nods. Presses a kiss to your palm. Allows his lips and tongue to trace a path up your thighs, canines sinking into supple flesh along the way. He seeks the center of you with a parched tongue and fingers longing to touch, and when he reaches his destination, you cry out for him.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, suckling your clit and dipping his tongue inside for a taste. “Let me take care of you, cariño. Just let go for me, yeah?”

Your left breast – plump, soft, and encased in silk – spills free when he yanks the cup of your bra down. Frankie pinches the hardened peak of your nipple, and you arch into his caress, clamping down on his fingers and writhing all over his face. You’re lost to it, just like he is, and when you come against his mouth, it’s indescribably beautiful.

“I need you,” you declare fervently. “Need you inside me, Frankie.”

He doesn’t heed your call until he makes you come again. When he does get to his feet, you’re boneless, but still, you sit up and reach for him. As soon as he’s popped the button on his pants and worked the zipper down, your hands are there, tugging at his boxers. You take him out and wrap your fingers around him, nice and snug, just how he likes. He’s leaking like a goddamn faucet, unable to stop his hips from pumping into your firm hold, and he has to put a halt to your teasing or risk coming in your hand.

His boxers and pants are in a tangle over his shoes, but he manages to kick everything off and crawl into the soft pile of blankets and pillows after you. Frankie peels off your stockings. Winds your silky-smooth, bare legs around his waist. He kisses you, teasing you and bumping your clit with his hard length until you beg him for it.

He lines up. Pushes in. And then, it’s paradise – pure and true.

You twine your arms over his shoulders, pulling him down into the cradle of your embrace until he’s practically smothering you. Forearms braced on either side of your head and face buried into the crook of your neck, Frankie eases back and slowly thrusts forward to the hilt with a roll of his hips. You meet him halfway, tilting your pelvis up and bearing down, engulfing him in a fist-tight wetness that forces him to work for every deep stroke.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, cariño,” he groans, smearing his lips along the hinge of your jaw. Frankie puts more effort and weight behind each thrust, hitting deep and keeping a firm, steady pace that he knows gets you off. “Did you miss this? Miss me?”

You mewl. Nod frantically. Forehead pressed to yours, he reaches for the bend of your knee and loops your leg over the crook of his elbow so he can put his back into it. Driving and grinding into you possessively, gaze fixated on yours, flitting between nipping at the tops of your breasts and licking into your mouth and sucking at the pulse point of your neck.

“N-no more,” you stutter, biting into the meat of his shoulder. “No more running, Frankie.”

Frankie nods and snaps his hips forward, “No more running.”

The promise is sealed with another kiss, and when you come for him again, Frankie loses what little finesse he still possesses. You encourage his rutting, whispering in his ear that you want it, that you need him to come inside you. And you’re so wet, he can hear it – how turned on you are, how good he makes you feel, and it’s so good – so goddamned good – that when he comes, his vision dims and all the noise in his head goes silent.

Save for your mingled, harsh breaths, it’s quiet. Peaceful. You welcome his weight on top of you, holding him, scratching at his scalp and kissing his forehead and running your hands up and down his spine. Affection, freely given, without any expectation or ulterior motive behind it. It reminds him of what he almost lost, and he vows to himself that he’ll never let you go again.

Frankie looks up at you with sleepy, half-lidded eyes, “What did Pope actually want?”

“He begged me to take you back,” you reply, letting out an amused sound as you trace a fingertip over the shell of his ear. “Said he’d donate ten thousand dollars if I did.”

“Is that so? And what did you say?”

“I told him it wasn’t my decision. Then, he upped the offer to twenty, so, I said I’d think about it.”

Frankie snorts and squeezes your waist, “Oh, I bet he hated that.”

“Well, you’ve apparently been a real pain in his ass lately,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug. “So, I told him to donate fifty, and that I’d call him when you came to your senses.”

He laughs – full-bodied and freely. He kisses you – proud of the hard bargain you drove. And once Frankie’s tucked into bed beside you, absorbing your warmth into his cold bones, he makes a mental note to thank Pope for his meddling in the morning.

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales smut #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier au #triple frontier fanfic

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 5 months

Note

Nisha, did you know I would step on some legos barefooted for you? Anyways can’t wait to read for another fandom I have never stepped foot in and would probably never engage with the canon in just because you decided that’s what to make, and I’ve decided to read it anyways. Home cooked meal. -Rotten Anon

The opening line of this message made literal cartoon anime hearts appear above my head, just so you know <3

Also you have inspired me to post a rundown of my WIPs because I am really excited about what I have been working on. And for two of these fandoms, I know you have said you know nothing about the canon, but for the third, I am not sure, so we'll see.

My Current WIPs April/May 2024

Heaven's Gate (for The Walking Dead) - Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates/Lovers Reunited. Angst, Fluff, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 1 to Season 5. 17k in counting (will be a oneshot). You can find a preview here. In this fic, you and Daryl get separated when the Governor attacks the prison, and though you both believe the other person is dead (or long gone) you find each other at the most unlikely time, in the most unlikely place.

I am super excited about this fic, and the themes of hope that I have woven into it. Because yes, I unironically love writing about hope and how the human spirit can persevere - which is something that my favourite moments in The Walking Dead show. This is first draft complete and just needs to be edited.

The Jaws of Life (for DC Titans) - Jason Todd x GN!Reader. Sequel to Emergency Contact. Lovers Reunited. Extreme Angst, Smut, Hurt and (some) Comfort. Set during Season 3. 21k in counting (will probably be a oneshot - if it needs to be split up, it will be put in two parts, but I hope I can get away with a oneshot). (I highly recommend that everyone go read the original in the meantime, because it is one of my best fics ever.) In this fic, you and Jason struggle with the new meaning of your relationship after what happened with Deathstroke - only for this tentative change to be harshly disrupted by the Joker. And you're still heavily mourning when a red hooded stranger breaks into your apartment one night, seeking medical care because apparently - you owe him one.

Everyone give Jaycen @nctzenkane a big fucking round of applause for this one, because he was randomly talking to me about Jason Todd today (we were having the 'some characters are only fuckable in costume' discussion) - and I got talking about how this version of Jason from Titans makes me so passionate to write about the character. And it is solely because of him that I opened up this fic and took a good look at it - I have been thinking about this fic for months, wanting to finish it because I know I am gonna be proud of it, but I kept hesitating because I thought I had a way bigger mountain to conquer with it. But the conversation I had with Jaycen really inspired me and I wrote 5k on the fic just today, and I realized that with this momentum, I could have the first draft done by the end of this month. So I am promising myself that this is gonna be done soon.

Speaking of which - when The Jaws of Life is first draft done, I wanna host a poll so you guys can decide which of those two ^^ fics goes through the editing process to be posted first. Both will be posted (hopefully) by the end of May, but I do wanna know which one you guys wanna see posted first. Which leads me to:

Nasty (for Stranger Things) - Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. 3k (this is gonna be a shorter fic lmao). In this fic, you and Eddie have been dating for a while, but you don't like that all of his attempts to have sex with you have him taking on a (seemingly fake) dom persona. When you finally tell him that you prefer to be more dominant in bed, he isn't disgusted like you thought he might be - he loves it.

This is one I have been sitting on for a while, and right before it was ready to be posted - my brain lost interest in it like tiktok does micro trends. But I think this is gonna be really great to post while the poll for those other fics is cooking because it's short and sweet and for the past few days, whenever I have seen the cover for this in my drafts, I have gotten excited about it again. So I am excited to finish it and show it off to everyone!!

#rotten anon #anonymous #sundrop answers #curren wips #wips #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #jason todd x reader #dc titans #eddie munson x reader #stranger things

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joannasteez · 1 year

Text

peace, be still

The wind bristles , so cold it burns. Here in some sleepy, darkened tundra, his dreams come like thieves, stealing breath and strength. And he rides war like, relentless, the stallion beneath him beating hard against a blend of winter sand and summer snow. Trampling ground to cover an endless distance. The way his bones grow weary, on the verge of fracture, hands so taut, they ache about the reigns. Grip as stiff as the long pulling tension in his neck. But he rides, rides, rides, swifter than the wind stretching wild against his face. Threatening to break already marred skin.

There is a loosening in his spirit as it erodes against the gust. The rhythm of hooves, that pounding ache in his skull, a seductive whisper in that swift rushing wind. 'Let go', they say, but the impact will splinter him fast, shatter his measly bones into old, bitter pieces. How else will he ride, if he dies? For a horse has no use for a still corpse and neither will the wind take great pleasure in whirling amongst the idleness of his dusted remains.

His hands flatten like tattered paper, grip useless. Body falling, a feather against the cold. His dreams come like thieves, stealing bits of breath and beats of his heart. The brace for impact curling broad shoulders inward, till he's balled small, and scared. Breathless. And when he gasps', the come to is harsh on his lungs. Sharp and awakening. I'm not dead yet', he thinks, sighs. Relieved. Weary. Warm low lamp light at the corner of his eye and the twisting sheets about his hard thighs. Not yet.

Joel feels disrupted still though, like an old body in new skin. Jackson, Wyoming is beautiful, a dream even. A tiny perfection made by fragile hands, but he can feel the war in him still, under flesh and bone, the way it shifts under new clothes and a soft leather coat. The tingle at the base of his neck and the pins pricking just at the soles of his feet.

When the children pass him by, trudging happy through the snow, they smile, wave even, but the most he can muster is something half baked and unoriginal. Curt nods and a twitchy lipped semblance of some lesser Mona Lisa smile. And when the women shuffle in their wake, their eyes linger against the silver streaks lining his hair and the thick cut of his fingers. They smile like college girls, small and knowing of some speechless suggestion. And something in his gut pulls warm and awakening, for seconds at a time, before it snuffs fast to a cold emptiness. ‘Slowing down is good. You'll be settled in no time', his brother said once. Says it again, all the time, like some sacred mantra, but his restless insides war hard, exacting, with the stillness that so patiently awaits him.

But when Joel doesn't dream, he sifts through memory. Feels the dull throb of a slow to heal tear along the base of his abdomen...

... and remembers the pain, the frantic sweat of his skin and dread riffling just over his bones. He remembers some weeks ago, Tommy sticking a rifle in his hand along with a horses reigns.

"It's huntin' time you old fucker", he chuckles. Eyes brown and bright still. Somehow.

Joel rides alongside him and it's something like Texas all over again. "Time to see this bullshit power scope in action".

"Never gonna stop given me shit about that huh?"

"I'm still breathin' ain't I?"

The commune gates open and they ride through, met with a fresh blanket of deep snow.

And to say that nerve doesn't pick raw at his resolve would be a lie, but trailing away from hard truths has been Joel's routine for years. Over a decade really. He's a bit ways away from terrified, still. A beautiful marksman when it counts, when survival is paramount, blood rushing, flooding a beating into his pulse, but his knees are worn and his right ear fails him at keeping a steady awareness. He's all rough and ruined, coarse edges playing at sharpness. Yet theres a rifle strapped to his back, and an unwavering glint of trust in Tommy's kind eyes.

"Its kinda like Texas a little", his brother pipes up from beside him.

Joel snorts. Feels the Wyoming wind ride through his hair. 'Texas my ass', he thinks. "How you figure?"

"You being here I guess. Us together. It's kinda like old times".

Joel doesn't say much past a hum thats not all too contemplative, ignoring the warm stinging in his chest. Moves out and makes way for a long silence to take over. But the silence doesn't pass, it stays. Blankets over them like snow, swaddles them whole.

Hunting proves to be a slow, tedious affair, nothing at all to get excited about save for the hot meals to follow. The accuracy of Tommy's power scope feeds what little amusement already existing amongst the small group, till of course, Joel's words prove themselves with a faithful return, taunting and devilish, to bite him in the ass. Even up here in the vacant West, safety is an illusion. A distraction. Some ill-fated dream. And it's that steady strum over nerve that gets him, awakens suspicion, because he's a little frayed, but never torn. Far from it even. Instinct pushes his fingers into a familiar movement till the rifle is secure enough in his hands to shoot.

There are disruptions in the snow, foot steps that don't belong.

It comes at a deathly speed, an arrow shrill in the wind, whipping just hairs away from his bad ear. Lodging hard into the wood of a tree. Theres five of them, no, seven, another two emerging on horseback from the horizon line. Seven to their five. Joel's stomach churns, solidifies with resolve, a will to make it back home. Home. That little commune of folks, the place where Tommy lives. In the face of sudden death, it all advances beyond his hesitancies, beyond what restrains him and reduces him to a meaningless cordiality. Jackson, he believes in this moment, is home.

"Joel", Tommy booms. Fettered with fear. It's the hell of desert storm all over again.

He moves familiar. Strides deep and fast in the snow and takes the tree for cover. He breathes. Listens. Waits. The arrows and bullets have limits, and when the reload comes, he emerges with that beautiful God given precision and shoots a horse rider dead. The snow painted in blood. Eagles caw above him in knowing of some manmade chaos, flapping in judgement, in tune with the trees that sway in terrified breezes, ruffling up some somber song in the stillness. Instinct speaks, a duet with nature. Leaves halve, go brittle in the wake of some hard footed destruction, Joel's skin runs skittish. He turns in time to dodge the blunt force of some incoming weapon. Secures space behind the man well enough to have him about the neck. He huffs, twisting, the snap of bone before the man slumps to be buried in the snow.

But there is another, and the knife he comes with drives faster than instinct can fight. A deep slicing beyond fabric and into the skin of his abdomen.

Joel buckles, stuttering from pain. A gun shot sends his assailant downward. The pain rips him raw, of fight and strength, his blood staining a deep red into his fingers.

A tiredness overtakes him.

And God is he tired right now, has been for some days, more than usual actually, but thats what stillness does to you. Makes you tired. And 'Im falling', he thinks. Can feel the earth closing in on his face. He curls inward, like in those dark chilly dreams. Bracing for an impact that never comes. His brother, shivering with panic, catching him, curses ripping off his tongue as he helps Joel to a disturbed horse.

Tommy feels the ices in his lungs when he breathes. "So help me God Joel, stay awake".

For Joel the day dims, a slow sweeping darkness about his eyes.

"C'mon big brother, stay with me".

The horse buckles, steps nervously to and fro in an agitation dug up from primal urges. It wars on its own, whether to stay or flee. Tommy shushes it, shushes her, runs fingers along her spine. And he's strong. Stronger than Joel remembers. Capable. Moves fast, thinks quick. And as his bones grow cold, he thinks of the former things, once being like that too. Capable and reliable, but now he's fettered to fear, huffing and horrified like Tommy's horse. But even the horse is more useful, galloping through the snowy plains, its hooves beating against the ground to save his life. 'Does he think I'm useless?', Joel wonders, held up in Tommy's hold. Feeling that slow frigid stretch of death pulling under his flesh. 'After all this time, what does he think of me now?'

But in the moment Tommy thinks of very little, feeling the bite of the wind, something wicked and gnawing, cutting at his skin. It taunts him, rips his reality to shreds, like he's been stabbed too. Because for years, Wyoming had been a fortress. Some great big fortified structure propping up some otherwise broken thing. But the illusion breaks soon, always does, as his horse tears through, kicking up snow and dirt. Wyoming cuts back against Tommy's skin, peeling off into the wind to slice against the fragility of his face. He feels the pool of Joel's blood, a warmth that cakes and hardens in the wintry bitterness and sees the severity of believing in dreams. The grand mask held up by an illusion. Tommy rides, rides, rides, rushing back to save what remains of dreams, his older brother, his only brother, bleeding out in the grip of his arm.

An eye wells, tears slipping to streak his cheek.

"We're almost there", is the last thing Tommy says. The last thing Joel hears before the darkness takes him.

#joannasteez #female reader insert #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader #joel miller x poc!reader #joel miller x black!reader

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synthy-sizer · 11 months

Text

It's a much longer walk to the rocket launch pad than it was to the radio tower. Even with the radio tower being tucked away, the difference between that and the launch pad is astronomical. But you suppose it makes sense. The sheer amount of noise, shaking and smoke generated by a rocket launch would be quite the disruption. Heresy told you the basics. Oddly, it was built underground with a door that opens at ground level to allow the rocket a clean escape. Apparently they had to build massive tunnels in 4 directions to funnel the smoke away through vents on the surface. You were a bit nervous about the decay of the building, but she said it should be fine. Practically any structure attached to the Lunar megastructure will survive longer than normal ones. As you approach, you notice the first thing Heresy mentioned you would see; a large metal door in the ground. This is hardly the hatch that had tormented you just a few weeks ago, though. It must be the size of a small house. The thick, rusting metal is split down the middle, and stepping on it experimentally tells you just how thick and sturdy it is despite exposure to the elements. A bolt cutter definitely wouldn't break through this.

You walk around the perimeter. Heresy said that the entrance probably wouldn't be as obvious as it once was, but that there should be traces of a path inside. You keep walking and walking, and looking out into the grassy plains around you, and suddenly something catches your eye. You walk towards it and confirm your suspicions. It's the decaying and overgrown remains of an asphalt road. It looks far different from anything you have in the barracks, er, your neighborhood. You're far more used to gravel. You trudge over to, and stand upon, the old road. It feels strange under your feet. You feel as though you're standing on cursed ground. Turning back to face the massive door, you suddenly notice what Heresy was talking about. The road angles downward into an arched tunnel that leads down into the darkness. But even in the dark you recognize the unmistakable red color of the code red lights. Somehow despite seeing it several times now, you can't help but feel uneasy around the red glow. But you press forward anyway.

…

You are standing in the TUNNEL. It's dark, and you're barely illuminated by dim red lights. The tunnel goes FORWARD further than you can see. Heresy said there would be a door at the end, so you suppose you have to trust her. To the right, there's a SECURITY GATE.

Look at tunnel>

There isn't much you can see in the darkness, but you can faintly make out the shapes of sirens similar to what was in the hatch. They probably serve the same purpose.

Look at security gate>

You press your face and hands against the metal grate of the door. The space the gate is blocking looks like some kind of garage. You can see the faint silhouettes of VEHICLES of some sort in the dim red light.

Look at vehicles>

They don't look like anything you've ever seen. You're used to lightweight electric pickup trucks and carts, but these look monstrous in comparison. They're huge, heavy, and have thick armor plating on them. You don't like the look of them.

Go forward>

You can't seem to get into the garage, so you walk forward. It's quite a long tunnel, but eventually you see something that doesn't match the view you've had so far. As you get closer you realize this must be the end of the tunnel. There's a DOOR attached to the wall, with a red cage lamp glowing red above it.

Look at door>

Like everything else you've seen in these Apollo facilities, the door looks sturdy and heavy. You doubt you would be able to shove it open.

Open inventory>

[Inventory]

Bolt cutters

Knife

Map

Keyring

Equip keyring>

You pull the keyring out of your bag and start sifting through KEYS. There has to be something that will work here.

Use keys on door>

After sifting through the keys and not finding anything with a clear label, you resign yourself to just putting every key into the door one at a time. It takes a few minutes of idle testing but eventually one turns smoothly. You test the doorknob and the door swings open.

Go inside>

You're surprised by what you see behind the door. It appears to be some kind of control center. The room is curved, and has large windows facing inwards towards the center of the large metal door. There's COMPUTERS, MONITORS and all kinds of strange DEVICES covering every surface of the desks. It looks like at least a dozen people were meant to work here at a time. Frustratingly, the windows don't give you much of a view of anything, since it seems as though there's metal plates directly behind them. The lights are red here, too.

Look at computers>

The computers seem just so functional as any others you've seen. Maybe you can use one to get instructions from Heresy.

Use computer>

The applications are familiar to you at this point. The INSTANT MESSENGER stands ready.

Use instant messenger>

HERESY's name is at the top of the list. She must have added herself as a new user to make sure she can help you.

Talk to Heresy>

[HERESY is ONLINE]

Launchpad: I made it.

Heresy: Sofia, good to see you made it inside.Heresy: Does the rocket look ok?

Launchpad: I can't tell…Launchpad: It looks like the windows are blocked

Heresy: Ah yeah, those are the blast doors

Heresy: Since they needed the observation deck to be so close to the launchpad…

Heresy: They would close the blast doors to protect themselves during launches.

Heresy: There should be a switch somewhere that will open them.

Launchpad: Where do I look?

Heresy: Look up near the top of the windows.

Heresy: That's where the control switches should be.

You stand up from the desk.

Look around>

The whole place is in shambles. You're tampering with science way above your pay grade now. You doubt you could make heads or tails of any papers stacked up on the desks. But overhead there are indeed CONTROLS on panels attached to the ceiling.

Look at controls>

There's a wide array of switches and buttons. Several have clearly designated labels; BLAST DOORS, LIGHTS, MAIN DOOR and TUNNELS.

Use blast doors>

You flick the switch and, surprisingly, the metal slabs slowly lift away from the windows with a loud metallic creak and groan. You can see outside the windows now, but it's too dark to take advantage.

Use lights>

You flip the switch and one layer at a time, large spotlights flick on, starting from the bottom and moving up. You're immediately blown away by the sheer scale of the space. It's gargantuan. Huge supports stand at the sides, mounted to the walls. Cranes and vehicles sit idly around, with more than enough space to drive. In the center sits the ROCKET itself. It's incredibly impressive and by far the biggest structure of its kind you've ever seen by a landslide.

Look at rocket>

The rocket is a rounded conic tube painted black and white. It seems like it lacks any kind of windows. It's mounted to the support frame on the walls and seems to have some kind of ELEVATOR attached to it.

Look at elevator>

The elevator is embedded into the wall and attached to a hatch on the side of the rocket via a narrow catwalk attached to it. It looks detachable, which stands to reason.

Use main door>

You flick the switch and hear an earth-shattering series of mechanical noises. The split sides of the door detach from each other and slowly start to slide apart, eventually fully embedding into the internal mechanisms and stopping with a loud clunk. Light shines into the space for the first time in what must be many years. Dirt and debris tumbles into the new void. It's a strange feeling.

Use tunnels>

You flick the final labeled switch and take note of 8 large blast doors at the bottom of the wall that start opening. They must be the tunnels that vent the smoke and fire from the launch to keep the whole thing from going up.

It seems like that's all you can do to prepare the launch for now. You should talk to Heresy.

Talk to Heresy>

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quinloki · 2 years

Text

Some Direction

Fem Reader x Roronoa Zoro

CW: Language, stalking, violence, sexual themes and situations, ptsd 18+ only

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 3: Bad Directions

"The sun's still up, I'll be fine." You assure Mihawk again, but you can already feel yourself wilting. The stern man doesn't budge and won't take no for an answer.

The rest of the meeting had gone well. It was decided that you would move into the Dojo. Mihawk would be available to help mitigate you and Zoro adjusting to one another, you wouldn't be any further from your job than you already were, and there was help in breaking your current lease and getting moved. The Government did it's best to accommodate what it was forcing people to do, so that was a bit of tension off your shoulders.

"You are an impending member of this family now," Mihawk insists. "You two need to spend as much time together as you can. It might not seem so right now, but it will help to ease this transition."

"Ah, then I am in your care." You cave in and bow slightly as Zoro steps through the gate and waits for you to follow along.

The walk to the bus stop is quiet, but it wasn't much of a walk to begin with. You grab a bus schedule from the small shelter by the stop and begin to look through it. You know the bus schedules fairly well, but you want to be sure of what your new schedule's going to be to get to the library for work.

"You're taking all of this well." Zoro says. He wasn't looking at you, he was watching for the bus while you were looking over the schedule.

Not like there was much choice, you muse internally. "So are you."

Zoro grunts, and it makes you smile. There really isn't much else to say about it. It is what it is and it's going to be whatever it's going to be. You can make plans, and hope for the best, but this is something that takes two people to work and there's no way around that. If one takes the lead too forcefully over the other, then resentment could grow down the line.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, and I don't have a shift at the library, may I come over?"

"There'll be classes."

"If I don't disrupt them, may I sit in and observe?"

Zoro's dark eyes fall on you for a second before he goes back to watching for the bus. "Don't complain if you get bored."

"What time can I come over?"

"Breakfast is at 07:30. First class is at 08:30."

So as long as you showed up before one of those thresholds you wouldn't be disrupting anything. His sense of direction might be complete garbage, but at least he was easy to understand.

"If it's not rude of me to invite myself to breakfast, I'll be there at 7."

"... It's not."

Something felt warm in your chest, and you smiled softly to yourself. Neither of you said more until the bus showed up. You got your bus pass out, and noticed Zoro was doing the same. You almost said something, but if he hadn't intended to get on the bus, he wouldn't have taken the pass out. He knew what Mihawk was thinking more than you, so there was no reason to point it out.

He inclines his head, and you get on before him, the soft beep sounding behind you signaling that you were getting escorted all the way home. There were plenty of empty seats, and you sat in the middle-ish of the bus, with Zoro sitting beside you.

He draped his arm behind the back of your seat and crossed his legs. It looked more like he was getting comfortable than anything else. The closeness was a little more than you had anticipated, and you felt yourself become overly aware of him. It was as the bus began to move that you realized you were still wearing the tie.

"Here, let me give this back to you before I forget." You say, loosening the tie and rolling it up for him.

He stuffs it sourly into his pocket, his disdain for the tie pretty obvious. You'll have to make sure that any suit he has to wear for the wedding doesn't require a tie. You were sure as the bride you'd be able to push back on Mihawk's love of tradition at least a little bit.

You manage to relax a little as the bus ambles along on its stops, slowly closing in on your apartment. With two more stops to go you feel a chill go down your back. It was like earlier, there was someone looking at you, but this was less of a look and more of a piercing gaze. You fingers clench on the tops of your thighs, and the air around you feels thick. You've struggled with social anxiety since the first few bad reactions from people regarding your past, but this felt like your instincts kicking in.

Zoro's arm shifts, and his hand rests on your shoulder.

"(Y/N)." He says it softly, and you look up at him with concern. His brows knit at the expression on your face and you notice his gaze slipping around the bus as his body tenses. The oppressive feeling fades after a moment and as you unclench a fist you pat the top of his thigh a couple times.

"It's passed," you say quietly.

Zoro's hand on your shoulder flexes, but he doesn't move it away, and you feel the rest of his body relax. Even with his body relaxed there's something that feels sharp coming from him. Most of the time he seemed to be extremely apathetic about everything, but right now it was like he was trying to be aware of it all. With him on alert in that way you felt yourself relax.

When you got to your stop, Zoro got off the bus with you. He took the top of your arm firmly and led you away from the bus stop a little way down the block. The look on his face stopped you from pointing out you were going the wrong way. He wasn't hurting you, or dragging you, but that sharp look and feeling were both back in force.

You waited until his grip relaxed before you said anything. "Everything okay?"

"How often have you felt that?"

"Felt?" You were confused for a moment before realization came across your face. "Earlier today, I felt something kind of similar. Not as... hostile though. I didn't think much of it, but it's not something that's been happening for weeks or months or anything."

"Tell me if it happens again." His sharp gaze was on you, and you nod.

"Is it safe to go to my home now?" You ask quietly.

Zoro lets go of your arm, looking around once more. "Lead the way."

You walk Zoro to your apartment. There's no real reason for him to remember the way, in a couple weeks you'll be moved into the Dojo, and you'll spend as much time as you can over there in the meantime.

"Um..." You feel your face flush even though you're not trying to do anything with him. "Did you want to come in? There's not much, but if you're worried about earlier, you can stay for a drink."

Zoro was still looking around, and not at you, but he mutters a "Yeah, sure." And you turn away from him and unlock the door before your blushing face becomes an issue. Your modest apartment was pretty sparsely decorated, but you had enough furniture and dishes to entertain a single guest.

"You can leave your shoes on, I don't have slippers." You state, slipping your own shoes off out of habit.

"It's fine." Zoro replies, his shoes already coming off.

You step further in, pointing as you explain the important parts. "You can sit anywhere in the living room, and the bathroom's through the bedroom on the left. What would you like to drink? I have water, tea, coffee and, uh, well, I think that's it."

"Whatever you pick for yourself is fine." He answers, walking through the apartment slowly.

You tilt your head a bit, but you don't say anything. You decide to make some tea, it was a little too late for coffee, at least if you wanted to be up in time to make it to the dojo by 7am tomorrow. After a few minutes you'd made two cups of tea and Zoro and stopped pacing around your apartment.

"Were you looking for cameras?"

"...Yeah."

"I'd be impressed if there were any in here." You admit, taking a sip of your tea and sinking back into your couch. "A few years back I got really paranoid that someone was watching me, and I started checking for bugs every time I got home from anywhere. It was exhausting, but it turned into a habit and I still check every week."

"I thought you said this wasn't ongoing." His grumbles.

"It isn't ongoing. That was like... six years ago. Today's the first time since then." You clarify.

"Did you report it?"

Your eyes stare into your cup and you fall silent for a moment. You sense Zoro's gaze fall on you and mutter your response before taking a drink. "No."

Zoro doesn't say anything more, and the two of you sip your tea in silence for a long while. The silence itself isn't uncomfortable, but you're both on edge, listening for any weird noises, and mulling over the events of the day. Despite his brusque nature, you were happy to realize you weren't afraid of him, even completely alone with him like this.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the sun was down when Zoro finally stood up to leave.

"I should head back."

You nod and stand up to show him out.

"Make sure you lock the door."

"Of course."

"Call me if something happens."

"Uh, sure."

"And, uh..." Zoro rubs the back of his neck. "Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome." You reply, smiling happily. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Zoro grunts as he walks off. You try not to watch him, thinking it wouldn't do much good to make yourself worry about him getting lost. He's survived this many years one way or another, there wasn't much you could do about it anyway.

You lock the door, and the bolt, and decide to put the little chain thingy across the door as well. After a moment of thinking about it you go around all the rooms and double check that the windows are locked. By now your nerves are on edge, but you still need to try and sleep, so you decide to reinforce the door by putting the recliner in front of it. Grabbing a blanket, you opt to sleep in the recliner to add more weight to it.

Your assumption is, if someone breaks a window, you'll have a couple seconds to shove the recliner free and run out of the door. If someone comes through the door, you'll have plenty of time to call Zoro and arm yourself. Both scenarios feel acceptable, so you set an alarm, cover yourself with the blanket and sink into the cozy recliner with little effort.

. . . . . .

Sleep found you in fits. Your dreams had been more like nightmares, even though you couldn't remember them as you groggily shifted in the recliner for the half dozenth time. It'd been some time since you had such bad nightmares, and of course since you needed to be up early it was happening tonight.

The last few emotions from your nightmares left you feeling unsettled, but since it was still dark out and your alarm hadn't gone off yet, you tried to drift back off to sleep when something caught your attention and froze you in place.

The doorknob shifted. You could hear it and see it.

Your eyes went wide, and your senses were immediately on edge. You were 100% awake, and staring at the doorknob, straining every sense you had. There was a soft scratching sound from the other side of the door that went on for a few long seconds.

For a brief moment it sounded like mice in the walls, but you realized it was coming from the doorknob itself.

Then the lock popped.

... Shit.

Next Chapter

#Some Direction #Roronoa Zoro x Reader #Zoro x Reader #one piece fanfiction #arranged marriage #reader insert

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mugiwara-no-toshokan · 1 year

Text

Some Direction

CisFem Reader x Roronoa Zoro

CW: Language, stalking, violence, sexual themes and situations, ptsd -- surprisingly fluffy despite it all. 18+ only

Chapter 3: Bad Directions

"The sun's still up, I'll be fine." You assure Mihawk again, but you can already feel yourself wilting. The stern man doesn't budge and won't take no for an answer.

"You are an impending member of this family now," Mihawk insists. "You two need to spend as much time together as you can. It might not seem so right now, but it will help to ease this transition."

"Ah, then I am in your care." You cave in and bow slightly as Zoro steps through the gate and waits for you to follow along.

"You're taking all of this well." Zoro says. He wasn't looking at you, he was watching for the bus while you were looking over the schedule.

Not like there was much choice, you muse internally. "So are you."

"Tomorrow's Saturday, and I don't have a shift at the library, may I come over?"

"There'll be classes."

"If I don't disrupt them, may I sit in and observe?"

Zoro's dark eyes fall on you for a second before he goes back to watching for the bus. "Don't complain if you get bored."

"What time can I come over?"

"Breakfast is at 07:30. First class is at 08:30."

So as long as you showed up before one of those thresholds you wouldn't be disrupting anything. His sense of direction might be complete garbage, but at least he was easy to understand.

"If it's not rude of me to invite myself to breakfast, I'll be there at 7."

"... It's not."

"Here, let me give this back to you before I forget." You say, loosening the tie and rolling it up for him.

Zoro's arm shifts, and his hand rests on your shoulder.

"It's passed," you say quietly.

You waited until his grip relaxed before you said anything. "Everything okay?"

"How often have you felt that?"

"Tell me if it happens again." His sharp gaze was on you, and you nod.

"Is it safe to go to my home now?" You ask quietly.

Zoro lets go of your arm, looking around once more. "Lead the way."

"Um..." You feel your face flush even though you're not trying to do anything with him. "Did you want to come in? There's not much, but if you're worried about earlier, you can stay for a drink."

"You can leave your shoes on, I don't have slippers." You state, slipping your own shoes off out of habit.

"It's fine." Zoro replies, his shoes already coming off.

"Whatever you pick for yourself is fine." He answers, walking through the apartment slowly.

"Were you looking for cameras?"

"...Yeah."

"I thought you said this wasn't ongoing." His grumbles.

"It isn't ongoing. That was like... six years ago. Today's the first time since then." You clarify.

"Did you report it?"

Your eyes stare into your cup and you fall silent for a moment. You sense Zoro's gaze fall on you and mutter your response before taking a drink. "No."

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the sun was down when Zoro finally stood up to leave.

"I should head back."

You nod and stand up to show him out.

"Make sure you lock the door."

"Of course."

"Call me if something happens."

"Uh, sure."

"And, uh..." Zoro rubs the back of his neck. "Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome." You reply, smiling happily. "I'll see you tomorrow."

. . . . . .

The doorknob shifted. You could hear it and see it.

For a brief moment it sounded like mice in the walls, but you realized it was coming from the doorknob itself.

Then the lock popped.

... Shit.

#Some Direction #Roronoa Zoro x Reader #Zoro x Reader #one piece fanfiction #arranged marriage #reader insert #x reader

12 notes · View notes

gyoobies · 2 years

Text

Worst Impressions

Pairing: Kun x Fem Reader

Genre: a little angst, a little fluff, implied smut

Warnings: Explicit content 18+, Minors DNI, suggestive, Kun is annoying but means well.

Summary: You'd been wanting to get to know Kun since your brief encounter at Ten's gallery showing, but you soon regretted ever crushing on him when he starts to work your last nerve during what should have been an easy beginners pottery session.

Y'all know the drill, if you see mistakes... no you don't 🤎

-----

You were 2 seconds away from kicking the entire group out of your studio.

When this evening's party rolled into your studio for their private pottery class you were pleased to find it was a group of men, ridiculously good looking men that you'd come to know in passing thanks to your neighbor Ten, but as the night went on you began to regret opening up your studio for private parties. It wasn't the whole group, really, just one person in particular, Mr. Perfect. You'd come to learn his actual name was Kun, Qian Kun.

The group had only been there for an hour, and right out the gate it was easy to see who in the group was the know it all. He was so hell-bent on being your teacher's aid, constantly adding on to the instruction you were giving, and smiling at you as if waiting for confirmation or praise for being knowledgeable on the subject. If it wasn't for the fact that you’d actually gotten pretty close to Ten you'd have asked Kun to leave the session for disruption, but the look of silent begging from Ten kept you quiet.

Another hour passed with you silently screaming everytime Kun over-explained your previous topic of discussion. Finally able to leave them to work on their projects alone, you took the opportunity to step away from the studio for a quick break.

When you'd first met Kun weeks ago at one of Ten's gallery showings you didn't get this annoying, know-it-all vibe from him. In fact you'd kind of been interested in getting to know him better, really interested actually. He seemed charming, and his smile could put anyone on their knees, but after today you had no doubt in your mind why someone so handsome was single. Who would want to have someone constantly stepping on their toes? Just as you let a sigh leave your lips you heard a familiar voice greet you.

You turned to see a smirking Ten.

"Hey"

"I know you can do better than that." You spat. Rolling your eyes, causing Ten to laugh.

"Wow! You're really laughing right now."

"I'm sorry, it's just you're so cute when you're annoyed."

"Well I'm about to get even cuter if you don't shut up."

"so fiesty!"

"TEEEEEN!" You whined. "Why didn't you tell me your gorgeous friend was a pain in the ass?! Like you seriously let me ask if he was single, his interests and didn't once mention that being a top tier annoyance was #1 on his eligibility resume!"

By this time Ten couldn't fein seriousness any longer (not that he was doing a good job of it in the first place) and sent a chorus of laughter through the halls.

"I'm so sorry! Really, I am. I didn't tell you because he's not usually like this. I really can't explain his behavior today, even Hendery said he was acting a little odd and that's a big deal coming from him of all people. Maybe he's stressed and this is a response to it? I really don't know, but while you finish trying to quell your blinding fury I'll talk to him."

Letting out an exasperated sigh you thanked him.

Upon reaching the doorway of your studio, Ten's eyes immediately fell to Kun who was in the middle of giving advice, again. Calling out his name to get his attention, Ten waved the man in question over to the door and ushered him to a spot a few feet away from the outside of the entrance.

"Is everything ok?" Kun questioned.

"Well, not really. Why are you acting so strange today?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know how you always say you hate when someone talks over you or attempts to break down what you've said or ..." Before Ten could continue Kun interrupted.

"I'm that guy today huh?"

"Yes! And I'd appreciate it if you didn't make my newest friend feel like she wants to throw you off a cliff for the rest of the class."

"Well, I really messed this up."

His extremely defeated face prompted Ten to pry a bit as to why he was being so annoying.

"What do you mean? I'm sure in time she'll forget this day and you can eventually be friends." Ten watched carefully as his friend's shoulders slumped.

"Ah! I see! So, you like her and this is... what? A poorly thought out attempt to impress her? That explains your pottery knowledge that we had no idea you had."

At that moment, a thought crossed Ten's mind, and he giggled, causing his somewhat defeated friend to glare at him.

"I'm sorry, but just thinking about you studying up on pottery is killing me."

Ten reached out to stop his friend that was now storming away, but just missed grabbing his shoulder as he turned from him.

"Where are you going?! The class isn't over!"

"To the restroom!" He shouted back.

You headed back to your studio assuming they'd be far enough along that you’d be able to offer suggestions for improvement or answer any questions, if Kun hadn't already done that. Just as you rounded the corner to the studio you caught a glimpse of a pretty somber looking Know-it-all walking back into the studio.

The next hour was much better as far as instructing everyone with no interruption, but you couldn't help the slight feeling of guilt when you noticed how withdrawn Kun had become. You only wanted him to respect you and not take over your class but seeing his zoned out expression led you to believe maybe Ten was right and he hadn't meant to steal your thunder.

As you gave a few pointers to YangYang you noticed how good Kun's piece actually was.

"Wow! This is beautiful." You complimented, not realizing you were about to rest your hand on the sharp end of one of the sculpting tools. Just as Kun looked up to you, you let out a yelp at the pain of the tool, puncturing your palm. It didn't even take a second for Kun to realize what happened and immediately he reached for his satchel and grabbed your hand to lead you to the restroom down the hall. He didn't say anything when you entered the restroom, he simply got to work. Picking you up, and sitting you on the sink, he rinsed the palm of your hand, gently dabbed it dry and pulled out a first aid kit from his bag. You were very grateful that he, for some reason, carried around a first aid kit, but gratitude couldn't stop the giggle that escaped you because of that fact. He was clearly too focused on tending to your wound to notice it or the way you scanned his handsome features. If he was oblivious or just avoiding looking at you because of the talk Ten had with him you didn't know, but he couldn't ignore you any longer when he finished. He slowly looked up at you and gave you a tight lipped smile. You had even realized what you had done when you caressed his cheek until he grabbed your wrist, startling you, and kissed your freshly bandaged palm while apologizing for being such a pretentious jackass. Dropping his head in what you presumed was embarrassment, he further explained that he was only trying to impress you with his knowledge of pottery.

"It's not like I even studied pottery or sculpture, I just researched enough so that I could impress you."

You were flattered, never had anyone ever studied up on your field just to try to woo you.

"Well you failed miserably, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered that you wanted to impress me, even though you didn't need to." You said as you hooked your leg around the back of his knee causing him to stumble into you a bit.

" What made you think you needed to impress me?" You whispered, not needing to speak much louder as he was only inches away from your face.

"The gallery." He whispered as he moved a little closer.

"What about the gallery?" Now it was your turn to inch a little closer.

"I was impressed listening to you discuss all the paintings in depth with Ten, and I quickly noticed I wasn't the admirer you had." He tried to inch closer again but you placed a hand on his chest to keep him in place, signaling that you needed him to elaborate further.

"I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of your circle."

"I see, so you opted to look like an idiot in front of your circle instead." You moved closer this time. "My circle was definitely not in attendance that night, and based on

the things I learned about you from Ten, you shouldn't ever worry about needing to impress anyone."

"You asked about me?"

"less talking." You groaned, causing him to flash that gorgeous smile before moving in to kiss you.

His lips were even softer than you'd imagined when you first laid eyes on him, and the way he kept his body pressed against yours was dizzying. He was gentle, never taking more than he knew you were willing to give. He let you lead, happy to know you were just as into him as he was you, happy just to be the one you wanted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he quickly pulled you closer. Grunting at the feeling of you subtly grinding against him. You pulled away to lean back and enjoy the sight of him, hair disheveled from your fingers raking through it, eyes heavy with lust and adoration and a very noticeable bulge in his pants. Well, that was the plan, but instead you ended up wincing at the pain when you had foolishly forgotten how you ended up in the bathroom in the first place.

Kun was quick to pull you forward again, holding you flush against his chest, kissing your palm and making sure you were ok.

"How does it feel?" He asked softly.

"So good" you said as you pulled his hips into you more, still able to feel how turned on he was.

Kun bit his bottom lip as he watched you squirm in an attempt to feel more friction.

The thought of feeling you wrapped around him was driving him crazy, but he wanted to make sure you wanted it just as much as he did so he took his time. Slowly, he undid the button on your pants, pausing to give you a chance to change your mind if you wanted before removing them. You smiled at how much of a gentleman he was being even though you were about to let him fuck you in a public bathroom, at least that's what you were both hoping for but a sudden jiggling of the door knob accompanied with a "shit!" followed by quickly retreating footsteps startled you both but left the two of you giggling.

"Maybe we should find a more suitable place for this." You laughed.

Kun agreed as he fumbled to redo the button of your pants.

"They're probably wondering where we are by now." He stated while helping you down from the sink, sighing as he thought about the looks and suggestive jokes they were 100% going to make when you weren't looking, but when you took his hand to lead him back to the studio he decided he didn't care.

As you stepped confidently back into the studio you paid no mind to the smug look on Ten's face, and began to look over everyone's pieces. Kun on the other hand was doing a horrible job of being unbothered by prying eyes, blushing immediately the second someone pointed out his disheveled hair.

Ending the class went well, you explained how you'd fire them in the kiln and in a week or so they could come back to paint them.

Never missing an opportunity to be nosey, Ten made his way over to you as everyone else placed their pieces on the rack in the corner of the room.

"My new neighbor fucking my best friend in a bathroom while we made clay pots was not on my bingo card." He whispered.

"I didn't. We kissed and it got a little heated." You explained, recounting the poor guy that probably shit himself running to another restroom while the two of you attempted to straighten up.

"Well, you should probably think about picking up where you left off. It's been a while since he's gotten any, he might explode if you don't finish."

You laughed and turned to face Ten, motioning him to come closer to hear you.

"Oh I have every intention of finishing, on that table, that chair, and the loveseat against the wall." You whispered as you pointed to each location.

"Eww, please disinfect everything before we come back." He laughed as he walked away to put his piece on the rack with the others.

Your eyes traveled to Kun after saying your goodbyes to everyone as they began to pack up to leave the studio. You were pleased to see he hadn't made any attempt to move from his seat.

"Not coming to eat with us?" Hendery questioned before moving toward the exit.

"Not this time, I'm going to have a meal with her." He nodded toward you.

"You could both come."

"They're trying to" Ten laughed as he grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him out the studio, closing the door behind him.

I love him SM, but I deadass feel like if he likes you he might try too hard, when he really ain't gotta do much except exist.

#nct fic #nct kun #nct fanfic #nct smut #wayv kun #kun smut #kun fanfic #kpop fic #kpop smut

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spookycrazyhatboxghost · 2 years

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So I started this after seeing everyone make posts about caff —- but it kind of ran away from me.

No matter how unfortunate it was for the tooka that had made a comfortable bed in the dip of his spine. Xók was awake as soon as the first blushing of dawn spilled into the room and over his face.

Privately he mused upon waking \what major or minor Man’da he had to suck to get caff first thing in the morning?\

He did not have the luxury to simply turn over and curl back up into the nest of blankets he called a bed.

Syril made a disgruntled merp at him as he arched into a stretch and truly disrupted her attempts to go back to sleep.

But now that she was awake she started to yowl for sustenance.

Early hours be damned.

Checking his data-pad to see that he had an hour until guard shift so maybe he didn’t have to go all morning without caff.

Responding to the grippy little fingers at his bare leg; Xók was still surprised at his morning voice

“Oh I know sweetness — just give me like ten minutes”

He said to the disappearing flick of her tail as she padded out of the doorway to stand sentinel at her criminally empty food dish.

Powering down the data-pad and tossing it into the blanket pile; the human dropped into some light push-ups. Mentally checking off what his duties would be fore the day.

Once he was done feeding Syri he got in the shower; even if he had done so last night it was his routine.

After scrubbing throughly, washing and finger combing his hair— brushing his teeth, and applying his scar cream to his pecs. Xók deciding to shave his face while he was in there.

As soon as he was dressed and putting on his polished Beskar’gam; he caught a look of his reflection, faltered for a moment when he didn’t recognize the young face looking back at him with worried eyes.

He looked—squishy; vulnerable and hated it instantly.

If he thought for a second the guys on shift would make a big deal about it— he could just go down with his buy'ce on to get his caff.

Because of his height they already thought him younger and that was it’s own sarlak pit

No facial hair? No problem.

But it was a problem.

Because it two minutes passed when he was usually out the door and down the stairs — his hair was still wet.

Fuck him I guess?

With a hesitant gate he made it to the kitchens with just enough time to get caff in him before shift.

“And here I was just wondering what smelled like wildflowers so early in the morning, aren’t you pretty when you make an effort—?” A voice rang out from the hallway to his right and Xók quickens his stride to the counter like touching it would render him invisible.

He braced for impact of some kind.

A grip on the back of his flight suit he expects; but the feeling of Khal nosing at the back of his neck nearly makes him drop his helmet out of shock.

The anger flared bright and he snarls wordlessly and he rears back—and hopefully breaks the man’s nose with the back of his head.

Getting hot caff down the left side of him as he staggered to brace himself against the counter and try to breath through the panic skittering along his nerves.

“YOU BROKE MY NOSE—!”

Xók would grin if he didn’t feel so close to retching —could finally see he had. As Khal was cupping his face ; there was specks in his silver spun hair—blood dripping down his face, around his teeth. He had a fine face but a rotten core that Xók couldn’t stand.

“Obviously! I don’t recall us being so close as to warrant /THAT/ FROM THE LIKES OF YOU—” The dark haired man seethed; voice warbling without his permission.

There was a loud drumming that Xók was slow to realize was his own heartbeat.

Khal’s green eyes gain a panicked edge as their scuffle has started to attract the rest of the group who would be on guard duty with then.

“It—It was a joke!”

“No—Pouring blue milk and salt in my caff is a joke—giving me the tar at the bottom of the carafe is a joke—- not this. Never come near me again or Man’da save you from where I stick my vibroblade. —{Coward}

Xók spits at him; Mando’a rough in his anger—Now his want for caff truly soured.

His eyes sting; his skin is starting to throb painfully; taking a measured breath he turns to the head guard.

Kode; a Mando with midnight blue cast to his dark armor and an honor streak three parsecs long.

“I would like to head to the med bay— for just a few minutes! Jus— t to get some Bacta and I’ll go straight to my guard post—”

Xók puts in the request in the most even tone he can manage while his vision was swimming.

The helmet nods at him once and they close around a now restrained Khal.

He does not stay to watch

He does not head to the med bay.

Xók does let himself cry when he gets to his door; not audibly sobbing just silent tears born from fury rather then shame.

The shaking in his limbs abades only when he locks the door to his quarters and folds against the wall; buy'ce resting at his knee as he strips off the armor pieces that hide the injury and peal back the dampened fabric of his flight suit .

Bracing himself for the sting of Bacta spray; eyes closed he takes comfort in the purring mass of concerned tooka now pressed to his non injured side.

After he changes the ruined under layers and dries his flight suit; he re-dawns the armor with care. Cleaning off the caff streaks with careful attention.

Putting his helmet on is the last thing; he pops a few mint tablets and his empty stomach rolls.

He could deal with that for a few hours until shift end— they chased away the taste of salt and the phantom stench of Khal’s preference for seawater noted cologne.

His aversion to caff lasts a week; tea not cutting it and leaving him dead on his feet at the end of every shift change. It takes week for even the stubble to return but even when it looks exactly as before; he is still so jumpy.

He doesn’t see Khal again— doesn’t know if he’d gotten reprimanded or if they simply put them on seperate shifts.

Xók hasn’t visited his mother in the armory for fear of her reaction; as no doubt the news reaches her eventually.

He keeps his head down; does his job.

#spookycrazyhatboxghost #darth maul x male oc #ftm oc #uhg #my heart #whyyyyy

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theloniousbach · 6 months

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THE GALAPAGOS CHRONICLES

#1–Mid-day, Friday, 8 March 2024

Had all gone to plan, we would be in Miami at this point about 1/3 of the way into a 10 hour layover waiting for our flight to Quito that will get in at a projected 23:21. We were slated to leave at 5:30 am. Ugh. 10 hour layover, also ugh.

I went to sleep at 7 am, planning to get up at 1 to get to campus at 2 with an AppleWatch on my wrist and my phone on the bedside table. I took the phone off at 11 when I kept getting alerts. Young people communicating, right. Nope. I didn’t go back to sleep but at 1 when I did get out of bed and get my glasses I found out the flight had been bumped to 8:30 to 12:30. It’s currently 12:50.

So maybe 2 1/2 hours more and easily to the St Louis Airport for a breakfast of fish and chips conversing with Sam who is usually the one on the phone at the airport in the middle of part one of a still very long day in airports.

I have been too focused on the getting there to have it really sink in that I will be in South America andin the Southern Hemisphere, (near the Equator near the Equinox and at Quito’s 2850 meters/9350 feet in altitude, I am going to be as close to the sun as I will have ever been) for the first time. Above all, at a Darwin shrine like Down and Westminster Abbey.. But all that’s beginning to sink in.

Still it will be a late night and an earlyish morning (8 am) tomorrow and stupid early morning (5!?!, w-t-pickaletter) on Sunday for the flight into the Galapagos.

#1.5–Early Evening, Friday, 8 March 2024

I am not, as I might have thought, at this moment boarding a plane in Miami. I will not, as I might have thought, after an 18 hour day (with the asterisk that it was going to be a 21 hour day) gone to sleep in Quito. My 13 hour day in airports was “only” 8 hours.

We did spend 90ish minutes on the plane though. But the mechanical problem that delayed us could not be resolved. Even had we gone out at the 4 pm time they projected as we got off the plane, we would have missed the connection in Quito.

So we have been “delayed” not cancelled until 7 am tomorrow.

I sleep in my own bed, at least until 3 am. Poor Ellen has to drive us to the airport again when it’s dark. She gives up seeing knitting friends.

I think we will “only” have a 14 hour day tomorrow. We won’t see Quito to any real extent. And we are out of our hotel there at 5 am (sleeping in!) for the flight to the Galapagos on Sunday.

There isn’t an upbeat photo for this entry and GC #2 won’t be that picturesque either.

But I will be as relieved as excited to see the Galapagos on Sunday.

#2 in part—Saturday, 9 March 2024, 7:30 pm EST, Miami Airport

We are awaiting the arrival of the aircraft to take us to Quito which will depart 1.5 hours late. Due in at 12:46 am. I imagine I’ll be checked in by 2 am. We are due to be picked up for the run to the airport to get to the Galapagos at 5 am. I will be napping on the plane, but this will be the third night in a row of disrupted sleep after a week of just being excited/anxious.

But we got to the airport in St Louis at 9:15 am, time used to get the airline to enter things in the system so we could get through TSA and eat. Gyros for breakfast BUT the American Airlines food voucher didn’t work.

We got on the plane on time and even pushed back from the gate mostly on time. We sat on the tarmac for a little less than an hour over Spring Break congestion and, more importantly, weather in Florida.

We got to Miami’s jammed and hopping airport in plenty of time too much of which I devoted to waiting for a chicken burrito. But I ate—and I will try to sleep en route to Quito.

Yikes.

Day 2, Part 2–EuroBuilding Hotel, Quito, 3:15 am

It would appear that writing takes precedence over sleep as I may not have much electronics on the Galapagos. My phone will be a clock and a camera at least. I can probably add to the Google doc I am curating these on but posting them will be iffy.

We’re to be down in the lobby at 4:30 for transport to the airport for the flight to the islands. What we have gotten out of this hotel is showers and a chance to rearrange things. I’m using the WiFi for a tic.

We get to stay on the islands, not a tourist boat, because we are a Webster class with USFQ collaborators. I slept on the plane for a decent stretch, but I am pulling an all nighter. When I was their age, I didn’t do that. My experience with adult insomnia makes this bearable, but that I’ve had that licked as a general rule these past several years and particularly months makes this a challenge.

However my mantra is an unvoiced “I’m not too old for this shit.” :|| and a commitment to be a good Kansan because home on that range, never is heard a discouraging word.

Day 3–Casa de Nelly, San Christobal Island, 2:00 pm local time, feeling like 8 pm

We’re here and it is finally real. If I also wrote rather than sleep during my short hotel interlude, I spent valuable minutes being excited.

Seeing the likes of this between our welcome luncheon spot (freshly caught tuna in a pasta) and our hotel is simply amazing.

I am writing again instead of sleeping during nap time, but I don’t know I’d get up until midnight if I did sleep. So I’ll ride the excitement and wonder.

It’s rainy and that isn’t stopping us and we will be out in an hour for a hike, rain or no rain. We have settled into the hotel and had an orientation from our host institution as well as the meal with the last of the forced march of airports and airplanes behind us in the morning. But it felt like a full day at 10:30 am when we landed.

97% of the archipelago is national park and the population supports that and the ecotourism it fosters. We however are passersby, not tourists, semi-official under the aegis of Universidad de San Francisco de Quito which shares Webster University’s service to underserved populations, in this case Galapagoans who, if they left for education rarely came back.

We are definitely in the tropics and in the underdeveloped world, but it’s a different kind of underdevelopment with that as pristine as possible 97% and an upscale ness for the tourists. But we’re not typical tourists expecting suburban America. But I am now very curious about the natives.

But we’ll get out of their world tomorrow and into what makes this special. With some more food and some reasonable sleep and I’ll be able to meet it more than half way.

Day 3 Coda—Casa de Nelly, Monday, 11 March 2024, 6 am

Do not be alarmed by the hour. It is 7 am back home and I SLEPT for 8.5 hours, not unbroken but that doesn’t happen. Indeed, though I am not too old for this shit, I am feeling my age, lagging in the pack and ending the wonderful collegial conversation over dinner early.

But slow and steady was well worth it for a magnificent hike out of the Interpretation Center behind the USFQ campus. We climbed to observation decks overlooking Darwin Bay where HMS Beagle landed and frigate birds soared around us, then down to near that bay and an odd statue of Darwin (head to small, him well past his age when he was here), and around to a beach which, in succession, required stepping over iguanas on the path, frigate birds perched but 12 feet above us in a tree, and a sea lion which started to waddle up to one of the retreating students.

No pictures as my phone was in the hotel drying out from an inadvertent quick dip in a puddle. It wouldn’t charge but sitting for six hours in my air conditioned room worked the necessary magic. So I’ll have visual evidence today of a hike to a waterfall, a tortoise refuge, and a beach.

Walking back from dinner, there were sea lions on the sidewalks, as if they were sleeping rough, as the British would put it.

It’s all amazing. And that was through sleep exhausted eyes.

Day 4–Casa de Nelly, Monday, 11 March 2024, back from dinner

I have just posted the pictures of the sea lion pups hanging out near the Darwin/HMS Beagle statue on the boardwalk in town. My colleagues were heading to continue a wonderful conversation begun over ceviche mixto and, to try next time, shrimp in a coconut sauce when we saw them. We had ventured forth in a remarkable cloud burst which gave my rain coat and beach shoes good use.

I didn’t have said beach shoes during our chance to frolic in the water. I cooled off too but lost my sunglasses in the waves so I headed back to our area which we shared with a sea lion on one of the benches. I would have added a photo of him/her but previous attempts have failed. Still it was a refreshing end of that part of the excursion part of the day.

We started in the highlands with a hike to El Junco Lagoon, the islands sole body of fresh water. It was too misty to take advantage of its vistas of the other side of the island, so it was another steep climb. I think there were gradients that were of interest but I lagged behind and didn’t hear explanations. But it is all quite remarkable.

It was even mistier on our way climb back up to retrace our steps back to town after the beach. The middle of the day included the breeding center for tortoises for which I have posted pictures of them and two different videos of the same beast walking quite briskly onto the path and then towards and past me. Absolutely fascinating and the definite high point of a stunning day and perhaps the entire week.

But snorkeling lies ahead tomorrow and the adventures will continue. So I’m willing to give those activities fair consideration in comparison to the tortoise.

Day 5–Back at Casa de Nelly after small boat/snorkeling (!?!) excursion to Isla Lobos, Tuesday, 12 March 2024, 2 pm

Our official day is over after a four and a half hour boat trip along the shore of San Christobal to a small, calm bay near Isla Lobos. We saw these blue footed boobies, frigate birds including males with big red pouches, a huge manta ray, and countless sea lions.

I was generally timid staying in the back of the boat and not climbing up top. I did snorkel though I held onto a life preserver and was towed by the guide. I don’t know how much my occasional paddling with my flippers helped. I also wore a life jacket. But I kept my head in the water and breathed through my mouth through the tube. Our guide said to do yogic breathing, for efficiency and to avoid panic, so I’m glad I had that in my arsenal.

Others swam to a beach after lunch and came back even after rain came up. Our trip back to town was in a steady but pleasant rain. So it has been a watery day.

The class will be meeting shortly, but I will let them conduct their business and rest. Quiet will be worthwhile.

Day 5 coda—Casa de Nelly, Tuesday, 12 March 2024 after dinner

I take crap selfies but I took ones with the two sculptures of Charles Darwin along the waterfront in town.

It has finally struck me here with the students that, unlike these images and even the ones at the Interpretive Center, way closer at 26 to their age than the older famous man depicted here. He was at loose ends. He graduated from Cambridge at 22 and takes a gap year that lasts about 5. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, except it ain’t what the expectations other have for him.

When he’s our leader’s age, he’s polishing and repolishing the big book Natural Selection of which On the Origin of Species is the condensed version and which serves as source notebooks for many of his subsequent books, the one long argument. And, yikes, when he’s my age, he’s got four years to live.

Still I identify with Darwin in this very limited sense. I’m on this expedition in an odd role. I am seen as one of the professors by the “crew,” but, bless them, they are amiable and tolerant and good natured. On the boat today, the recreation director put on a playlist from her phone that included a much higher percentage of songs I recognized—and more than a few I actually liked. I’m confident I wasn’t being patronized, though perhaps I was taken into account.

It’s a fascinating place, truly a laboratory of evolution. Because it was only in retrospect that Darwin recognized that, he is appropriately an afterthought around here. I would like to get a cap with some Darwin reference, but that’s not part of the souvenir trade. And that’s probably about right.

Days 6-8–Casa de Nelly, Friday, 15 March 2024, after breakfast

Yesterday was a lost day for the students as their data collection was rained out and for me as I had/have a full blown case of what I’m calling Fitzroy’s Revenge, thinking it better to punch up on Darwin’s benefactor/nemesis than on some Inca leader and certainly not the inappropriate Aztec leader whom Yanquis all to readily blame.

I spent about 18 hours in bed sleeping intermittently and moving to the bano more frequently and urgently. I missed out on two celebratory meals but no excursions. I continue to take it easy and will be seriously medicated as we fly to Guayaquil and on to Quito this afternoon. But I am doing better.

Besides Fitzroy, do I blame the pork soup on Wednesday’s lunch or the cheese empanada/ceviche for dinner that day or the rinsing of my toothbrush from the tap? I regret being puny, but folks have taking fine care of me.

I spent a couple of hours in town helping a couple of students getting in one set of observations of sea lions, but then a serious rain came up and our leader called it for everybody as it might well have been worse in the park.

Wednesday afternoon was also called off as we couldn’t get to Finca Guadalupe so that was quiet though I didn’t nap as perhaps I should have. Instead I reread the fruits of my predecessor as a supernumerary on a previous trip with students. Paul Stroble absorbed all the wondrous things we see and created a poetry collection called “Galapagos Joy.” I’ve read it before, maybe even in manuscript form and certainly before this trip. But reading it here with my own mental images reinforcing Paul’s insights was quite special.

Days 8-10–Hotel Cumbaya, Sunday, 17 March, 2024,5:30 pm (almost bedtime)

In addition to Fitrzroy, I evidently pissed off Bishop Wilberforce and Richard Owen too as, to not bury the lede, I was released at midday after at least 36 hours of attention from Quito’s teaching Hospital de Los Valles where they rehydrated me and infused me with antibiotics and various under wonder drugs, including a sleep aid that let me have 6 1/2 hours sleep.

I came in very puny, shivering in part because I did what I could twice to clean my pants. I’ve got some schtick here because of course I do, but let’s just leave it at that.

It was quite comfortable really with excellent care from remarkably good natured staff who used Google Translate with me quite effectively. I had extremely limited electronics (phone, not iPad) but could turn iMessages into texts home to Ellen who passed things on to Sam. But, particularly or even at diminished levels, my brain is an okay place spend time in. I’ve certainly put lots of things in there, so I opened a few boxes. And I listened to a NYTimes Duke Ellington playlist and one of ballads from Blue Note albums that the label distributed..

They kept asking if I was nauseated. Well, except for when my wet boots came out of the suitcase and smelled like sea lions, no. Evidently what I do instead is respond to the burbling below by getting hiccups which come and go. Annoying enough but not nausea.

Poor Ellen with Sam felt helpless. So did I but I don’t think there was anything to do. I actually can advocate for myself, but I am grateful to Nicole Miller-Struttmann who was a bulldog, even though I am no Darwin. There are rescheduling and administrative logistics that I would muddle through if I were at full strength. Our USFQ contact Pieter was good company and even did my laundry which was huge. Mara and Gabriel from USFQ also saved my sorry ass.

At Ellen’s insistence, I’m pampering myself by flying business class and may well use a wheel chair in Miami. Old Jewish guy in a wheel chair? I think if I can work on my entitlement during the business class time, I may just fit in.

I posted a picture from lunch overlooking Quito. It was good to be on my feet and to have some food I wanted to eat. It’s stayed in me just fine thought I’ve mostly hiccuped since. I did not walk around the artisanal market where Nicole got some gifts for kiddos.

Some of our Webster kiddos have landed in St Louis, but many including Steph Schroeder are flying out perhaps even after us. Since they aren’t on this platform they won’t know to be on the lookout for a particular entitled old Jewish guy in a wheelchair in the MIami airport.

Days 10-11, 16-17 March 2024, Quito

I teach about place, inspired conceptually by JB Jackson, including his impact on Edgar Anderson and John Stillgoe, among others. Vernacular architecture, landscape, communities and the very buildings all contain the subtlest of cues about the culture that shaped and is shaped by that place.

Once sprung from the hospital, I had about 12 hours in the town itself, some of it spent sleeping—or trying to. Even then, I had the sounds of the street distracting and intriguing me as I listened to the community of Cumbaya wind down.

After dropping bags off at the Hotel Cumbaya in the community of that same name and near the USFQ campus, we climbed up from the valley to that wonderful restaurant where we looked down on the old bullfight arena and the magnificent old Cathedral and a panorama of the old town and its expansion. It was a two lane road with some winding, not crowded for a Sunday afternoon, but evidently the only way up. Undoubtedly it’s crowded during the week. But one imagines there’s a resignation to the circumstances. Other roads are crowded, especially by US standards, and not relentlessly efficient. Drivers dodge around one another and there has to be a driving culture but it seems more cheerful than, say, the LA Freeway.

At 2:30 am, we tapped on our cabbie’s window and he awoke to take us to the airport along those now empty highways. There are a hodgepodge of businesses close to the road, more industrial than commercial, on the basis of their meager parking areas. It’s a car culture, but somehow not a parking one. People use cars but we maintain the places for ourselves. At least in old Cumbaya the streets are fairly narrow. Cars are one tool among many, not the essential Swiss Army knives we make them.

But they are used, including into the night, or at least passed dark when a weary and still ill traveler needing to arise at 2 am tried to sleep. So too is there a street life with young people, mostly men, hanging out and laughing amiably. It all seemed so good natured that I couldn’t justly complained.

It’s a capital in the Global South, much poorer than it could and certainly should be, but in the areas where the likes of me went, it seems not grindingly so. It was not as bad as I feared and was prepared to see. On the broad boulevards there are the signs of Norteamericano brands and consumerism. Tommy Hilfiger, I heard, specifically did not design for these brown people and yet they embrace his brands, maybe confounding and challenging the insult but nonetheless putting money in the racist’s pocket. Consumerism always wins.

But, at first, it seems an unlikely place to build a city. It is a daunting task and that it was done so long ago prompts even more admiration for the ingenuity of those people. But it was a sacred place, the capital of first Los Quitos who lost out to the Incas who lost out to the Spanish who lost out briefly and partially to the Ecuadoreans who use the US dollar as their currency. Thus it’s profaned, but once it was sacred and significant as a key spot on route from the Andes to the Amazon. As impressive as the peaks are, it’s the valleys that were rich in agriculture. The mining is now limited, but those resources are directly from the geological richness.

It is an unlikely place to build a city because it is 2850 meters in elevation. They may use American money, decimal based as it is, but not our other ludicrous measures. So that’s 9350 feet. It being so very near the Equator, so very near the Equinox, and so very elevated, I was as close to the sun as I ever will be or maybe ever could be. I got enough sun at lunch to be surprised and felt that warmth as I tried to sleep. I was not up for any walking around (I sat in the car and watched people go into the artisanal market), but I felt the altitude and there was a pressure on my chest that lifted only in the plane and then back at near sea level in Miami.

There is a large statue—of St Gabriel, I’m told—overlooking the old town. The bull fight arena and Cathedral are the most impressive representations of the Colonial era but the surroundings are, undoubtedly at ground level, able to tell even more about those days.

But unencumbered by such details, I can tell myself wide ranging stories. With only slightly more visual facts about the few other parts of the city that I saw, I nonetheless have this indelible and precious image of Quito.

Day 12–18 March 2024, Quito>Miami>St Louis

We were at Quito Airport by 3 am and at the gate in plenty of time even for me to be taken down in a wheelchair to security to look at the bottles of electrolytes in my packed bag. They passed muster though I would have been happy enough to have them confiscated then. It would have saved me from throwing them away in Miami.

Blech! I had found some mango nectar which was much better but still not as sweet as in the US. I bought another one for the road but didn’t drink it and so had to give it up in Miami too. But mangos are a gift and I have frozen fruit bars among my at home comfort food.

E bought me Business Class seats to Miami at quite a pretty penny. I’m glad I’m married by now to someone who’s rich as it was valuable above all to have a bano nearby and shared among a much smaller pool. Otherwise, it was a lot to pay for a warm wash cloth, omelette, orange juice, a couple of cups of tea, and a glass of water (yes, a glass and silverware too), and leg room. I’m old enough to remember pre-cattle car days when at least the leg room and food with silverware were more accessible. Of course there was a smoking section.

But such extortion is common. One of our students bought a ticket on a plane he was flying standby. He paid the ransom, just as we did—and the airline benefits from being incompetent. They had delayed, not canceled, our outbound flight, so that they were liable only for some $12 meal vouchers (mine didn’t work). The bulk of our party couldn’t take off from Quito for “weather” reasons—given the temperature the filled to the brim plane, maximizing filled seats, couldn’t get the needed lift. That delay led to them missing their connection (a couple of students had the door close in their face) and several different subsequent improvisations—the buying of the ticket to get on the standby flight, flying a different airline, different standbys with the last of us getting home 48 hours after plan. I was not the last one home, so my suggestion next time is to spend 36 hours in the hospital as a way to expedite one’s travel.

I was with our group leader who, besides taking wonderful care of me, was navigating the bureaucracy for all. It seems that we got hammered by the administrative inflexibility of non-refundable group tickets that required the University’s travel agency being in charge but that office not being around on the weekend. What was meant to be an economy measure probably cost more between the hotel rooms etc.

I am planning a Spring Break trip for next year. It won’t entail going through Miami and it won’t be going to the tropics, but, particularly, right now, I’m not exactly sure if I could handle all the logistics on top of the teaching. I might well have a Webster colleague along anyway, but I might just smuggle along one or both of the other ruthlessly efficient organizers that we Kleindorfs are.

I expected, as I’d written before, to have used wheel chairs in Miami Airport, but I made it through Customs and all the various lines and just kept going. The final indignity was that just before boarding time they shifted our gate from D40 to D15, so off we highstepped it, me too. Still somehow I made it on time and managed back home in steerage with my gut compliant.

It was 80 degrees in Miami and 40 in St Louis. E met us at the gate with coats and we got ourselves home.

Finally.

A veteran traveler and keen observer of how things really work commented on a previous post. I agree that it’s not just this airline. A friend was bumped back into the main cabin as they probably sold her upgrade out from under her. I’ve had Southwest Airlines meltdown on me a couple of times. United is in the news with some problems, including, I think, near collisions on the ground. And I went to the airport expecting to get to London a dozen years and having to turn around.

He writes:

“I’ve flown on most US airlines, and many foreign airlines in the course of business, government work, and personal. I fly a lot even now. I know of no American airline where your most recent adventure in flying couldn’t happen. It was bad before the Covid interregnum, awfully bad during it, and is worse now. Not enough pilots, not enough maintenance staff, overworked air traffic controllers working an technologically obsolete air traffic control system, serious crew shortages, supply chain problems for parts, and more. I’ve lost track of stories as bad and worse than what you just went through. Having said that, it’s not every time. For every trip with some sort of problem or delay, the next one will leave on time and arrive on time. It’s a crap shoot.”

I thank him for these insights as he delineates all the reasons and is right in taking a big step back. From that vantage point, the indignities of any particular fiasco have a context. But that context is that the system for systemic reasons isn’t working. Airline travel serves a relatively privileged layer (one of our students hadn’t ever flown before). We may not be able to get from Tokyo to the Super Bowl on private planes, but we have more opportunities to travel than, I would guess, the cab driver who slept in his vehicle waiting to take us to the Quito Airport. The system isn’t reliable for our layer.

It hasn’t been reliable for the likes of that cabdriver around even more important things like health and education for a long time.

Conclusion/s

Was it worth it? Though a reasonable question, I answer with an emphatic yes.

It’s true that my active Galapago-ing was from midday Sunday (shaky from lack for sleep for two days) to the rain out Thursday late morning (with illness coming on. Those four days compare to another four devoted to travel and three of being pretty sick. And there are hospital costs and the Business Class extortion. The money, I have the luxury of saying, is secondary.

I have indulged indentifying with Charles Darwin throughout, in particular as a supernumerary with peculiar interests. I heard the kids expressed concern for their historian just as the HMS Beagle crew called Darwin Philosopher. They were wonderful, welcoming, and exciting in their interests and curiosities. Observing them in a boundaried but not detached way was the first acquisition. We all went through so much together.

But Darwin’s time on the boat was a consistent misery of seasickness and he spent as much time ashore as possible. But, without minimizing that suffering, he knew that whatever suffering he endured the wonders of what he saw was worth it. Me too.

The beach near but not, I guess, at Darwin Bay is, I realize, the most spectacular memory. On Day 3, I wrote, “…around to a beach which, in succession, required stepping over iguanas on the path, frigate birds perched but 12 feet above us in a tree, and a sea lion which started to waddle up to one of the retreating students.” Add the absolutely genuine jawdropping joy of one of the most bird-loving but distant students at the frigate birds was special.

I had a tortoise walk right along the path by me and at a good clip too. The tortoises were charismatic and specific to their refuge.

I wasn’t ill but I was waning as the full crew marched over volcanic rocks to a peak at La Loberia. But I got an hour of watching the crash of Pacific waves that will more than tide me over until looking at Great Lakes over the summer. Waves are a great joy and I got them.

I was assigned to the sea lion researchers and I enjoyed seeing them then and during my walks downtown. It is odd to be rather complacent about such magnificent animals. Indeed, I’ll say it again, my wet boots smelled like them and, in the hospital, that was the closest to being nauseated as I got. Interestingly, I get hiccups when there are rumbles in my gut that cause the diaphragm to spasm. It is they who are my example of the extreme lack of fear among this fauna.

And I snorkeled! Sure I was dragged but I saw urchins and rays and eels and spectacular fish. I managed all that. And the boat ride brought us near blue footed boobies and frigate birds. Being on the water has to be part of the island experience.

I enjoyed the ceviches and the grilled fish, but for now those remain suppressed memories. The fresh fruit juices were nice for not being over sweetened to US tastes. But for now food memories are, I’m afraid, fraught.

I got into the Southern Hemisphere at least a little. Quito and the Andes are now real in my mind as are examples of what imperialist exploitation has wrought.

At the moment, I feel pretty old—and I don’t like it. But I’m not too old for this shit. I wouldn’t do this specific thing again as that would be stupid. But I have no regrets whatsoever.

#2024 #travel #galapagos

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solardick · 8 months

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Hahah, watch me get a warning, or fired, for getting it done. Any use of positive enforcement is capped by response. Sorry for working?

Hour left of work? What?! No. Here. Third skid done, now its only going to you half hour at tops. But my times out. We aint supposed to do overtime. But, you know dont really have a choice. Cant fallow one rule without breaking another.

In this case, one chooses the more constructive choice. The topic theming optional outlets. What one does One plug in.

Oh, yeah, nice. Give her the devil card. Which means i’ll have to buy the deck again.

This one. I like this one. Moon in neptune with a dash of pluto. Card 15 holding 7 stars. Card seven chariot. Want to ride? On numbers 15 becomes six. The lovers and shows a sequence of progression forwards as 6 counts to 7. Cards are full of these. The A-fool shows a first image to creation. From 0, nothing, to one. It implies in itself a sequence of movement. As in the devil card of the man walking up the step, and the allure clouding over him. The image shows projection as well as the seven stars are mirrored by the seven swords below him. Thid being a modern” deck places the influence of waite in their atmoshere. As the seven of swords being this.

The seven stars may be viewed as the ether form of mater. Coins. 7 of coins combined to that of cups. As ether is t really anything else than beyond matter and blends to that which isn’t….if i have that right.

Transcending this duality of bs. Bringing the sevens back together. They equal out to 14. It creates a sequence of three. 14 here equals out to the pope and temperance. It preceeds the door. Have a level head, weight the options and the purse and rely on the logic which is the basis of the frame of mind the old testament is formed from. Or other options as to the gita. Becaise believing the bible because it tells me to while reading it even thoigh its incomprehensable half the time is trashy.

Well thats if one goes back a step first to see what one is looking at. Cheers bud. For thebonly letter left in this lone up of three is… the tower. Card 16. Poor man walked in and fell apart.

Three can’t mean jupiter can it? Three in the qwerty is the high priestess. She possesses the three. C? The three are formed to her image. Gross. In the tarot 3 is the empress. One whim brings form to matter. She matters. More than anything. If anything did at all. It would be her. And so the heart fills up with love. Mother or mother Mary, or blessed virgin daughter. Love here is as pure a white as white can be.

Pls, luv come to me.

Free my friend.

For temperance breaks down into the E-fool. Which is found in the essence of the emperor. The emperor here is framed by truth into the image of war. Destruction, poverty and pain. But here in the current context the emperor and the fool, being one and the same gives to the impression of the male. Is more of a descriptive factor that lends to the present script. The E-fool to bring coherence back is in time as a despot. Orphan. Coming from a path opened by death or darkness. A serpent per say fallowing through the gate. Sensible to the feeling of guilt. But the emotion isnt obligatory or set by law. So the poor man bereft of any foundation of familial love, if not purposefully made the dogs bark. Disrupting the peace at the make beleive thing dogs are known to sound at. Lowers ones resistance to the call of happiness and emotional security.

And people complain about the little things for your safety and well being. And yet. People like to live dangerously. It’s natural.

#tarot #tarotblr #qwerty

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thenon-fictiondays · 2 years

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Hirano to Kagiura light novel translation 1-4

Chapter 1: The first time.

Part 4

Part 3 || Part 5

T/N: (1) In Japanese schools, the new school year starts in springtime, so that's why the first years are said to be new students as of late-June.

(2) Schools can be very strict about all aspects of students' appearances including hair dye, to the extent that some schools will force you to dye your hair to black even if your natural color is lighter. This school doesn't seem to be too strict about color though, since this is a slice of life and the character designs need to stand out.

There are four days left until final exams.

In late June, just before summer vacation, the Disciplinary Committee is scheduled to conduct morning dress code inspections at the school gate.

Because there is no morning practice due to club activities being prohibited right before exams, this is the only time of year in which athletic club members come to school at the same time as everyone else.

A heavy sleeper like Kagiura can sleep through even important times like this, and it had taken longer to wake him than it normally does when he wakes up at 5 AM.

Kagiura isn’t the type to take a long time getting dressed, but the fact that he was still half-asleep was a little worrying, so because Hirano had to leave their room first, he had given him a bit of a harsh warning.

That being said, because the inspection is a regular event for which they are given advance notice, there are very few students who violate the rules. It’s almost boring without any disruptions, and Hirano does his best to complete the checks while stifling his yawns.

A lot of the first years that started school just a few months ago are still nervous about high school life, so they’re hung up on wearing their uniforms properly.

Students are told ‘keep your collar button fastened outside the school’, ‘don’t loosen your necktie’, ‘avoid wearing vests and cardigans in flashy colors or bold patterns’, and other such statements, but the most important rule is to not wear their uniforms outside of school, so as long as they pass the school gate there is nothing to worry about.

No penalty was inflicted on Hirano for his blonde hair besides a written apology, so although he is responsible for enforcing dress code regulations, he has not dyed his hair back to black.

Last year he had dealt with it very seriously because he was a first year, but dyeing it black and then immediately blonde again would seriously damage his hair. The chemicals would take unevenly, and the color would probably be blotchy. Considering the potential damage, it was much easier to write the apology letter, and for this year he decided to put off dyeing it black for as long as possible until the end of school ceremony.

Kagiura arrived all of five minutes before the bell.

“You’re cutting it awful close. I thought I woke you up properly this morning.”

“Yeah…sorry. By the way, there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Hm?”

“Who was that guy you were talking to just now? He had a mole under his eye—”

I’ve been talking to a lot of guys over the course of my duties, Hirano thinks quizzically, but the latter half of Kagiura’s words ring a bell.

“Oh, Miyano? He’s a kouhai in the committee.”

“.....Are you close with this Miyano guy?”

“I wouldn’t say close, but I guess I talk to him a fair amount. He’s kind of a weirdo, though.”

Hirano tilts his head to the side as he answers, thrown by the unexpected question.

If you’re curious, try peeking at the class next door, he thinks about adding on, but it seems unlikely that Miyano has anything to do there.

“Hmph.”

With that, Kagiura clams up, but he doesn’t move to walk away, and to the nearby committee members, it seems as if he’d been caught breaking the rules. Some of them steal glances, casting him strange looks. It’s only natural, since at a glance there isn’t anything wrong with his clothes or hairstyle.

“Whatever it is, if you don’t head to your classroom soon, you’ll be late.”

When he gives Kagiura’s back a push with a ‘go on’, Kagiura’s spaced out expression finally relaxes.

I see, this was his first dress code inspection, so he must’ve been nervous.

He’s such a loveable guy. Hirano breaks into a grin at his endearing nature, when a voice suddenly calls out from behind him.

“Kagiura, what are you standing around there for? Did you get held up by the dress code check?”

The student, a first-year in a freshly-pressed uniform, seems to be Kagiura’s friend. He’s empty-handed, so he probably stepped out from the classroom after already going inside.

“No, it’s not like that. He’s my roommate.”

“Ah, the rumored Hirano-san.”

“Hey, what rumors are you telling him?”

“I hear that you wake him up in the morning. My name is Niibashi; Kagiura and I are in the same class.”

In a bubbly voice, he adds on “nice to meet you”, to which Hirano, thrown by his vigor, replies only with “ah.”

The student who’d introduced himself as Niibashi is a boy of somewhat small stature. Standing next to Kagiura, he looks just like a middle-schooler, perhaps because of his childish facial features. His physical features are somewhat similar to Miyano’s, but his expression steeped in self-confidence gives a completely different impression.

His stature combined with his soft-looking, windswept hair makes him seem floofy, but he stands up straight, with good posture. If he’s friends with Kagiura, he’s probably the type to devote himself to sports.

“You’re the Hirano-san that gets mad when Kagiura doesn’t take notes?”

“.....Seriously, what have you been telling him, Kagi-kun? What’s up with saying I get mad?”

“Oh, that—it’s because when I told him ‘Hirano-san gets mad at me when I don’t take notes’, he seemed happy.”

Hirano can guess the boy’s character from the way he grins without breaking eye contact.

This kid’s a narcissist through and through.

He is well aware of his angelic face, and has mastered the art of using it to his advantage.

It might be disrespectful towards his new kouhai’s friend, but Hirano is rapidly getting the feeling that he’ll be a pain in the ass.

“......I’d heard that you have a friend that you copy notes from. Speaking of which, Kagi-kun. If you can, take them yourself.”

“I’ll do my best. —Oh yeah, Niibashi, why’re you here?”

Unlike the withdrawn Hirano, Kagiura is much more frank with Niibashi.

It is refreshing for Hirano to see Kagiura banter with his classmate, since he normally sees him in the dorms, where he consistently uses ‘san’.

“Jeez. It’s because I sent you a message and you didn’t respond! I went out of my way to let you know that we have to change classrooms for first period, so you’ll be late if you don’t get to class soon. Show some gratitude. You already get glared at by the teacher for falling asleep in class.”

He had lowered his voice so as not to be overheard, but his words reach Hirano, who is standing nearby.

Hirano had assumed Kagiura just stopped writing when he didn’t understand the subject matter, but he had been sleeping?

That must be why his notes have such gaps.

When he reflexively glances at him, Kagiura quickly averts his gaze. He has some nerve.

“Kagi-kun, when we go back to the dorm I’m making you solve some past test questions.”

Advanced course Hirano and comprehensive course Kagiura have slightly different electives, but their first-year curriculums have much in common. Many of the subjects they’re responsible for learning are the same, so if he learned it last year, Hirano is also capable of teaching it.

Now then.

While the hastily departed Kagiura lets out a sigh, Hirano gives the other committee members the signal to start retreating from their positions.

Hanzawa, who is also the vice-chairman of the Disciplinary Committee, collects the notes and materials used for the inspection and hands them over to the teacher. After this, a few teachers are to continue the dress code inspection of students who come running up at the last minute.

From the clear skies that have made a break in the rainy season, the sunlight beating down even this early in the morning makes his head feel hot.

Of course, Hirano was the first and foremost offender of the dress code inspection this time.

*****

Part 3 || Part 5

#niibashi joins the crew #idk him but i love his gremlin energy #hirano to kagiura #hirano and kagiura #hirano to kagiura translation #kagihira #sasaki to miyano #harusono shou #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #niibashi juuya

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