#breezy reads one piece

[breezy-cheezy]

I just want to say it's been delightful watching you get into One Piece. It's been one of my main fandoms for years, but most of the people I was following who posted about it moved on to other things and I didn't have the energy to try to find new ones, so my dash has been pretty empty of it and I mostly just kept up with the anime/manga and not much else. Your enthusiasm for it, and all the art you've been posting and reblogging, has been a highlight of my days. I have a One Piece fanfic I've been trying to finish for years, and I've felt more like writing it in the past week or so than I have in a very long time (haven't actually managed it yet, but maybe soon, I hope). I'm glad you're having fun, and I can't wait to see you get farther in the series. <3

And *I* just wanna say how touching this message is!! 🥺 Thank you for sending this, I’ve been putting off responding because I was hoarding it like a dragon HAHA

I’m glad you’re enjoying the sudden OP onslaught! Part of me always worries, but it IS my blog and I enjoy slapping a bunch of funny pirates on my metaphorical fridge, glad you’re getting a kick out of it too! Perks of a media about as old as me too is that there’s sooooo much content to dig through, it’s very fun! Even if I suck at avoiding spoilers LOL (I will at least try to shield my buddy from spoilers as she also works her way through the manga at her own pace XD)

I hear ya on struggling to finish a fic for so long…for me, with new fandom comes new ideas and we’ll see if I can actually finish these, lmao. I’m glad to hear you’re inspired again! What’s the fic about, out of curiosity? 👀 If you feel like sharing that is!

Thank you, it’s been a VERY fun read, and I hope to watch some parts in the anime later! For now tho manga is easiest for me to consume, and the art is just really nice?? 1000+ chapters used to be so intimidating but now I find it’s hard to put the thing down X’’’’D One Piece good, found family got me good! I’ll be a bit more detailed under the cut real fast (I’ve been yelling at another friend on discord with regular manga updates but I will say this)

Isa don’t open the read more :> :

I just finished Thriller Bark arc and ooooooh boy that was a Time. Zoro you are insane *sobbing* HOW IS HE EVEN ALIVE

Usopp getting to use his anxiety/depression/negative thoughts as a strength against Perona was. SO funny yet SO vindicating, I love himmmmm-

Also the stuff with Brook is one of the things I feel I need to watch the anime on because!!! Music!!! That’s difficult to translate through manga, as pretty as the art is. Same for Chopper’s send off from Drum Island, I wanna see the pretty pink Sakura Blossoms!!!! But yea Brook made me cry. I remember really hoping Laboon would pop up again and BOY HOWDY let the skeleton see his baby whale again I beg….

I just hit the Sabody arc too and spotted Law for the first time! I already know his backstory (oops I’m nosey) and WOW HE’S A LITTLE SH*T HAHAHA funny greasy lookin man good to see ya X’’’D I also love Camie!! Kinda refreshing to see a female character getting to finally make the same (if not even MORE) whacky faces like the boys do hhdfhgjkdf you’re doing great sweetieeeee 😂 (also good to see Hachi again!!)

Also the intro to Celestial Dragons and slave trade is so. Man. This is VILE. The extent of horrors the Government will look away from because they’re Celestial Dragons doing the horrors. AUGH. Gross. The situation is revealed in a really neat way too, very engaging. Sooooo satisfying watching Luffy full on punch one CD in the face tho, BLESS. Love that funky lil dude. He really doesn’t care who you are, he can and WILL punch you if friends are threatened.

ALSO I do see Ace’s execution being set up in the bg. I know in a general sense what….happens to him. I don’t like it, let him out 😭

BUT YEA I’M HAVING ALOT OF FUN THANK YOU!!!!

[msmorningstaarr]

let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

ao3 | masterlist

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;

a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

You are sitting surrounded by your maids and children on a breezy night, covered with a fur coat and a crimson silk dress under it. Attentively, you go stitch by stitch and slowly form a lion, sigil of your husband’s house. Ever since Robert’s Rebellion ended and your brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen won, you became promised to the former knight of the Kingsguard, now Lord Jaime Lannister. Life in the lion’s den was not difficult, once Lord Tywin treated her with the most kindness and Jaime was still coming out of his shell. At first, he was your sworn sword in King’s Landing and spent plenty of time together in an unbalanced relationship. Now, you two are sharing a bed after a tumultuous year of war and destruction, as equals. In the beginning, you were sceptical about marrying into the Lannister household, but as the months went by, you found yourself drowned at him. Jaime is careful, gentle and kind. He brings you a small dandelion every morning once he knows it reminds you of home.

His only quirk was the strange attachment to his sister, Lady Cersei. But after being sent to Dorne to marry Prince Oberyn of House Martell and getting distant from each other, your relationship with your husband seemed to finally thrive.

“It appears to be beautiful, my lady.” Said one of her maids, taking care of your youngest son, a small silvery blonde figure of two years of age.

“A bright lion handkerchief for Jaime to carry with him.” You reply, admiring your piece of work. “Do you believe your father will like it, sweetling?” You then ask your eldest daughter, an adorable child of four. Your daughter eagerly nods her head and wraps her hands around one of your fingers to pull the fabric closer to her eyes.

“Dada will love it, mama!” The little one exclaimed, spinning around with the kerchief on her tiny hands.

“What will I love, if I’m allowed to ask?” A tall, blonde figure shows up in your private bedchambers, wearing a classic Westerland attire with a crimson fabric and intricate strings of gold shaped into the sleeves and collar. You smile sweetly to Jaime as he approaches you and grabs your middle child to hold in his arms.

“Papa!” The blonde little girl runs towards her father to embrace his legs and your maids stand up to bow to their lord.

“Have you missed me, dear?” Jaime asked and the fussy children eagerly nodded at him, embracing their father even more. Sometimes, seeing Jaime being so loving and kind towards your children simply melted your heart. You felt the urgency to kiss him and dig your fingers onto his bright hair, begging him for another child. Your cunt ached in pleasure to the thought of Jaime pumping his seed inside of you. You were still young and could bear many more children.

“Mm-rrhm…” You scoffed. “I have missed you too, husband.”

The three children giggled and the child on his arms hid his face on the crook of Jaime’s neck. The eldest covered her laugh with her tiny hands and the youngest beamed along their siblings. Jaime came closer to you and caressed your cheeks with his free hand. Then, a single and gentle kiss he places over your forehead, making your heart flutters with love and passion.

“I have missed you too, my love.” Jaime said, passing his fingertips on your chin and smiling at you.

Your maids quickly stood up and bowed at their overlord as a sign of respect. “Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Said the servant girl. “Let us take the children so you can rest.”

“But I want to stay with papa!” Said the elder daughter, pouting and crossing her arms. The other two children whined and complained along, but you lowered into their level whilst Jaime talked to the youngest on his arm.

“Sweetlings,” She said, caressing their cheeks. “Your father is rather tired after riding for so long. Go with her, I promise you, your siblings, me and your father will have plenty of time together on the morrow. Is that understood, my loves?”

“I can take you to ride a horse tomorrow and even let you eat lemon cakes before super. What do you think?” Jaime asked, delivering the fussy child from his arms to the other maid. In unison, the three infants agreed and left disappointed. Once you and your husband were alone in your bedchambers, Jaime smiled at you gallantly. You embrace him intimately and are finally able to feel the warmth of his muscular body and feel the softness of his golden hair. His lips reach yours and in a whirlwind of sensations, your cunt is already dripping in anticipation just by a simple touch coming from him. Once he breaks the kiss, he keeps holding you by your waist and gazing at you with admiration.

“You have been gone for too long, love.” You say, passing your fingertips on his lips. He smiles and gives you a peck on the lips before speaking.

“I had duties with your brother, Our Grace King Rhaegar, sweet girl.” Jaime replies, pulling her out gently and grabbing the fabric she embroidered for him.

“I hope you like it, I made it just for you.” You point out, joining your hands to follow him. He keeps smiling as he observes attentively the intricate work you did.

“I shall cherish it and take it wherever I go, dragon princess.” He replied, folding and putting the kerchief in one of his pockets. You giggle as you hear him calling you ‘dragon princess’, a custom he chose to never abandon as a form to remember the late days of their relationship “I wish I had more time to be around and play with the children, I have been missing them and you.”

“They made drawings every day and left it on your desk at your office.” You reply, walking to the window and being followed by him.

“I will make sure to have them guarded in our chambers. Safe as our gold.” He says, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck lightly. You beam in ecstasy feeling his body smother you into a comforting embrace and full missing him.

“Sometimes I still cannot believe we are wedded to each other. You were my sworn shield in King’s Landing!” You exclaim as his hand caresses your empty belly and it tingles by his touch. He grins at your words and says.

“Most people are not so lucky to know your spouse before the wedding day. I consider myself the most lucky man in the world because I could be in your acquaintance from so long ago.” He replies, falling his head on the crook of your neck.

You turn around to be face to face with Jaime, feeling the cold breeze of the rock hitting your back and giving you small shocks as Jaime caresses your back, making you experience a thermal shock and shudder to his touch.

“I feel very lucky to be your wife, Jaime. Most women are not so fortunate to have such a kind, loving and handsome husband.” You mutter as he strokes your hair, in awe with your beauty.

“I guess we are fortunate to be together after so many troubles in war. We even brought new lives into this world to paint a new, brightful history.” He replies, caressing your womb. You stare at his fingers passing up and down your belly and glances at him with a sweet smile.

“And we could have more, love. I must admit I feel empty for so long and I want to give you more children… I know I can give you an entire army of your own. Half lion, half dragon. Unstoppable creatures.”

“You feel empty, love?” He asks, smirking and you eagerly agree with him. “Then allow me to fill you up…” Jaime finished, slowly undoing the intricate laces of your dress to reveal your bare skin under the crimson fabric. In response, you open his attire slowly and little by little his white tunic appears to her eyes.

By this point, your cunt is already sore in anticipation for the moment about to happen and clenches around nothing once he pushes the last section of string holding your garment, releasing you from the pressure tightening your upper body. Jaime pushes down your dress and your underwear is now on display for him, which makes him bite his lip and eagerly take down your white camisole to show him your bare body. You moan as he squeezes your breast and pinches your nipples whilst kissing you. You quickly take off his own undershirt to show off his chest.

“So eager is my dragon princess.” He playfully says, leading you to bed and carefully laying you down. With devotion, he starts to kiss your feet, legs and knees, his hands roaming through your thighs and hips. “Spread your legs for me, little dragon.”

You part your legs, obeying his soft command. “So wet… I can see you truly missed me, my love.” He says, kissing your inner thighs as your body squirms in pleasure before he reaches your intimacy.

“Oh… I have missed you so much, my lion.” You moan your words as he kisses your groyne and passes his fingers lightly over your clit, making your womb tremble and convulse to his touch.

“I can see that, just as I missed you, my dragon princess. Do I have permission to give you a lord’s kiss?” He asks and you only nod in response, making Jaime wet his lips with his own saliva before diving into your dripping core and you to scream involuntarily as his tongue and lips eat you up with full desire. Jaime circles his tongue around your clit and roam around your entire intimacy, making your hips bounce onto his direction. It was his costume to make you come every time before he would be inside of you, now could not be different.

You feel your body explode as if someone threw you into dragon fire as Jaime relentlessly pleases you, making magic with his tongue. Skillfully, he explores your intimate area inch by inch with eagerness, making you dig your fingers on his golden curls, pulling him closer to your cunt and you contorses your body urging for more. Tears of pleasure fall off as you feel goosebumps once you realise you are close to your climax.

As the intensity builds, Jaime's movements become more deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge of bliss. Your breath hitches, and your fingers entwine in his golden locks, urging him on. The world narrows down to the pleasure he provides, the connection between you deepening with every passing moment.

When the climax finally crashes over you, Jaime doesn't relent. He continues to caress your sensitive core with his tongue, prolonging the sweet release. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you feel the bond between you and Jaime reaching new heights.

“Husband…” You try to stop him and give yourself some time to take a breath, but Jaime does not back off and part your legs once more, holding it as he keeps licking, kissing and sucking your pussy.

“No no, wife… let me please you and bring you to climax once more…” He cuts your words and gently goes back, but now he plays with his fingers on your clit, with far less pressure and slowly draws circles around it, taking soft moans from you. Jaime rises to hover over you, a wicked glint in his eyes. His fingers trace patterns on your flushed skin as he leans in for a heated kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips. “Taste yourself, love.”

And not so long after, you scream his name as you feel waves of pleasure hitting your body as a lightning bolt hits the ground in a storm. Your body is trembling and your legs seem to be two wooden sticks, barely able to stand.

“Please… inside of me, Jaime… I need you…” You plead with him, pulling his body to be on top of yours.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” He replies, kissing you passionately once more and positioning between your legs. Jaime's eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. The anticipation was hanging heavy in the air, your bodies aligned perfectly, and as he slowly entered you, a shared moan escaped both of your lips.

The sensation is electrifying, the culmination of the pleasure he bestowed upon you and the intimate connection between your bodies. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deepening the bond that exists only between you two.

“My perfect princess takes me so well…” He grows as thrusts into you going back and forth nonstop. You lock him by involving your legs around his waist and feeling his hard cock entering your cunt in full force, reaching your cervix and making you beg for more in his ear.

The room echoes with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies, creating a tapestry of love and passion.

“Put another babe on my belly Ser, please…” You beg him as moans leave your mouth and the sound of crashing bodies fill the room quickly.

“With pleasure, love…” He says once more. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deeper inside of your pussy in farfetched positions. He missed you too much after months away from you and it shows by the way he kisses you as he moves desperately to have more of mounting his dragon. The room echoes with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies. As Jaime's movements become faster, the pleasure intensifies, and you find yourself on the verge of another climax. The pleasure is overwhelming, and your bodies move in perfect harmony.

With a final, fervent thrust, Jaime succumbs to the ecstasy and releases his seed deep inside of your womb, growling and grunting with relief and utter bliss. You hit your own orgasm as you feel the warm jets of his seed invading your walls and your body squirm and you scream his name, crying out.

Your bodies tremble in the aftermath, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is filled with a comforting silence as you both catch your breath. Jaime's fingers gently trace patterns on your skin as you bask in the warmth of the afterglow. “Do you think we created one more life for our household, love?” You ask him, laying your head on his chest. The world outside your chambers seems distant, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the serenity of each other's embrace.

“Depending on your fertile womb, my love, I have no doubts you are.” He replies, caressing your silvery white hair. “But we must endure in our pursuit on a daily routine. Just to make sure our fourth babe is on the way.” He playfully replies, smirking at you, who mischievously smiles back at him and kisses his lips, wiping some strings of sweat from his face.

Jaime presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur, "I love you, my dragon princess."

And you, wrapped in the arms of the man you love, whisper back, "And I love you, my lion shield."

[bugbachelor]

when it comes to the Trix's looks the general fandom interpretation that Stormy is the least feminine style wise out of the Trix continues to baffle me. because there's a lot of things canon is very vague about, but this is one of the few instances where canon is doing the exact opposite and Yet it's still such a common interpretation

to be fair, i think people tend to take her more abrasive louder personality and then draw from it that she should also be the most practically and sporty dress wise in the group and so on

and as a hc it's whatever, it's just really one of those instances where it's clearly the opposite in canon and people seem to genuinely gloss over it, when it's arguably such a funny aspect of her character

Darcy is the one that's always dressed the most practical on top of her hippy inspired fit. she's the only one wearing pants, both in her witch and civillian outfit. (she also knows how to ride a hoverbike for some unexplained reason. which the winx had to slowly learn in s3. some not elaborated skill going on here)

Icy's style moves closer to the preppy, formal ranges, with her collared top - tight skirt - high boots look. the tied back (up) hair also helps. and also the cape. she's got a cape in her witch form, can't stress enough how much of a fashion choice that is on her part

and Stormy's look is just giving summer party. like, it is. you've got a lot of flowy and wrapped fabric, and her open heels (which are a statement piece when your entire power is wind and storms and your signature fighting style consists of rain, lightning, and tornadoes)

out of them Stormy is dressed the most feminine And impractical at all times. ranging from being completely committed to skirts/dresses to preferring the party club look when her whole bit is hostile weather

actually, it's not even just a Trix thing i think Stormy is just genuinely dressed kind of not occasion appropriate even for a witch in general

this is apparently the general cloudtower/witch fashion

and Stormy pulls up to the wannabe goth convention with her breezy, flowy summer fit with ribbons both on her skirt, top, And on her open toed summer heels. those especially are kind of a bizarre choice on her part, since the predominant fashion trend seems to be boots, ideally pointy. kind of a mix between what Icy and Darcy are wearing. absolutely no one is wearing sandals or even open heels, style wise they're much closer to something Stella or Flora tend to go for even

Stormy is just fully committed to her sunny weather fit which i kind of have to respect

but i'm also mildly intrigued about the why of it? is that her genuine style preference and she just gives absolutely no fucks about what's in or expected witch fashion in general? or is the perpetual good weather fit some inside joke to her with her powers literally being 'bad' weather?

logistically in universe though, would there be some line you shouldn't cross with how much your shoes can look like you bought them from the same store Stella goes to? especially with how image focused and competitive the cloudtower environment seems to be. or would her style just read as completely out of fashion at cloudtower and this is just current fashion trends? we'd never find out because even if people Would have thoughts about it they would definitely not be voicing it to a senior classmate that's one of Griffins top students and can summon actual tornadoes. at that point you really could just do whatever you wanted (which, i mean the Trix already do that)

the take away just ends up being that Stormy clearly doesn't care about a) expected witch fashion, and/or b) what's weather appropriate. and yeah, does fit her character, i think she really would just do whatever she wanted and if that's the ribboned summer shoes that's what it is

(also, sure the flowy ribbons are a kind of funny fashion choice for her, but also, given how wind makes up almost half her powers, they're kind of a good one. those have to be so fun when you're walking or flying around and wind is blowing them everywhere. i get her)

[yexthiccxa]

Secrets of the Second Shift - (Part 4)

summary: choso invited you over for dinner (part 3) and he's serving appetizers, dinner, and dessert 👅 smut with a little angst on top

wordcount: 3.5k words

full fic c/w: choso smut, choso/fem!reader, choso/oc, modern!au, some plot, plot what plot, porn with plot, gentleman!choso, soft!choso, praise kink, blindfold sex, oral, fingering, vaginal sex, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms

a/n: let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this!

Tumblr Master List | Read this chapter on AO3!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

Choso guides you to the table, pulling out a chair to offer you a seat. “Please, sit,” he says, his voice soft.

He heads over to the oven to pull out a couple dishes. “What’s on the menu for tonight, chef?” you ask playfully.

“For starters, we have roasted garlic and herb bread.” He sets down one tray with a graceful retrieving the next. The smell immediately makes your mouth water. “For dinner, we have baked chicken and pesto risotto.”

Before he makes his way around the table to sit down he leans in close to whisper in your ear. “And for dessert,” he adds, a smirk curling at his lips, “I’ll be having you.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before taking his seat.

You roll your eyes for show, but there’s no hiding the smile that’s tugging across your face. “You didn’t listen to a single thing I said back there, did you?”

Choso’s expression is calm, but there’s a flicker of playfulness in the way he looks at you. “Don’t worry, every word was crystal clear—boundaries, keep it clean, no work, no apartments… after tonight.” Emphasis on after tonight.

You hate how he’s right. But deep down you didn’t really want him to be wrong.

The tension between you settles into a strange, quiet understanding.

Dinner is nothing short of incredible. Each bite you take is a perfect blend of flavors that dance on your palate. The chicken is tender with a crisp, savory crust. The pesto risotto is rich and creamy, and the roasted garlic bread has just the right amount of bite. You take a moment to close your eyes just to fully appreciate the depth of the flavors before shifting your attention back to Choso.

As he talks throughout the meal, your focus remains entirely on him. You notice how his face lights up when he talks about his team. There’s pride in his voice when he shares how his team was built from the ground up and how he held them together when the acquisition almost tore them apart.

And then there’s the way he listens. He holds your hand across the table, his thumb brushing slow, thoughtful circles against your skin as you share your most successful projects. When you open up about your struggles with Naoya, he squeezes your hand because he knows that name makes you wince. It’s gentle but firm and his silent way of telling you that he’s there for comfort.

It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to make your heart stumble.

But what you can’t get over is the way he looks at you. It’s a look of desire, yes, but it’s layered with something deeper—an unspoken curiosity. It’s as if he wants to make you whole, piece by piece. He wants to know what drives you, what broke you, and why you’re so hesitant to let someone in. He doesn’t say it, but you see it in his deep brown eyes: I want to know you.

You could tell Choso everything—all the answers to all the unasked questions. But you can’t bring yourself to share. You’ve let yourself open up before, let yourself get too comfortable, but all it did was lead you to heartbreak. And with Choso, you’re starting to recognize this feeling all too well. It’s a dangerous path. The kind of path that you aren’t ready to walk again.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Choso cuts in.

Wait. Were you just thinking out loud? The thought startles you, but you shake it off quickly, masking your expression as you pick up the empty dishes and head for the kitchen. “Nothing’s going on,” you say, your voice just a little too breezy. “We should clean up.”

Choso follows silently and you feel his hand on your shoulder. You’ve come to recognize the comfort his touch brings, though you’re not sure that’s a good thing.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he says quietly, his voice gentle but firm, “but I can see something’s wrong. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but can you at least let me know what would make it better?”

You hesitate. He’s too perceptive. The thought that he might already know what’s bothering you makes you uneasy. Instead of answering, you deflect. “How can you tell if something is wrong?”

A small grin tugs at his lips, lightening the heaviness between you. “I run a team that thrives under efficiency. It’s my job to know when something’s off.”

His confidence earns a soft laugh from you, and you take the opportunity to lighten the mood. You turn, placing the dishes in the sink before reaching out to playfully poke his chest. “While I’m impressed by your attentiveness, I don’t appreciate being managed like I’m one of your direct reports.” you tease, trying to regain some ground.

He brings himself closer to you. “Well, I did mention that being under me wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, remember?”

“Thanks for the reminder, but what did we say about keeping work life separate?” When you finally glance up at him, you are at a loss for words.

Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of just how tall he is, how close he’s standing. The warmth of him radiates through his shirt, and in a split second, you’re reminded of the muscles that lie beneath. Your heartbeat stutters as the moment stretches on just a little too long. You look away to hide the tint of pink flowing to your cheeks.

Choso doesn’t let you slide. Instead he gently places his fingers under your chin, catching you as you turn away. “The same thing we said about everything else.” He leans in close until you’re inches away from each other. “All of that starts after tonight.”

There’s no harm in one night, right?

Everything around you stands still. The only thing you can think of is the fire building between you, and the inevitability of what’s about to happen.“Better make it count,” you reply.

That’s all Choso needs before he makes his move.

You can tell he tries his best to show restraint, but the way Choso cups the back of your head to bring his lips to yours shows you anything but that. Every ounce of composure has completely shattered. His movements become demanding, hungry, starving. He’s kissing you like he’s savoring the way you taste. It’s as if he’s been deprived for years.

He moves his hands down your sides to firmly grip your waist and set you on the counter, causing the container of utensils to crash against the backsplash. The movement rolls your head back, giving him the perfect access to the delicate skin on your neck.

The way he has his mouth on you sends a shock of excitement straight to your core. It’s like his lips are taking care of you in all the right ways. Every breath that hits your skin is a reminder of how much he wants you.

You release a quiet moan as he kisses his way down and slides off a strap of your dress. Deja vu hits when you find your breast exposed and his mouth on your nipple. But this time, it’s nowhere near enough. He’s desperate to have all of you.

“Oh—fu, Choso.”

Hearing you say his name triggers something in him—something primal, something feral. He doesn’t miss a beat as he places his hands around your ass to slide you into him. Seconds later, he hooks his arms under you until you’re straddling his waist.

Choso carries you over to his room while your hands begin to tangle in his hair. Something about this moment seems effortless. Well, actually everything about Choso seems effortless. It’s one of the qualities that keeps you wanting more—and right now is no exception. You crave him—his touch, his taste, the heat of his skin against yours.

As Choso sets you on the bed, you pull up the edges of his shirt over his head—revealing an intricate string of tattoos from his shoulder to his bicep. Fuck—as if you couldn’t be anymore attracted to him than you are now.

He finds your mouth once again and reaches his arm around your back to unzip your dress, slipping it down and tossing it to the floor.

Choso takes a moment to study every single curve of your body. “God, I never want to forget how beautiful you look. I think it’ll be forever ingrained in my mind.”

As he unlatches his belt and takes off his pants, you memorize every muscle—from his arms, to his abs and everything down below. The sight before you helps you piece together every memory you had of him from Friday night. Remembering how good he felt turned you on, but finally seeing the man who made it happen has you instantly soaked between your thighs.

The hunger in your eyes takes over you causing you to grab his arm and pull him down to you. You feel a sense of security knowing that his body is pressed up against yours. “Choso, I want you,” you breathe out.

A devilish smile forms before he pins your wrists to the bed. “It seems you have a reputation for being a bit hasty.” He buries his face into your neck, sucking your skin into his mouth. “I still have to return the favor.”

You arch your back as his mouth trails down your sides and eases off your panties. The feeling of his breath tickles your sex. He doesn’t go directly for your center, but instead begins to kiss around it. Your desperation turns into all out torture. 

Choso places his lips onto your clit, causing shivers to shoot through your spine. “I promise we’ll get there, my love. But first, all you need to do is…relax.”

The hushed vibration of his tone lingers between you two, but before you know it, the wetness of his tongue sinks into you. He buries his tongue as deep as he can go before slurping up all the juice you have hidden inside. 

A string of curses leave your lips. “F—Cho. Oh my god.”

“Mmm, you taste even better than the first night we met.” he moves to your clit and teases you with his tongue. All you want in this moment is for him to lap up all the wetness between your leg, but instead he toys with you—what a fucking sadist.

“Choso, please” you whisper.

He gently lifts to speak, his tone is laced with a mischievous charm. “Please what? I can’t hear you.”

Your shallow breaths leave you dizzy. “I want your tongue on me.”

His voice drops lower, leaving you intoxicated by the sound. “That’s it. Beg for it, princess.” 

“Choso, please—”

He hears your calling and rewards your pleading by letting his tongue massage your clit. The feeling causes you to twitch. His tongue is hot, wet, and renders you completely silent—well, except for the faint moans that leave your lips.

As he continues his rhythm, you feel your body sizzle with heat. Your breath becomes short and labored as he grips your thighs. With your skin being so delicate you wouldn’t be surprised if he left bruises that would surely last for days.

Choso’s movements intensify and your fingers instinctively twist into the sheets beneath you. When they frantically search for something to hold onto, you know you’re almost at your peak. 

“Fuck Choso, I’m so close—” you cry.

Choso keeps his pace and his final stroke sends you over the edge.

The coil within you unwinds as you tilt your head back to let the pleasure soak in. The endless feeling of peaks and valleys radiate from your core into the rest of your body. It’s like a rippling current of fire sweeps under your skin. Your body tenses until the last bit of ecstasy squeezes out of you.

Choso definitely made good on his promise, you’ll give him that. “We can call it even—consider your debt paid,” you say as your body relaxes, sinking into the sheets.

He gives you no time to react. Instead, he opens the drawer of his nightstand and takes out a condom. “Well then, I guess it’s time to start a new tab.” He leans back over to give you a quick kiss. “Now that you’re here, I have no intention of letting this end anytime soon.”

You watch him roll a condom onto his shaft, stunned by how big he truly is. You remember feeling him stretch you from the inside out, but seeing it with your own eyes is a different kind of euphoric. Choso is the type of big you’ve only dreamed about. Between that, his muscles, the tattoos, and his gorgeous face, it feels like this man has it all. And now you were going to have all of him.

“Why don’t you show me that pretty little pussy again?”

You open up your legs and slide one hand down the middle, spreading yourself wide open. 

Choso’s eyes go wide. He’s never seen anyone as stunning as you. He’s hypnotized beyond his control, and he can’t bring himself to fight it—not that he’d want to.

He eases his way into you, causing a moan to escape your lips. Sliding into you was easy, but adjusting to his size was a different story—a deliciously painful one at that. If he was a sadist, you were a masochist, like a match fucking made in heaven.

“Fuck me—” Choso grits out. “So. goddamn. Tight.”

The feeling of him breaking you open feels like pure bliss. It’s like nothing else matters except you, Choso and the connection that was never meant to be broken.

His movements are steady but rhythmic. They start off gentle, but once he’s had enough to coat his whole length, the sound of his hips pounding into you begins to fill the room. Every thrust gets deeper and your moans only grow louder.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Just when you think he’s had his fill, Choso picks you up to claim you in every part of his room. He presses you up against the wall. When you try to take back control he has you bent over his desk. No spot is safe when it comes to demolishing every last bit of you—and you’re loving every second of it.

After pounding into you for what feels like hours, he returns you back to the bed. You’re exhausted but your hands still try to grab hold of something, anything—just so you can find a way to center yourself while he has you in a frenzy. They finally dig into his back and weave through his hair as if it's the only way to stay steady while he ravages you.

“You feel so ….fucking good …inside me.” you struggle to get out with every push. “Fuck—yes, Choso.”

Choso loves how you sound when he drills his way inside of you. When he sees you on the brink of unraveling, he picks up one of your legs and places it on top of his shoulder before pressing into you. This time it’s harder. This time he’s going faster. And this time, he’s slamming into a spot that has you hitting notes you’ve never hit before.

“Let me hear you, beautiful.” he purrs as he locks his gaze onto yours. “Let the whole fucking world hear.”

Just when you think Choso couldn’t make you feel any better, he takes his thumb and presses it into your clit—massaging it to match his pace. He moves in circles, hitting every spot in perfect sync. He has the hands of an artist and the touch of a god—this man will truly be the death of you.

“Just—just like that. I think…” you pant.

You don’t need to finish your sentence, because he already knows. “Yes baby girl, do it. Come all over me.”

“Choso, I want you to—”

When he looks down to you, you see an intoxicating mix of lust and sincerity in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m right there with you.” 

His acknowledgement is all you need to push you past your limit. You explode into a throbbing mess and it doesn’t take long for Choso to follow.

“Fu- fuck—god. That feels—” he roars as his dick pulsates in you.

Your cheeks flush at the thought of him finishing inside you. The only thing that would make it better if it were raw instead.

Your orgasm this time feels as good as the last one, if not better. As your body stiffens, every nerve is on high alert. The surge of desire races through your veins, sending a shock of electricity through your body. When you begin to settle, your breath slows down, a contrast to the rapid pounding of your own heartbeat.

One final breath and Choso puts his arm around you, holding you close while his fingers trail through your hair. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly, his voice warm and soothing.

You want to respond, but your body has other plans. The feeling of his touch comforts you as you nuzzle closer and close your eyes. You fight the urge to flutter your lids, but the exhaustion begins to creep in despite your best efforts. 

“Fantastic—,” you murmur, but even as you say it, you feel yourself dozing.

Choso kisses your forehead, his arms tightening around you. Being with him feels like a rush of pure, unfiltered joy where the world is impossibly right and there’s nothing that can go wrong. 

You wish this was everyday life. But deep down inside, you know that it doesn’t work like that. It can’t work like that. It never works like that.

Stop, you tell yourself. Not tonight.

You push those reservations aside for another day.

✦✧✸✧✦

Choso lies still, feeling the weight of you in his arms. He debates whether he should wake you up or not so he can drive you home—after all, you both still have work tomorrow. But when he glances down and sees the peaceful look on your face, he hesitates. You look so comfortable, so safe.

Selfish, he thinks. I’m selfish for wanting you to stay.

He lets out a sigh. The idea of forcing you into the cold night and dealing with the weight of responsibility, feels like an unnecessary cruelty—for both of you. He takes a chance and decides he can take you home early in the morning with more than enough time for you to get ready. The thought of stealing a few more hours with you, even if it’s just to sleep is hard to resist.

Carefully, he slips his arm out from under you, moving with deliberate caution to avoid waking you. Once free, he stands and surveys the aftermath of the evening. Clothes are everywhere, the food is still out—everything is a chaotic mess but he doesn’t care because he made it with you. He picks up your clothes, setting everything neatly in one place. Then, with the same care, he moves to the kitchen to clean up the remnants of dinner—the half-empty wine glasses, the abandoned plates. He moves with quiet purpose, giving himself something to do as his mind races.

What am I doing? He wonders, putting away the remaining set of dishes.

You are everything he wants but someone he can’t have, unless you let him. You’re a strong, beautiful, and intelligent woman. But he can see it: even though you make an effort to try, you’re guarded, hesitant, as if afraid this could become something more.

Choso feels the invisible walls you’ve put up. He isn’t sure if it’s out of caution or traces of something deeper, but it makes him tread lightly. Yet here you are, asleep in his bed, and he can’t deny how badly he wants to be with you, to know you.

Once the mess is cleaned, Choso gets ready for bed, brushing his teeth and washing his face to cool the heat still lingering in his body.

He checks his phone and sets an alarm for 6 a.m. Hopefully that’ll be enough time to get you home before you need to start the day. As he slips back under the covers, he scoots closer to you and rests his hand on the curve of your hip. He closes his eyes, letting the rhythm of your breathing lull him to sleep.

✦✧✸✧✦

It’s 6:00am and the deafening sound of his alarm shatters the silence. Choso groans, blindly reaching out to shut it off. He rolls over instinctively, his arm seeking the familiar warmth of your body—but there’s nothing.

His eyes snap open. The sheets are rumpled but empty.

Sitting up, he glances around the room. Your clothes, your shoes—they’re gone. He grabs his phone, but there are no calls, no messages— nothing. The truth hits him like a cold gust of air.

No apartments after tonight, Choso reminds himself. He immediately dreads the fact that the night has ended and another day begins.

Choso drops back onto the bed, the empty space beside him feeling heavier now. 

Everything now is crystal clear—there’s clearly a path you want to take. And while he wants to join you, he’s starting to question if he’s ready to follow.

--

taglist: @jud3thedude @makingtimemine @chosslut @liiiacke @trishiepo0 @celestialforce

[cevansbrat0007]

Disturbing the Peace

Summary: You're keeping a secret from Ari - one that you'll have to tell him about eventually. Right?

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Pet Names, Corporate Intimidation, Anxious Reader, Cursing, Minors DNI.

A/N: Takes place earlier in my Sweet Renegades Series timeline. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You stare down at the notice in your hands, your mouth suddenly dry as your eyes proceed to scan the words on the page for the third time. You’d found it wedged between your doors only moments ago after closing down your shop for the night. 

Which meant someone had been out there watching – waiting – for the right moment to strike. Without the benefit of an audience. Fucking coward.   

Even still, that fact unnerved you to no end. Especially since the piece of paper you were holding seemed different from the others you’d received over the previous months. They’d been polite and professional, albeit a bit pushy.

But not this one.

This letter was short and to the point. Greystone & Reeves Real Estate Group was done beating around the bush. They were giving you one last chance to meet so that the two of you could finally begin discussing the terms of the sale of your beloved shop, Baubles & Quills. 

The one thing you’d promised your late uncle, Lenny, you’d never do.

But unfortunately for you, that didn’t seem to matter overly much to the pushy group. They were clearly tired of being ignored - a tactic that you’d employed with them from the beginning. 

When you’d first received a letter from them you’d laughed it off before crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash. You’d also done the same with the second. But by the time you’d received the third you’d been hoppin’ mad. So mad that you’d left a less than polite voicemail with their receptionist telling them that their entire company could “suck dirt and die”, because that’s exactly what you would do before you ever thought about signing away the deed to your shop.

After that, things were quiet for a time. So quiet that you forgot all about that stupid Greystone and his dimwitted lackey, Reeves. In fact, the last time you’d heard anything from them had been right after Ari had rolled into town. 

Come to think of it, you’d actually lit that letter on fire while wishing you could do the same to their headquarters – wherever they seemed to be located. Oddly enough, you hadn’t actually been able to dig up much about them online. Just that they seemed to have set up shop in several different counties surrounding Bell’s Creek.

You couldn’t make heads nor tails of why they were so interested in your property or your land. But at the end of the day, their motivations didn’t really matter.

Because you weren’t fucking selling. Not now, not ever. 

Baubles & Quills wasn’t just your place of business, but also your refuge. It was part of the legacy your uncle had left behind as a gift to the little girl who had spent so much of her childhood curled up in the overstuffed armchair in his office with her nose buried in a book. 

Long story short, you’d made a promise to the man who’d loved you like a daughter. And you intended to keep it. 

So, tomorrow you’d call Greystone & Reeves and threaten them with whatever your paralegal buddy, Erica, suggested. You’d been meaning to call her anyway so that you two could catch-up on life, as well as all things related to Mr. Ari “Beast” Levinson.

The sound of your phone ringing suddenly breaks the silence, giving you a mini-heart attack in the process. You can tell by the ringtone that it’s Ari on the other end, which has you answering without hesitation. 

“Uh, hey.” You cough out, shaking your head as you try to clear your mind. “What’s up, Beast?” You do your best to keep your tone light and breezy, not wanting him to pick up on your distress. 

Mostly because you’d never thought to mention any of the threatening letters you’d received over the last several months. Even when Ari had stopped by that one fine day to interrogate you about your relationship with Martin you’d chosen to keep that piece of information close to the vest. 

After all, it wasn’t like your Bounty Hunter could do much about it anyway. Not to mention that you’d had no idea that your relationship would ultimately progress the way it did.

Bottom line: nobody needed to know, least of all your handsome Beast. Wait. Except for Erica. She could know. Because otherwise, how else would she be able to tell you what scary things to say? 

It’s only then when you hear your name on the other line that you realize your thoughts must’ve wandered. “I’m sorry, babe. Can you please repeat that?” You mutter, scrubbing a tired hand over your face. “It’s been a long day and I’m afraid my mind is already worrying about tomorrow’s delivery.”

There was no delivery slated for tomorrow, but a little white lie never hurt anyone. Right?

“S’alright, little Bird. I know you’re tired but – wait. I thought you weren’t expecting any more deliveries for the rest of the month?” The sound of his deep, slightly roughened voice has your pulse quickening as a fresh wave of heat pools in your belly.

“I…” You trail off, your fingers coming to pinch the bridge of your nose. Serves you right for trying to lie to the one man who actually paid attention to 99.9% of the shit that you said on a daily fucking basis. 

“Guess I forgot.” You finish lamely, tucking the phone between your shoulder and your ear so that you can get moving. “I’m about to leave Baubles, though. Am I still picking us up something from Holtman’s Diner or did you change your mind?"

“Holtman’s is fine, baby.” Ari responds after a couple of seconds. “But are you sure you’re okay?”

And there it was. Granted, it didn’t sound like suspicion so much as it did concern…

But still. 

“I’m great, Beast. Pinky promise.”

Gritting your teeth you return your attention to the stupid piece of paper in front of you. But instead of balling it up and tossing it into the garbage, you decide to neatly fold it and tuck it into your purse.

Next you pull out your keys, followed by your handy dandy taser. And just to be safe, you decide to go ahead and swipe the nearby exacto knife sitting on an unopened box containing some random celebrity’s latest memoir. 

“I still think you sound funny, Duchess.”

Fuck, this man – your man – was like a goddamned bloodhound. And once he caught a scent he didn’t give up until he had his prey cornered and ready to spill their guts. 

“Augh!” You hiss as you sling your purse over one shoulder before collecting the rest of your things. “Sweetheart, I just told you I’m tired. That’s literally it. Hold on while I get the alarm.” Biting your lip you type in the passcode needed to arm your system before swiftly unlocking and exiting through the front.      

“I’m all set now. About to jump into my ride and head to Holtman’s.” Of course, you’re quick to interrupt when he attempts to turn the focus back to you. “Tell me about your day, handsome.”

Ari did not need to know that you were hovering just outside of fight or flight mode, which is why you currently had your semi-legal taser at the ready. Plus the knife and the tiny container of pepper spray hooked on your keyring. 

Now that had been a gift from Ari.

Keeping your head on a swivel, you make quick work of locking everything back up before making a mad dash to your vehicle. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you continue to scan the empty lot, searching for any signs of life.  

“Yeah?” You grunt as you throw yourself into your car before locking yourself in. “Well, maybe I can try working that knot out of your shoulder later.” With shaking hands you push the start button in your car and wait for your call to connect with your bluetooth. Thankfully it doesn’t take long. “And yes, please. You have my explicit permission to repay the favor, you ridiculous man.”

Oh goodness, I can’t breathe. Mary, Jesus, Joseph, help!

Body hunched, you Immediately you peel out of the lot and turn onto a main road. Now that you’re safe, you cast a glance in your rearview mirror, feeling grateful when you don’t see anything – save for a couple of raccoons hoping to get their hands on some garbage. 

“Woo!” You shout, triumphantly punching the roof of your car. “Hell yeah!” You’d officially made it out, which meant that you would hopefully live to fight another day. 

“Huh?” Ari growls into the receiver. 

“Um, I just say two baby blue mini-coopers drive down the road. Must be good luck, ya know?” 

“Right.” He doesn’t sound very convinced.

“And I just remembered that tonight’s special involves their homemade mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Still sound good?“ Without taking your eyes off the road, you drop the taser back into the center console of your car.

“Fine by me then.” Your Bounty Hunter replies, his response sounding just shy of frustrated. But I choose to ignore in favor of simply acting like tonight was okay, even when it wasn’t. “Be safe getting here. And if you change your mind about wanting to talk…”

“Nope.” 

After that you hang up and head to the diner, snagging you both a couple pieces of homemade pie to go with your food. A bit to eat and naked cuddles with your man would make things better. At least for a little bit. 

And quite honestly, you’d take what could get these days. The universe at least owed you that much.

END

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[ffsjustletmesleep]

Hii my name’s Breezy and this is my first fic! I'm a little nervous because I’m not really sure how to write, I’ve never written a fanfic before, this is just a little one-shot but I hope you enjoy it! (If theres any errors lmk I’m blind as crap 🥲) (Edit: help I missed so many errors Im exhausted LOL praying for those who read it unedited Im so sorry 🫶🏻)

E/C = Your eye color

F/C = Favorite Color

Damnit, Woman.

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1,795

Just a bit of fluff

—————————————————————————

The world was no longer what you thought it was when you came back home: wrecked vehicles and people running and screaming from what looked to be dead people, moaning and groaning as they dragged and jerked their limbs across the street after them, grabbing at people like it was their last meal. You had managed to stay away from those monsters, hiding in the woods, finding an old dusty cabin that luckily hadn’t been ransacked. Somebody had stashed the cupboards with canned and bagged goods from their previous stay that could last a few weeks if you rationed well enough. It even had a cot, so you didn’t have to sleep on the dirty floor.

As you walked through the woods, the smell of the fresh pine from the trees and the lingering scent of the dead on your clothes hit your nostrils. The sweat dripped down your forehead and chest as the hot Georgia air beamed down, the material of your boots pressing into the dirt and crushing the small pieces of paper you dropped, using it to make sure you didn’t lose your way back home. As you walked further, your ears picked up the sound of running water, immediately stopping and jogging toward the noise. Stumbling upon a slight rocky edge, leaning over a large pond, the refreshing smell filling your nose as you sighed softly. Putting down your bag and dipping your hands into the water, splashing the water over your face as it soothed the heat on your skin, quickly taking your canister out and filling it up before putting it down on the rocks.

Peeling off your clothes and setting them onto the backpack, you slipped into the water and started to wash the dirt and blood from your skin from the previous walkers that you had killed, dipping into the water and shivering as your fingers ran through your wet hair. After a little while in the water, a small snap of a branch cracked behind you; turning around, startled as your (E/C) eyes met a pair of cold blue ones that looked back at you; he held a crossbow, and the sleeves of his shirt had been torn off his arms at some point, The bright sun casting a golden coat over his dirty blonde hair. The man pointed his crossbow at you and stayed silent momentarily before speaking up.

“Who the hell’re you?” he asked as he slowly lowered his weapon, seeing as you were unarmed. You stared at him momentarily before remembering what was happening, covering yourself with your arms and sinking deeper into the water.

“You scared me. I thought you were another one of those things. “Your shoulders relaxed as the man stared at you, his cold eyes looking over your figure in the water. “My name is (Y/N). I don’t mean any harm. I was just trying to wash the blood off me from those monsters. “You explained, hoping he would understand.

He lowered his crossbow to his side and grunted at your response, giving you a slight nod as he looked away.

“What’re ya doin’ out ‘ere all alone, girl? Ain’t the time to play around in no damn water.” he grumbled as he looked over your belongings on the edge of the rocks. Wiping the water from your face and huffing softly, you looked up at him with a shake of your head.

“I was looking for some supplies and heard the water nearby. I figured I’d refill my canister and wash up,” you muttered as you repeated myself. “What about you? What’s your name?” you asked. He looked back at you as he pressed his lips together in a thin line before stepping closer to the water.

“Daryl,” he muttered before continuing. “Are ya alone out ‘ere? Where’s yer group? ‘ts dangerous out here alone by yerself.” He grunted, his southern accent drawing out the more he spoke. Your lips pressed together as you frowned, looking away.

“I don’t have a group; I’ve been on my own, trying to escape the dead. I found a cabin to hide in until I have to move again.” You sighed as your eyes returned to him.

He looked at you quietly, his brows relaxing as the tip of his ears reddened slightly from the sudden eye contact. He looked away and huffed, stepping back and rubbing the underside of his chin.

“Whatever..” he scoffed. “Get dressed, woman. I’ll bring ya back to where I’m staying. You got all yer shit?” He looked over to the trees, giving you some privacy to get dressed.

Looking at him, slightly surprised, your cheeks reddened at the offer. You nodded your head before getting out of the water and getting dressed. Slipping your bag over your shoulders, smiling, you stepped over to him and bit down on your bottom lip.

“That’s kind of you, thank you. “You followed Daryl back into the woods. The walk was quiet as his eyes darted around for any signs of danger. After a while, you both eventually made it back to where he was staying, a farm with a big white house. Your eyes lit up as his group came into view, and you stepped behind Daryl a little in caution as the sound of their voices grew closer.

A man who had a cop uniform on looked over at the two of them, stopping his conversation and going over with a stern expression as his hand gripped the gun on his hip.

“Who’s this, Daryl?” He asked as he looked at you cautiously, his eyes narrowing at Daryl with a questioning look. Daryl stopped in his tracks as he frowned, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I found ‘er in the woods, said she was alone an’ lookin’ for stuff. Ain’t got no damn weapon on her, I already checked, Rick.” Daryl grunted in an annoyed tone as he held the strap of his crossbow. He took your arm as he dragged you past the cop, looking back at Rick, annoyed.

After you introduced yourself to the group, Daryl showed you to his and his brother’s tent; he explained how his brother got handcuffed to a roof and all that stuff and how he wasn’t around. After settling in, you both returned to the campfire; Carol and Lori finished with the clothes as they sat near the fire, and the small boy, Carl, sat between his mother’s legs as she brushed her fingers through his hair. You smiled at them before sitting next to Daryl, who was cooking a squirrel he’d hunted earlier, handing you a piece.

“Eat.” He muttered quietly and went back to cooking the rest of it. Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked down at the piece of meat before taking a small bite and humming in delight.

“It’s good,” you replied and continued to eat. Glancing back at him, you noticed his ears reddening. He let out a small scoff and kept quiet. As the night grew, you two eventually returned to his tent and went to bed.

You spent the next few weeks with Daryl and the group he introduced you to. Carol, a sweet lady who’d recently lost her daughter. Lori and Rick, along with their son, Carl. You didn’t like Shane; he was giving off weird vibes. You didn’t speak to Andrea much other than a ‘hi’ when you washed clothes, but Dale was warm and welcoming, T-Dog made jokes around the fire, and Glenn treated you like a little sister, nudging and messing up your hair occasionally. Maggie was glad to have another girl around, dressing you in all kinds of clothes and gossiping about all sorts of things.

You and Daryl grew closer over the time you two spent together. He kept quiet and followed you wherever you went, whether you helped around the farm or cleaned up your shared tent, not wanting you out of his sight for a second. You sat near the fire in a (F/C) dress that Maggie had lent you, feeling Daryl’s eyes on you from the other side of the camp, making his way over before sitting next to you.

Looking up at him and smiling, you played with the hem of the dress. You had just finished drying the clothes and wanted to rest for a minute as you looked over at him, your cheeks reddening at his expression, his eyes roaming over your attire.

“Ya look good.” He muttered before looking towards the fire, letting out a small grunt. Your eyes widened slightly at the compliment, looking down at the fire as you cleared your throat.

“I look like I do every other day. There’s nothing special about it,” you muttered and smiled, your heart fluttering at his words. After hearing him scoff, your eyes returned to him. He looked at you quietly before he leaned closer.

“I mean it, woman. Ya look good.” He repeated in a softer tone, his hand inching closer to yours. Your eyes glanced down at his hand as it rested close to yours. Swallowing thickly before making a bold move, wrapping your pinky around his and smiling up at him.

“Well, thank you, Daryl. That’s sweet of you,” you murmured and looked back down at both of your hands. He tensed as his face reddened, grumbling under his breath. He looked away, frowning, though he didn’t move his hand away.

“Shut up,” he muttered as he looked back at you. His eyes were no longer cold and held a softer-looking blue, the fire reflecting across his skin as he sat next to you. You laid your head on his shoulder and let out a small, breathy laugh.

“Wha’s so funny?” He grunted as he looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips pressing together as he allowed you to lean against him. Looking up at him as your pinky squeezed his gently.

“It’s nothing. I’m just thinking of the first time we met. You’re totally different now.” You explained as you sat up, looking at him with a small smile. He looked at you like you were crazy before scoffing and looking back at the fire.

“Yer crazy; I’m just making sure ya don’t get yourself killed..” he grumbled as he fumbled with his crossbow, distracting himself from the conversation. You huffed and wrapped your arms around one of his, looking up at him with the same smile.

“I’ll be okay as long as I have you,” you murmured shyly. Dary snapped his head towards you and blushed, covering his mouth and looking away. He mumbled all kinds of nonsense into his palm.

“Damnit, woman..” he muttered as he glanced back at you with a soft smile. “Yer gonna be the death of me..”

Thank you for reading! If you have any criticism or anything I can use to make stuff better feel free to let me know :) I tried my best for this first one its 3 AM 🫣

[strawberrystepmom]

shifting sands and the fingers they fall through | one

cw: non-graphic discussion of an injury reader has. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 1.7k, reading time: approx. 6 min.

note: this is the first part of a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: two, three, four; five, six

The late morning sun beats hot overhead but you remain cool enough tucked beneath your fishmongering stall, humming to yourself while pouring more ice into the chests behind you that contain everything you caught last night and this morning.

So far everything has gone the same way it does, well, every day. You wake up, you fish, you clean, you put them on ice, you sell what you can. This is the rhythm of your life, never up or down or out of tune, just the way you think you like it. It has been this way for at least a decade so there’s no sense in complaining about it now, even while you notice the tune your humming feels off key. It must be the lingering heat.

It’s technically autumn although you’d never know it. Island life is perpetually sundrenched, the waters that provide your shelter and food thanks to their contents never cooling quite enough to keep you from doing the job. There’s always demand regardless, whether it be from small fleets that dock near your sleepy seaside hometown or your fellow inhabitants. The work is never quite all the way done.

You go back to humming, fixing your pitch, only to be interrupted by footsteps approaching the front of your stall.

“Good morning, flounder is the catch of the day. The fish comes cleaned and I’ll even throw in deboning for free if you’d like.”

Your spiel goes unanswered which is rare. It’s usually recited back to you by any one of your regular buyers, a smile on their face mirroring your own. This draws you to turn around and face whoever is standing in front of the stall, one of the few in town run by a woman.

The man standing there is a stranger.

Every person on this island knows one another, the various small fishing villages dotting the coastline deeply interconnected. You were an outsider once too. Granted, you tried a lot harder to fit in than this man standing in front of you, his clothes vastly different from the breezy linen and cotton worn by everyone else. His face is firm, mouth set in a line with dark hair that brushes the tops of his eyebrows and narrowed golden eyes.

At least he’s a handsome stranger, you reason. You smile and roll your shoulders forward slightly and he remains as you found him. Unmoved.

“The flounder is fine and so are the bones.”

In an instant, your expression turns from pleasant to puzzled. He doesn’t react, simply keeping his hands folded over his chest wordlessly and expressionless. Clearly this guy isn’t interested in small talk and that’s fine, you get to work and pull a piece of parchment from beneath the counter and open the ice chest behind you to pull out your largest catch.

A fruit of the sea, caught and processed lovingly by your hands. Sometimes you catch yourself softly smiling down at the faces of all the fish you catch, perhaps as a means to honor them or at least say you’re sorry. Today though, you keep the subtle smile to yourself and get to work.

“It’ll be 350 Belly,” you mutter while plopping the flounder down on the paper, folding the edge of the paper over the tail. This mysterious man says nothing but his gaze is heavy and is clearly pinned to your movements, your left arm specifically.

“Your stitches look like shit.”

A loud exhalation followed by a humorless laugh is your initial response, pausing your work and then resuming it for a moment to avoid saying something snarky to a man who is about to pay you. You pause again, tilting your head to the side to look up at this stranger who apparently believes insults are appropriate.

“Thanks, I did them myself,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes, proud of your ability to do so covertly enough he won’t even be able to tell.

He absolutely notices it, alongside the range of emotion you’ve let show all over your face in such a short span of time, and shifts his weight from foot to foot while folding his arms over his chest. Law isn’t trying to be an asshole. If you insist on taking his concern that way, it makes no difference to him. The bottom line is that he can see clear as the sky overhead that this wound was not properly tended to.

“You need to see a doctor about that.”

Still narrowed eyes dart down to inspect the jagged wound that will undoubtedly leave a scar if it doesn’t get infected and kill you first. You shake your head and shrug, back to work wrapping his fish. The wound aches if you’re honest. Thankfully you’ve been able to stay busy enough to ignore it although it’s an angry, screaming red and makes itself impossible to completely tune out.

Sighing again, you finish wrapping the fish and slide it across the countertop to the man still appraising your arm from afar. You have work to do and this conversation is preventing it from getting done. Why is he wasting your time with a lecture?

“When you find one, let me know. We don’t have one on the island.”

Hopefully your tone is dismissive enough that he gets the picture. You still feel him looking at you, which is frustrating. Law raises his brows, eyes finally shifting from your arm back to your face.

“Today must be your lucky day because there’s one right in front of you.”

You laugh again. It’s a bit more genuine sounding than the first, a confused smile spreading across your face. This man, the one with the ominously tattooed knuckles, is a doctor?

“What?” He asks, face as impassive as it has remained since the moment he arrived at your little stall.

What is he doing here to begin with? Fishing islands are no strangers to a range of visitors, some more nefarious than others, but it’s a surprise that anyone shows up here. Maybe he’s just like you and he’s running to find himself. Or hiding, that’s always a possibility.

Either way, your sleepy little life could be about to get more interesting. Thrusting your arm outward in his direction and raising your eyebrows expectantly, you see how he’ll react. If he’s going to brag about it, you may as well put him to work after all.

“I wasn’t offering to look at it for you,” he clarifies while reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist.

He finds it slightly annoying that instinct kicked in before he could stop it, his earnest desire to help people buried deep enough he can ignore it most of the time. The touch makes you a little skittish, defying your boldness in offering the opportunity to begin with.

“I told you we don’t have a doctor here. Where else am I gonna find one?”

Sighing, he tugs you gently toward him. You bend at the waist, leaning over the counter, wincing when his thumb brushes against the sorest part of the wound - the skin directly on the edges of it. It’s hot to the touch, eliciting an annoyed glance in your direction. The wound is bad but you did your best with what was on hand which was nothing but a huge needle and durable thread meant for mending sails.

“It’s going to get infected if it isn’t already.”

This should scare you more than it does but you shrug flippantly, preparing to pull your arm back before being stopped with a firm but strangely gentle thumb on the outside of it. The doctor, as you know him now, leans in closer and really glances at the damage done, shaking his head so quickly you’d miss it if you blinked.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under his gaze. This is far more attention than you’re used to even for being a somewhat attractive, single woman on an island mostly populated by men. Most of them are old and settled into their lives with wives or kids or partners or their own unconventionally formed families. Everyone just kind of sees you as friendly but odd, a reputation you’ve grown to appreciate.

So this, this attention, this heavy, searing pair of eyes belonging to not only a handsome stranger but a doctor no matter how bad his attitude may be, makes your face heat. You are ready to send him and his fish on their way, a stranger departing on the wind that brought him in.

“I’ll pop and re-do the stitches myself when I get home,” you assure him, even if it’s likely untrue. By the time you wrap up at the stall you will be too tired to do anything but drag yourself home, throw your dress over your head, and crash into bed to be up early enough to do it all in the morning.

Raising his eyebrows, he glowers down at you. “Make sure you clean it first.”

Nodding to indicate that you understand, you wait for his thumb to drop from your arm and pull it back as soon as he does. The wound aches even strongly now that it’s all you can focus on, painful enough that sweat prickles at your palms. All you want right now is for him to just go as quickly as he appeared so you can move on with your day.

“You got it, doc.”

Getting back to work, you quickly fold and wrap the fish up. Twine is tied into a bow to secure the parcel and it’s passed across the counter, your wide eyes gazing up at him. The way he meets them makes you shiver despite the warm, humid air of your home. Digging in his pocket he produces a few coins and places them down on the counter wordlessly, taking his bundle and turning his back to walk away.

“Hey,” you call, and he looks over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

That never changing expression remains but his voice, deep as it is, sounds quite nearly amused.

“Law.”

Law, Law, Law. You commit it to memory, notoriously bad with names as you are. Then you start to attempt to recall if you’ve ever heard it before, maybe having heard it muttered amongst the fisherman who help you at night during flounder season.

Nothing rings a bell. By the time you are no longer lost in your own reverie, Law has long gone and you look down at the counter where shiny gold coins sit.

He left you 500 Belly, more than he had to.

[hannie-dul-set]

PATIENCE, PATIENCE.

p — SIM JAEYUN x gn! reader. g — humor, fluff. w — swearing, making out, secondhand embarrassment aka the hannie-dul-set fic triumvirate + a good amount of public indecency. 1.5k words.

requested by — anon: cocky jock (who loses that cockiness around you) x reserved student librarian (who loses that cool because of him).

note — loosely inspired by a moment from the manhwa "unstoppable hayoung" ifykyk. in a prev fic i alluded beomgyu to a mosquito, in this one jake to a pest. i think i'm seeing a pattern here.

a pest has been following you for quite some time now.

“sim jaeyun.”

his name falls icy off your tongue, prefacing it with a sharp inhale yet the man in question is unfazed. he’s trespassing the barrier that’s preventing you from socking him in the face: the front desk of the library where he’s decided to prop his arms over, leaning into the surface, smiling oh-so-handsomely at you as if you aren’t politely telling him to fuck off with your eyes alone.

then again. you don’t really expect him to understand social cues.

“for the dozenth time, please leave me alone.”

so you verbalize your intent instead.

“i can’t do that, baby,” he replies. “not until you agree to go out with me.”

you suck in a deep huff of air, close your eyes, and dig your fingers into your thighs to ward away the distress.

“just one date. please?” he prods, nudging himself closer over the desk as if the scrawls of paper you’re trying to organize aren’t as important as his incessant badgering. “are you really going to keep saying no to this face?” the face in mention looks particularly punch-able right now. you’ve always taken pride in yourself for being a very patient, patient individual. jake sim from philosophy 102 is testing that patience.

“the library is for reading,” you say through gritted teeth. patience, patience, patience. you’re a daffodil on a breezy field, a piece of driftwood on a steady river. you will not fight a man in your workplace. you will keep your job and maintain inner peace.

“i am reading,” he argues. “i’m trying to read your mind because i don’t get why you don’t want to go out with me.”

holy crap. he’s insufferable.

“i’ve already told you dozens of times, jake.” now, you don’t know a thing or two about the ball sport he does, but that pink varsity jacket is starting to look abhorrent. it’s being shoved into your face the more he tries to throw himself over your desk. a bright jarring color, unsafe for the eyes. “i don’t want to go out with you. also, i’d appreciate if you stop ruining my work.”

one of the documents got wrinkled under his elbow. his mouth opens, “oh, sorry!” and he quickly backs off, ironing the sheet with his palms. “but at least tell me why you don’t want to go out with me. you keep rejecting me with a blank face but i don’t know why.”

your upper lip twitches. 

because this is all because of a dare, that’s fucking why.

no, even that aside, the way he keeps arrogantly trying to hit on you, expecting you to just accept it and go is grinding your gears. you’re calm. you’re usually calm. but something about this guy just pushes all your buttons in one go, makes you spew out bullshit you’d never dare yourself to say to anyone else.

“hey,” your rouse. “can you kiss me right now?”

two can play at that game, bitch.

it works. it works really well because jake is suddenly as pink as his jacket. well, you don’t blame him. the library isn’t safe from gross, hormonal activities, but those are usually done in between the shelves— not at the front desk near the entrance. 

you’re mimicking his stance, leaned forward, arms crossed over the desk and all. “like— like a peck on the cheek?” he stutters.

“no. like tongue in mouth kissing me like a starved man and it’s your last meal on death row,” you clarify. it’s funny how you can see his brain circuits crashing in real time. serves him right. you let out a breath and stand up, seeing the clock tick closer to your break. you quickly gather your things and circle out from behind the desk, now in cross-armed disappointment next to your persistent pest. “this is why i don’t want to go out with you, jake. you don’t even have feelings for me. you’re doing this because your friends told you to, and i don’t—”

suddenly, you feel something soft on your lips.

suddenly, your knees are weak, your mind is fuzzy, and you’re exchanging spit with jake sim in the library lobby.

wait, you gasp into his mouth and he responds with a grunt. wait, your eyelids flutter, air knocked out of your chest that’s somehow now pressed against his because wait— this wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

how dare he actually do what you told him to? how dare he give you the best damn kiss you’ll ever have in your life? 

“what the fuck?” you breathe out in intermittent huffs, hands on his chest as you pull yourself back. jake’s hazy eyes are looking at you in a way that makes your brain jump in circles, coupled by the arm that he has looped around your lower back. he’s crazy. he’s fucking crazy. “why— why would you do that?!”

“you told me to kiss you!”

“and you did?!”

your eyes widen at the volume of your own voice, quickly slapping a hand over your swollen lips, but making noise is at the bottom of your library sins today. you see your supervisor’s attention on you from the corner of your eye, and your face flushes. “why would you go this far for a dare?” you say in a quieter voice, still manic, still frantic, and jake flinches hard when you jab a finger to his chest. “you’re nuts, you’re actually nuts, oh my god—”

“wait, what do you mean dare?” your finger seems to be hurting him because he grabs your wrist and brings your hand down. “a dare? a dare to do what?”

you seethe. “don’t play dumb with me, jake. overheard you and your little soccer friends last time—”

“it’s football—”

“i don’t care.” your voice is getting louder again. jake flinches once more. “the problem here is you keep asking me out to date you because your soccer friends are betting on who can bed the quiet library assistant first and— and i’m not going to play dumb just because you’re a good kisser. i’m angry and disgusted and—”

“do you mind continuing your argument outside?”

your mouth is hanging open, paused mid-speech. when you peer to your left, you see that your supervisor has teleported right next to you. oh, god. there goes your job. jake apologizes for the both of you and skews your frozen figure out the door. you’re screwed. your patience could handle six months at starbucks and three months babysitting three toddlers, but i cannot handle one sim jaeyun.

“so,” the perpetrator’s voice snaps you back to reality. you’re both now outside the library, and he’s looking at you with a smugness that begs a kick to the balls. “you think i kiss good.”

your face bitters. “is that your only takeaway from all that?”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i also got that you’re rightfully mad at me for something i have to clear up.”

here we go. you’re curious to see what excuses he’ll make, how many sorry’s he’ll impart, and if he’ll get down on his knees. jake. but his starting words aren’t what you’re hoping for. “there isn’t a bet,” he starts. “my teammates were just trying to tease me because i didn’t have the balls to ask you out. dumb, i know, but they were dumber because they were all like, ‘if you don’t make a move soon, we will, blah, blah, blah’ to provoke me so—”

jake is matching his varsity jacket again.

“long story short, i made them run fifteen laps and decided to get it over with by asking you out on a date.”

you’re brought back to the first instance jake had asked you out— it was in the lecture hall, right after class, and he was wearing the same pink jacket that at this point seems like his second skin. the color isn’t as jarring as you initially thought.

“but rejection didn’t feel nice. so i thought i’d try again.”

you narrow your eyes. “again, as in like, eight times?”

“you counted?” he muses. you are unamused. he clears his throat and continues. “you’re always so calm and collected, but your eyebrows would furrow and your face would scrunch up whenever i threw you the question. it’s cute. i got addicted. you can’t pin all the blame on me.”

you let his words simmer, and with each passing second of silence jake grows more nervous, fidgeting in wait. you decide to spare him the agony, letting out a deep and heavy sigh. “okay. you’re forgiven.”

it’s instantaneous how his face lights up. now, you’re the one flinching.

“nice! does that mean we’re dating now? can i kiss you again?”

“now hold on,” you stop him, mildly appalled, mostly flustered. “i said i forgive you. i never said we can start making out in a public area again.”

he bats his eyes at you. “in private then?” 

you want to hit him. you want to hit him so bad. sim jaeyun is the pest that has been following you for quite some time now. you fear that at this point, there’s no getting rid of him now.

PATIENCE, PATIENCE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[moonstruckme]

This is a bit of a heavy request but could you do a blurb or drabble of Siriusx reader where they struggle with eating and food in general in recovery tho and still finds it difficult sometimes again this might be too much so I’m sorry if it is

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader is struggling with eating disorder recovery, thoughts related to bullemia, please don't read if this will be triggering for you

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 737 words

You can’t fathom how Sirius has managed to clean his plate, but you’re grateful that he has. It makes it easier to think of your portion, hardly more than half of his, as a reasonable amount. 

Still, it sticks in your throat as it goes down. 

“How was your day?” Sirius asks, waiting patiently in front of his empty plate as you take your tiny bites. 

“Not bad.” Not great. Your boss had gotten irritated with you for asking too many questions about your new assignment, and you’d spend the rest of the day steeping in shame for your incompetence. “Yours?”

“It was good,” he replies, and his voice is breezy, but you can feel his eyes on you. There’s a few bites left on your plate, and if Sirius weren’t here you’d throw the rest of your dinner in the trash. You think he knows.

You can feel your meal pressing at the base of your throat. You want it out, up, whatever. It's one of your worse days, and the thoughts of how disgustingly full you are, how many calories you’ve eaten, how you didn’t work out that morning, are more difficult to repress. Nausea works at your gag reflex, and you keep swallowing as if that’s going to help.

“Do you want some water?” Sirius asks softly.

“No.” Anything more in you, and you’re sure you’ll be sick. But now irritation provides a distraction. Inexplicably and to your self-loathing, nothing sparks the flint of your anger quicker than the people you love being worried about you. It’s some petulant instinct: don’t tell me what to do. You know Sirius isn’t trying to be patronizing, that he’s not trying to take control of your meal away from you, and still. Resentment roils hot and bitter with the undigested food in your stomach. 

“Just a few—”

“I know.” Your tone is so harsh you’re surprised the words don’t scrape and tear on their way out, and you backpedal immediately. “I’m sorry, Siri, I—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, with more sympathy than you deserve. “It’s okay, baby, I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No, thank you.” 

He nods, and there’s a brief silence. 

“Hey, d’you wanna start that puzzle tonight?” he asks casually. “I know you’ve been wanting to work on it for awhile.” 

Sirius doesn’t even like puzzles. “I thought you had work to do?”

He shrugs. “I can do it in the morning. It’s only five hundred pieces, right?”

“A thousand.”

He blanches, and you almost smile. You know what he’s doing, but you’re going to let him anyway. He composes himself quickly. 

“Perfect. The more the better.” 

You force yourself to take one bite, then another, swallowing before you can fixate on the feel of them in your mouth. It’s impossible not to think about them, but Sirius’ chatter makes things easier, beckoning you to engage with him as he asks silly questions about whether you start with the border or the picture, if you’re a purist or if you use the box for reference. 

“It’s going to be hard,” you admit, and realize with the clink of your fork against the dish that the last bite is gone. Sirius takes your plate before you get the chance to think about it too hard, carrying it with his to the kitchen. 

“Why’s that?” he prompts. 

“Because…” It takes a moment to remember what you were talking about. You’re proud of yourself for finishing, but the insistent full feeling is still there. “Because the picture is watercolor. Things won’t be as distinct.” 

Sirius seems to sense that you could still use a distraction, discarding the plates in the sink and leading the way to the living room. “This one, right?” He holds up a box for you to see, and you nod, sitting with your legs crossed under you on the floor by the coffee table. “Pfft, that’s easy money, dollface.” 

“You’re going to eat those words,” you reply, doing your best to match his easygoing tone. 

Sirius makes a disbelieving huffing sound as he spreads the pieces on the table, dropping a kiss on your head. “Proud of you,” he murmurs, and it’s like a blip, a break in character, before he settles down beside you on the rug and his voice resumes its normal volume. “With your skills, we’re gonna make this puzzle our bitch. Just you watch, sweetness.”

[breezy-cheezy]

Unfortunately that One Piece Ghibli post you reblogged is AI 😭 jsyk

THANKS FOR LETTING ME KNOW now that you pointed it out I can see it O.o Welp. That sucks. I deleted the post, wooooo

[randomfoggytiger]

Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part XVI): Testy Territorialism

Vienen is… quite the follow-up to Empedocles: an infinitely better MOTW (an old classic's return) meshed with the traditional X-Files episode conceits (Mulder in the basement, Scully slicing and dicing, Skinner holding back warily, Kersh barely restraining himself from beheading everyone) and a twist-- Doggett’s presence. 

However. There are also a few… issues. Namely, that the episode doesn’t do the best job explaining important character beats: we are merely left with fleeting glances and half-spoken dialogue (par for the course for Season 8, really.) But there are important details baked into the dialogue, details that are at least substantive enough to point to greater implication. Mulder and Scully’s relationship remains intact and just as in sync as the previous episode. Mulder himself is crawling back into the saddle with a vengeance.

Yet, Mulder and Doggett’s budding friendship… seems to flail. What happened to their exchange in Empedocles’s hospital hallway, when Mulder opened up in an attempt to reassure Doggett’s turbulent emotions? Why is he back to critical acrimony?

Well. We’re given brief, fleeting bits of dialogue that say a lot while showing very little-- an inevitability likely brought on by having too much to do and too little time to do it. (At least everyone had a part in the episode, I suppose.) Those dialogue pieces are vital to this discussion; and, therefore, we must begin at the very beginning.

“Betrayals” and Boys Being Boys

Vienen opens on a strikingly similar parallel to the Pilot: the skeptic making his way down the bowels of the FBI, heading towards the basement office and finding Mulder alone and entrenched in his files.

Doggett, not having expected anyone in the office, turns from wary expectation to deliberate caution: an excommunicated Mulder scurrying around the forbidden fruit could mean a myriad of things-- things Doggett doesn’t want to be tangled up in and painted as the enemy for. 

Mulder looks up, caught; but takes his sweet time pawing over the files, stacking them together, and addressing his replacement as nonchalantly as possible. His shoulders are set, his eyes are fixed, and his mouth is placed in an innocently relaxed, straight line-- he’s paying attention, playing at breezy confidence; and guarded against Doggett’s by-the-books motives and possible actions.

In short, both men are startled and aware that Mulder’s actions point to some silent message about his read on Agent Doggett’s character. Doggett, who keeps trying to get off Mulder’s bad side, sees this as a possible omen; Mulder, who took Scully’s advice in the last episode and was disappointed-- we’ll get to that-- is unrepentant and a hair shy of blatant dismissal. 

"Am I interrupting anything, Agent Mulder?"

"Nothing you'd be too terribly interested in, Agent Doggett," Mulder sloughs off, tone flat.

In the days that have followed Scully’s release from the hospital, the goodwill Mulder extended has been revoked. The olive branch still hangs between them-- an act of respect for his partner’s opinion-- but any open emotion expressed to one John Doggett has been quickly yanked back and just as quickly hidden away.

Doggett picks up on his mood; and, after dropping the office keys to the left, approaches with a straightforward, though softer, question. "Agent Mulder, what are you doing down here?"

"I'm looking into the recent death of an oil worker," Mulder responds, handing over the folder he's holding freely.

Giving it a cursory glance, Doggett affirms, "Yeah, I got a heads up on it from you a couple days ago."

Hands on his hips, Mulder reiterates, "That's what I'm doing here"-- a very telling reminder.

And there it is: a quick, there-and-gone reply that establishes Mulder’s behavior throughout the episode. Mulder went out of his way to pass along vital x-files information a few days ago; and when Doggett dismissed the black oil case, set it aside as not worth his and Scully’s time, Mulder felt the other man came up short-- that his replacement didn’t have the natural curiosity to suit the files; and that, in conclusion, he had betrayed the integrity of the work.  Worse still, this is the first time since his return that Mulder has extended his own research and efforts to someone outside the core group-- to a newcomer, to him, that arrived on the scene by happenstance and who, somehow, became enmeshed with Mulder’s friends and partner. While Scully was recovering from her abruption, he reached out to his replacement; and was met with silence and dead ends. 

Again, Doggett catches on-- the dig does not go unnoticed. Pausing, then stiffening his own stance, he attempts to assuage the grievance. "Agent Mulder, I understand you have more than a proprietary interest in these cases. But I can't help it if you're not assigned to this unit anymore."

The X-Files co-founder doesn't respond. Doesn't move an inch; doesn't so much as flinch or blink. Reading the impenetrable posture of judgment correctly, Doggett turns aside to drop the file somewhere else.

"I didn't see any reason to pursue this oil worker case."

"Ah, well, maybe you missed the fact that this victim's corpse washed ashore in Port Aransas, Texas. Massive flash burns on 90 percent of his body," Mulder reminds, inflexible.

"I read the report, Agent Mulder, if you're insinuating I didn't" Doggett smoothly bristles, turning back around in mild offense.

"Then you must also know that this man was not the only man to disappear from the Galpex-Orpheus platform that night, but one of two men." Mulder's voice begins to rise as he stresses an odd word here or there, emphasizing the key parts he believes his replacement carelessly overlooked. "The communications officer is also missing--"

"The company attributes that--" Doggett cuts in, not willing to take anymore lecturing, determined to prove he's done his research "--to an explosion on the rig. A 'blowout.' Which they say caused Simon de la Cruz's burns."

Mulder nods dismissively-- nearly rolling his eyes (which he will do later.) "Burns the M.E. said in his report were not inconsistent with exposure to high-levels of radiation."

"'Not inconsistent'," Doggett stipulates, less tense now that the facts have been established between them. "It's not what I'd call a ringing endorsement."

Working up to a paranormal explanation, Mulder's voice rises another level while he points to an arm demonstratively. "These files include the same kind of radiation phenomena. Tissue destroyed by exposure to--"

And here a magical thing happens: Doggett surprises Mulder-- takes Mulder’s profiling and personal assumptions and turns them on their head. While the VCU’s Golden Boy is correct in technicality, the motives he’d ascribed to his rival's dismissive work ethic are not. 

"--Black Oil," Doggett cuts in. He advances after Mulder's nod. "5 years ago you and Agent Scully investigated a case of a WW II plane salvaged from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Where a substance was brought to the surface which you describe--”

As Doggett continues to whip out factoids from the files, Mulder is pulled up short: his shuttered, protective veneer falls from his face in shock. His eyes narrow, his eyebrows lower then pitch, his body freezes, and his focus lasers in as he soaks up the other man’s prowess. He’d written off his replacement as a malevolent actor, then as a rival, then as a blind and deaf fool; now, he realizes Doggett is researched and capable.

"--as a highly contagious virus of extraterrestrial origin--"

Mulder smiles, unable to catch himself at Doggett's description. Despite the bite of cynicism lurking in its corners (similar to the one he gave Agent Reyes, here), it is a true, uncalculated grin as well-- the joy of hearing someone else, anyone else, repeat what he has been howling about for years. And respect: a tiny glimmer at the bottom reflecting his growing admiration that Doggett says what something is, and plainly.

“--that has radioactive properties and can take over a man's body. And is part of an alien conspiracy to colonize the planet, if I'm not mistaken."

"And you'd like to help, but you left your light saber at home," Mulder quips-- an acknowledgment that Doggett had read his mind like a jedi master; but that he, too, is capable of the same tricks.

Doggett responds in kind, raising his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes, and shaking his head comically. He's quite proud of himself, and he's not ashamed to be figured out quickly and easily. As long as they’re getting along and getting the job done. More importantly, as long as Agent Scully’s happy. 

In an edgier tone, Mulder asks, "How'd you end up down here, Agent Doggett?" Waiting for Doggett to look back, inquisitively open, he adds, "Kersh catch you peeing in his cornflakes?"

Doggett doesn't know what to make of this question. On the one hand, Mulder is drawing an "us versus them" line, Kersh on one side and both x-files-adjacent inmates on the other. The malevolent distrust, then, is gone at least-- a carry-over from working alongside each other in Empedocles. On the other hand, Mulder's tone is indiscernible. Is he poking and prodding; and to what end? More importantly, it betrays that Mulder is largely ignorant of how Doggett was assigned, or why-- which means Scully hasn't told her old partner about her new partner. And if Scully hasn't relayed that information to Mulder... why hasn't she, and for what purpose?

So, he keeps silent, unable to figure out where to go from here (and Mulder clocks that silence.)

At least the air is cleared between them, Doggett figures, despite their difference of opinion. 

Or so he thinks. 

ENTER SCULLY

The office phone rings. 

Mulder and Doggett lock eyes, studying each other. Both are caught in indecision, wondering if the other will make a territorial lunge to establish dominance; and what that would mean afterward.

Arm extended, Mulder inches to the jack first, looking between Doggett’s hovering, halted hand and restrained, frozen posture. With a sudden bitter twist, he dips his head to the left, looks up, and claims the phone-- acting on a thought that must have passed through his mind. 

Doggett remains still, not asserting his rights in this strange dance of seniority. When Mulder passes the phone over, turning it up with an expression of plastered invitation, he misses the latter's impossibly placid mask completely, a smile curling over what he perceives to be the former head of the files’ generous, symbolic hand-over. 

How wrong he is. 

As Doggett answers, Mulder hangs back, a more natural smile of enthusiasm slipping transiently onto his face-- a tell that he knows it's Scully on the other end, and that he can guess what conference she's currently trapped in.

It's plausible, then, that he suspected (or knew) there would be a call and hung around the office hoping to intercept it.

"John Doggett."

"Where are you?"-- it's Scully-- "The Deputy Director's waiting."

"Yeah. I'm just on my way up."

"Agent Doggett-- why didn't you tell me you were pursuing this Texas oil worker case?"

"Because I'm not."

Eyebrows raised, she explains, "Well, there's an exec from the oil company here who says he was contacted by a man in our office."

"No, that was Agent Mulder."

Looking up from his busywork pretense (fiddling with his coat pocket), Mulder slowly, subtly, unrepentantly pouts.

"What are you talking about?" Scully pushes.

Doggett, realizing that he’s been pacified and partially duped, decisively ends the charade once and for all, roping the instigator into this mess and taking an unambiguous back seat. 

"Gonna let him answer that."

Mulder isn’t bothered in the least: he’s surprised and intrigued by this turn of events. Was it more than he hoped for, or more than he expected from Doggett? Either way, there’s a puzzled emotion in his expression, something he is rapidly working out. 

Mulder’s entrance into Kersh’s office is theatrical... for him. The script describes his behavior as "enjoying his old role as agent provocateur", and it truly fits. Face aglow, smug smirk firmly in place, he advances into the room, gentling slightly after spotting Scully waiting unwittingly by the desk. 

Sliding right up in front of her, he gloats, “Just like old times."

This is a little moment that the episode half-builds on later: the knowledge that he’s open to sharing his conspiratorial meddling with Scully (e.g. breaking onto a prohibited research site in War of the Coprophages, sneaking into an autopsy bay for evidence in Fight the Future, and stealing sensitive information from the government’s archives, thrice, in Three Words) and had probably planned on roping her into this case sometime soon. He’s more openly delighted whenever their paths cross this episode (even though he is doing a lot of solo work behind her back-- a tactic Scully uses, too, throughout their career. Both are cut from the same rebellious cloth.) 

Scully, shocked, stays quiet; but she is not outwardly disapproving-- not at all to the degree she might be (or would pretend to be) if she and Mulder were alone. She remains rooted, nods, and cycles through minute alert, cautiously hesitant expressions until Kersh's patience breaks ("Now it's all making sense.")  

Mulder exaggeratedly sighs, hunching his shoulders up as if facing the big bad in a play. When Scully-- taking the opportunity to escape Kersh’s attention-- skitters off to the sofa, his eyes follow her, fondly, whispering a quiet, "Tough crowd," her way. Mulder is checking his partner's reaction to see if he's taken things too far: not that that would stop him; but he's actively clueing himself back into her moods again, publicly, and trying to alleviate her anxiety for him.

It's a tiny detail that I'm immensely thankful to David Duchovny for-- a reversal of Mulder's averted, jittery eyes in Three Words; a second act to his ease and lessening strain in Empedocles. Another small hint at his return to his former self.

An interesting dynamic begins to unfold here-- or, more accurately, the audience becomes witness to a planned demonstration of the show’s dynamics going forward:

Scully takes a seat, bowing out from the immediate proceedings whilst lobbying questions from her perch-- a position of controlled removal, one which allows her one foot in and out of the files. Her maternity leave is coming up soon; and we know she hadn’t intended to return (Alone), not with a newborn who needed her to come home each night. (The FBI provides excellent family support; but its more mainstream work is also a lower and much safer risk, by and large, than the X-Files division.) However, that doesn’t stop the pull, the allure, of the basement-- “Get out while you still can, Agent Doggett,” she says in Alone: what she means is, before you catch it and can't leave. 

Doggett now stands off to Mulder’s side, arms crossed, lips pinched, expression serious. He has become the new skeptic, the fill-in for Scully’s old role. Not surprising, since the show needed someone to fill her shoes while she filled Mulder’s, but it's undeniably pointed. 

Mulder is the only one from the old times who hasn’t changed-- more accurately, who has but hasn’t wanted to admit it. He’s relishing in poking old hornets’ nests and brandishing forth for old truths, but he hasn’t realistically assessed whether he can, or even if he should, anymore.

Vienen, then, is a case that strips away Mulder’s last self-deception: an unrelenting reminder that life has moved on, that priorities have changed for him; and that, though he might think this unwise, unfair, or even dangerous to his old work, the truth is no longer wholly tied up in the X-Files. As he tells Scully in Essence, “This isn’t about the x-files-- this is only about you.” 

By the close of Vienen, Mulder has realized what is at stake. He is stretched too thin, and worn too weary, to juggle the world and his abduction experiences and his impending fatherhood, let alone like he used to (to be discussed.)  He takes the blame for another man and walks away-- the old self-sacrificial wound coming to the fore-- but that departure is more bitter than sweet: resignation instead of peaceful resolution. Alone prods his feelings about leaving-- his avoidance of those feelings-- and ends with his acceptance of Doggett as the new head. Essence picks up that thread and Existence weaves back through it (i.e. Mulder putting his family completely at Doggett and Reyes’s mercy once he loses faith in himself.) But it’s not until Existence’s close that Mulder fully realizes that he gambled away his last chance at happiness, and almost lost. It’s not until he holds his son in his arms and marvels at HIS and Scully’s miracle that he realizes that the decisions he and his partner were forced to do weren’t at odds with who they are and what they can still do, together. The X-Files might no longer be theirs, but the truth is out there; and they gained a truth of their own besides. 

Mulder’s demeanor switches from professionally flippant to antagonistically serious when Kersh threatens, not agrees, to order an x-files agent out to the Galpex-Orpheus. 

"We're talking about an oil rig, 150 miles at sea. You can't send a pregnant woman," he nearly spits, head twisting from his boss to his partner.

Scully doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react except for a slight eyebrow twitch acknowledging her former partner’s statement. It’s true, she can’t fly; and if Mulder weren’t there railing at Kersh for her, she’d likely be poking at the same stream of logic issuing from her superior's mouth (a behavior she, perhaps, picked up from Maggie Scully, post here.) 

Kersh cuts off all protests with a conniving, “I’m not sending Agent Scully”; and it takes only a second or two for Mulder to work out who he is sending: Agent Doggett, Kersh’s (formerly) cherished potential. The doubter. Shot down and irritated, Mulder rolls his eyes, turning to catch Doggett’s implacable, knowing look. 

We’re not shown Scully’s reaction, but it’s likely similar to her new partner’s: dogged professionalism and an intent to do things right. 

NO MORE MR. NICE GUY

Of course, Mulder completely upstages Doggett’s investigation, beating him to the rig in plainclothes and sitting down to catch an interview before the rightful man shows up. 

And, of course, Mulder, anticipates a reaction-- be it a kick back or an outright challenge-- from Kersh’s errand boy. Slickly, he brushes aside the other man’s thinly-veiled confrontation ("Agent Mulder. Can I have a word with you?") Instead, he wedges him into an impossible position: "If you give me a minute-- I'm just getting filled in on the details of this investigation. Why don't you pull up a seat and introduce yourself so Mr. Taylor won't have to repeat himself."

Doggett, rightfully frustrated, is presented with two options: either assert his authority and destroy Mulder’s credibility with the crew-- in effect, throw a fit-- or let things slide, for now, in an effort to prove he’s not here to fight a petty turf war. At the same time, he's also aware that he is being unequivocally, and unashamedly, maneuvered: treated like a second-rate follow-up to a better and cleverer act. 

And while the wheels spin donuts on the asphalt in his head, Mulder continues to pin him with a rigidly territorial stare from across the room. A warning only Doggett can see: one which states he won't go down without a very loud, very embarrassing fight. 

Professionalism and grinding, instilled respect-- for the oil worker, if nothing else-- beats pride; and John Doggett sits, tamping down his immeasurable frustration with effort. 

During the interrogation, Mulder lets Doggett lead most of the questions, observing him here or there to see how he reacts to the witness's answers. Both men know the worker is lying; but before x-files defacto agent can ask another question, Mulder suddenly wraps up the interview.

"Well, I guess that's it. In a nutshell. Thank you, Mr. Taylor."

Without another word-- and in a move that could easily be mistaken for, or coincide along with, a show of dominance-- he stands abruptly and stalks off, leaving Doggett to trail after. The latter's frustrated "Agent Mulder!" is resolutely ignored-- a silent command to keep up and play along. 

Is it fair of Mulder to act out, continually, on Scully’s new partner? No. But Mulder does have a history of poor behavior when in emotionally compromising states. He rebuffed, then toyed with, then opened up to Scully in the Pilot; and since then, he's treated her with far greater respect than anyone else he's worked with. Mulder has no tolerance for anyone who tests his patience with their blind or willful disbelief-- he won't wait on them to make sweet or kiss it better. He expects them to earn their keep: prove their place, win his respect, catch on and come along. Brush him off or lie or belittle his theories, and he will do the same in return-- pettily in two-fold. Throw in PTSD from his abduction and a sense of being disrespected and swept aside, and it makes for a nasty combo. 

Further still, Mulder is also testing how much of a pencil-pusher Doggett is. He uses irritation to reveal hidden motives: make them angry enough and you will hear how they truly feel, or what thoughts they're harboring but don't want to admit. In the script, Agent Doggett is a confrontational figure, more willing to push back against Mulder's claims on the files, more likely to remind the former head that he and Scully lead the investigations now. In short, this approach worked on paper. It plays out differently in the series, however: Robert Patrick acts the character with more circumspect politeness and awareness. John Doggett's not here to make a fuss unless you poke him about his son. But exploding over Luke is one thing, and standing up to Kersh for the x-files is another. By pushing his buttons and indirectly forcing him to keep up, Mulder is also giving Doggett the opportunity to step up (which we shall hear straight from Mulder's lips pretty soon.)

Is it fair? No. Is it Mulder? Yes.

CONCLUSION

Doggett, whether intentionally or not, shot himself in the foot by dismissing Mulder's first overture of trust. However, he is not the only one to blame for this situation-- if he even is-- because Mulder is returning that perceived wrong with a double dose. 

What will result from their upcoming confrontation: reestablished footing, or equally exchanged doubts and dismissals?

The episode’s almost a third of the way through, so I doubt it will be smooth sailing.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!  

[starflungwaddledee]

masterpost for my oc centric shipping event. featuring my waddle dee oc/sona starstruck dee and her bald empty head, which is apparently totally perfect for putting kisses upon!

2025: shipaganza prompts are open for february!!! please read the rules down below! i will be prioritising catching up on prompts from last year first. for OCs in particular, new prompts (for me to draw) are currently closed to non-mutuals until i finish prior submissions, but people can feel free to submit their own art!

*✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧₊˚ what is this? ✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ⋆˙⟡

the shipaganza is basically a totally self indulgent, oc-centric shipathon. for the month of february i take public prompts and draw art of my oc in cute and/or romantic situations with other kirby characters, both canon and oc. i have a tag for anything even tangentially related to oc shipping on my blog here under #🎀💖, where you can find previously filled prompts and a few other similar pieces! when i first started exploring the possibility of "shipping" my character i was super nervous!! so to get better at it, i asked the community to send me prompts, especially romantically coded ones, and it was a surprise hit! since then i kinda decided that she's just everyone's easy breezy girlfriend. ocs and canon alike, she's free real estate. look at all the folks she can pull by being autistic! peace and love on planet popstar. yippee! cringe but free.

*✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧₊˚ how's it work? ✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ⋆˙⟡

while the event is ongoing, i take prompts and try to draw them. no guarantees! i can only draw what i have ideas for. if you want to submit a prompt, check the rules out down below and trot over to the ask box! other artists are also welcome to draw their OC with starstruck (or starstruck with a canon character, if you really wanted!) and submit it to the event, but please read the rules down below first!! despite its intention to focus on romantic themes, this event is strictly safe for work, and frankly there's a relatively limited amount of actual "romance" involved. this is probably because i am aromantic and broadly headcanon kirby characters as not knowing what a "date" or "marriage" is. but we make do.

*✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧₊˚ filled prompts ✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ⋆˙⟡

divided into canon kirby characters and original kirby characters (characters created by other artists in the community) and sorted mostly alphabetically. just because a character is canon does not mean that the featured interaction/relationship is! all oc ships are sadly entirely non-canon to starstruck's storyline.

canon characters Big Hitters (ie: relationships most important to her canon storyline) first, then the rest just in alphabetical order. full comics are marked with a ʚ♡ɞ

✩ bandee ʚ♡ɞ ✩ king dedede ✩ kirby ✩ galacta knight // galacta knight ii // galacta knight iii ✩ meta knight // meta knight ii ✩ coo the owl ʚ♡ɞ ✩ marx // marx ii ✩ sailor waddle dee (feat bandee) ʚ♡ɞ

original characters includes submissions drawn by other artists, marked with a ✎✧˚. reach out any time to let me know if i missed a piece you drew, or if you want your oc removed from here!

✩ J // J ii (feat galacta knight) ✎✧˚ ✩ fal ✎✧˚ ✩ flower waddle dee ✩ whitolor

*✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧₊˚ rules ✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ⋆˙⟡

please read these before submitting a prompt, especially if you're submitting an OC of your own. prompts that don't meet these rules will likely be deleted! these rules also apply if you are drawing your own art submission!

🎀 ADULT CHARACTERS ONLY. the most critical rule. starstruck is in her 30s. any suggested characters must be adults in a suitable age bracket (28+). this goes for OCs and canon characters. if you think a canon character is a child, do not submit them for this event! additionally if i personally headcanon a submitted canon character as a child (such as Adeleine), i will not draw the prompt! all canon characters i'm drawing with starstruck for this event are adults in my world building.

🎀 no nsfw prompts flirty characters are great! bullies are fun and even violence is okay (something tonally similar to the marx prompt or galacta knight's birthday kiss, for instance). but i have a hard enough time even making the orbs smooch non-platonically; anything more explicit is clearly going to be out of my ballpark.

🎀 this event is Valentine's Day themed, explicitly! my metrics for romance are scrambled by aromanticism and my own experiences and preferences, but it is important to me that the shipaganza is understood as a romantically coded event (even if the characters themselves don't understand romance). while i love and adore character friendships, please do not suggest a character who you think would be "just good platonic friends" with starstruck for this event; i find this really infantilising in this context.

🎀 please don't be rude! yes, this is super cringe!!!! yes, my oc has 50 billion boyfriends! we are just playing with our touys!!! you can block the tag on my blog if you dislike this event or oc x canon stuff!! no shade; i completely understand that this is not for everyone so i make it easy to block! take care of yourself.

🎀 you can ask for a repeat character! this mostly pertains to canon characters, but i actually find this incredibly fun!! kinda like rooting for your fave!! a special rarepair just for you. if you wanna see more of a match-up that's already been drawn for, feel free to send in a new prompt for them and you might get lucky!!

🎀 scenarios are inspiring! for some characters i already have a lot in mind, but if you give me something to work with, i'll be better able to come up with something and feel more inspired to fill your prompt! this applies even more to OCs, especially if i don't know you or your OC well. please please give me some info about your oc and why you think they'd work together as a couple. like, would your oc make a move that starstruck fails to notice? are they accidentally dating? do they share an interest? is your oc a hopeless pining romantic, are they a charmer, are they a bully, so on and so fourth!

and that's all; thank you for reading!! as always feel free to ask if you have questions, but i hope folks will enjoy the event!

animated gradient heart banners from @/cafekitsune!

[mysteriesmuse]

MusicStudent Katsuki Bakugou who’s the same grade and is a member of the ensemble you’re in this semester. As a percussionist he has a lot of spare time in his hands in orchestra and even more at a fantastic vantage point. There’s the barrier of percussion instruments that separates them onto their own little world — the set up spanning across the entire back of the rehearsal room as they all fly back and forth past each other to get to their multiple part assignments. — he’s got a lot of accessory assignments for this semester; and the fact of holding claves, triangles, swiping chimes, and slamming car engines means he’s relatively on the move. However, it also means he’s not assigned to anything during part of rehearsal — that means he can leave early at times. Which coincidentally happens to align with some of the pieces that you’re not assigned on. Not that you couldn’t perform them, but rather there’s no need for you to be there since they cut down on parts for this one piece in particular. But when you are both playing Katsuki tends to rely on his sense of time as his gaze wanders from the conductor to your chair. As he sits in the throne behind the timpani he gets the perfect view of you and your side profile. The perfect spot to overhear your light chatter - to read your micro expressions - to see the way you’ve dressed and the way you slightly mark your music. Katsuki snickers at the way you make haste to make an accusing face at the trombone players for wrong notes or overblasting tone. Katsuki twitches when he hears you frack a note waiting for the flashes of second hand embarrassment to touch your ears, but you pout and sheepishly shrug it away the only tinges of red as tingly thing in his chest. Katsuki who watches you pout your lips and talk as you slather in chapstick during the break and crack open an electrolyte powder into your water bottle and shake it up as the start of every rehearsal.

And you cradle that water bottle with you out into the hallway when you’re not needed and the two of you stand outside in the hallway together — that’s where he learned what you like to eat and drink and how you liked your boba order. And it’s on one day where the schedule declares that you’re on duty for the entire rehearsal and he isn’t that he decides to talk a walk; opening his notes app to make sure he gets your order right, your favorite flavor. And he stops at the boba truck that’s permanently parked on the right side of campus every afternoon and orders you both one. Walking back with the spring sunshine on his face and a black baseball cap sporting the university logo on it with two bobas in hand. The sweet cool breeze mingle with the chill sugary boba on his lips. The jelly tapioca pearls a familiar serotonin inviting sensation in his mouth. The calloused skin on his fingertips getting damp with the condensation - except it’s all more than worth it when he greats you after rehearsal in the room. Katsuki catches you as your packing up a red eye watching your form as the everything gets packed away into the gig bag. He waits until you’re ready and have turned for the door that he calls for you, “Oi’ I got you something,” shaking the second boba in the air. The slow and steady tortoise like walk you has speeds up as you dodge the playful fleeting fist bumps and voices of your cello and trombone friends. You flutter to a halt in the middle of the hallway. “No way, thank you ‘tsuki!”

He grins with a shrug, “You were talking about it before rehearsal and I had some off-time today. S’ no biggy.” The grin you have and the contact of your grabby hands against his has him laughing as you place your lips around the straw like a toddler. “I know you’re a purest about the instrument food thing.” After your enthuastic sip he adds, “Wanna pack up and walk around campus for a while to enjoy these?” He notes you’re dressed for it. In your cute tank top and breezy collared crochet button shirt — you worked on it all last semester and have been loathe to be found without it now that the real nice spring weather has arrived. “Yeah totally, let me put this away first and we can go!” And Katsuki watches you disappear for a few minute before you reappear and playfully knock shoulders with him as he holds the door open for you on the way out into the glorious March sunshine.

[shirecorn]

What’s your favourite mlp species? Have you got any thoughts on kirins/niriks?

Request ponies, species, etc I havent done here

I am both a creature and character designer, so I have a lot of thoughts about MLP world!

Paradoxically, the non-pony species interest me less than the actual ponies, because they are all really solid and well done designs. There's not a lot I would reinterpret tbh, and drawing them would just be taking what they have and making them realistic.

The non-pony creatures tend to be more detailed because they are generally cameos and don't need to be animated doing nearly as much as ponies do.

Compilations by AndoAnimalia on deviantart

The kirins are really lovely designs! I love the ankle tufts, and how the stripes on the horns glow when using magic. Really nice creature design here.

The Nirik part was a little boring, and the plot/conflict was not sophisticated enough for my tastes. But it is a show for young children, not biology majors. Lots of room for worldbuilding and headcannoning lore to flesh it out, but I prefer something I can completely rewrite. The kirin lore was fine and I'm fine leaving it as-is.

Another good one is breezies.

I love them they look so stupid. Their wings are over the top but perfectly designed to sell the "piece of lint in the wind" delicateness they have.

as for my favorite creature?

Bug momma

I really love changelings and love how edgy they are.

The reformed changelings are decent but I would have designed them differently. I may take a crack at them later on if I feel the need. I feel like they should either be pony-adjacent (with manes at the very least) or further removed from ponies. this middle ground is kind of like having a bug monster alien that just happens to be bipedal, with humanoid shoulders, arms, and hands for no evolutionary reason (the reason is practical effects and putting a dude in a costume but shhh)

all this is about creatures though, and its very important to talk about character design whenever we discuss creatures. A character's personality should be the quickest read about them, rather than their biology. If something is too complex, the personality gets lost because you have to spend your details adding ankle tufts and articulated fingers.

The mane six, and basically all other ponies, use the same base puppet, and each unique part needs its own turnaround. Every prop and hairdo and eye shape needs to be understood from every possible angle because these are main characters and they need to be be able to turn, spin, and do karate without the animators having to make up the back of applejack's hat every time she faces away from the camera.

Having the same body means animators know how to draw both rarity and rainbow dash from a back 3/4 view with one hoof raised. So from a technical standpoint, simple is best.

Even in big budget productions, where every character has a different body with different close and face shapes, main characters are simplified so that the audience can quickly read pose and expression without getting lost in complex clothing designs or face makeup. Reading poses and expressions quickly is very important to understand and empathize with the character before they've moved to the next pose. You need to understand the emotion the character is feeling and the action they are doing in a split second.

you start to get more complicated and an entity becomes less of a character and more of scenery because it has so much detail its harder to read the emotions from one frame to the next.

There's a reason he doesn't wear his funny hat for the duration of the movie! It's much easier to read his emotions without it. Adding lots of detail and weird props is something designers do a lot when introducing a character if they want to make that character feel mysterious or "other" because its harder to relate when your brain is stuck on the details. also masks just do that by nature of being masks.

where was I going with this

My little pony g4 has great creature and character design.

If it were high budget, major studio with All The Money, there might be more variety in character proportions, and more distinction between the different pony species. But its a puppet animated show that was always meant to make marketable designs to be turned into toys. We just get lucky when there's a good story to tell along the way

[puffein]

EPILOGUE | late spring [xii.]

summary: all you have left is hope as you board a trip back to new jersey. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: none word count: 2411 a/n: its finally the eeeeend!! i hope you enjoyed this series! thank you!!!

series masterlist playlist!

Edinburgh, Scotland

Late-May 2027

The sharp chilling air of the early mornings of Edinburgh rouses your sleepy form from its slumbers. The bright sun waking its warm light to cascade through the open gaps of the windows made you forget the fading breezy air you felt a minute ago. Blinking through the sudden illuminating light of the sun, you felt the moving car come to a complete stop. 

Your eyes watch the forwarding move of each stranger, the crowds moving like waves crashing through their destination, their luggage trailing behind them with the sounds of its wheels gliding through the pavement. 

You let out a breath, pushing the door open and taking the heavy suitcase out of the car. You heard a door closing in hard and a set of rush footsteps gliding towards you. 

"Y/N, wait– this.." Kate's staggering timbre of voice made you whip your head towards her, an eyebrow raised at a box she was carrying. "This is for you." Pushing the box forward into your arms, you gave her a confused look. 

"What is this? I told you I do not need a parting gift, I'll be coming back here." you huff.

Her dark hair moves swiftly as her head shakes, "No, no, I know you're coming back. It's, um, remember like years ago you told me about the letters, just the story behind that, um, well, you see– I didn't throw her letters away, I have kept them." 

Your heart thumps, eyes flickering downwards– into the box your arms securely carried, "Kate, why.."

"I don't know, it's just, it felt weird to throw it away. If what you have said is the truth, that you are now okay and breathing then it wouldn't be so hard to read the letters she wrote years ago, right?" 

Your heart wobbles lightly, a smile taking its place right at your place, "Alright, thank you for keeping this."

Kate beams, her body giddy at taking in your gratitude, her hands moving awkwardly as she points at you, "Can I hug you or is that too weird, I mean I know we are busi–" 

You bark out a laugh, wrapping your hands in her wrist to pull her flush into your body, hugging her. "Be good here, Bishop."

"I will!" she chirps, leaning away to give you her wide smile. 

You step back, the box in your arms suddenly heavy, you give Kate one last smile, and as soon as your back faces Kate, your smile falls. You feel the weight of the letters, clutching the box tightly, and your steps wobble as you try to navigate your way through the airport. 

The distinct smell of the airport wraps you in quickly, with each stranger having its own destination, you have come into a thought of what stories each of them carries and then your story came in like a bucket of ice-cold water, splashing into you without a warning. 

You have healed. But the heavy weight of the letters doesn't settle right into your being. You are afraid opening such things would make you backtrack all the progress you have gotten, but then again, healing is not linear, it never will be.

So, when you successfully seated yourself in the window seat of the plane, you took one letter out of the box. Eyeing the familiar handwriting plastered through the piece of paper, your breath catches in sharply as your eyes scan the contents of a piece of paper that holds such delicate words. 

My dear Y/N,

      How are you? I don't know what letter this is, this might be my 10th, I don't know. I just kept on writing and writing, it's the only thing that has brought me comfort. I hope you are doing well, I kept on thinking and thinking if I have made a different choice, a different action, would this be just another alternate version of our life?

     I'm sorry, Y/N. For everything. I know the words I have said don't justify how wrong my actions were. It didn't dawn on me how my simple actions of ignoring you— the problems— my problem, would cause you such great pain. It didn't occur to me and I was being selfish and prideful. I was so blind, I was so scared of what I was feeling for you that I completely broke you. I didn't mean that, I was just scared and I wanted that feeling to vanish, so I did what I thought was the best plan. To be blind and avoid problems.

      Sorry, I'm sorry.

      I hope Edinburgh is treating you well. All I can do is hope, Y/N. I hope Edinburgh is fixing things for you that New Jersey never fixed. You don't need fixing, though, you have always been perfect and I never treasured that. 

      I love you, Y/N. I really do. I was just scared of many things, the thoughts were bad, and it did not help at all. I'm sorry. This doesn't make sense. Everything doesn't make sense. You are the only one grounding me, Y/N. 

      I hope when the time comes, you and I can talk. I will be hoping for that day.

Sincerely,

Wanda

You try to take in whatever words Wanda has written and along the lines of her painful words, your heart thumps lightly. This is a letter she wrote years ago and yet, it perfectly consummates the current emotions you are feeling. And without a single doubting thought, your heart blooms that one word she always wrote. 

You will be hoping.

༻༺

"I can't believe I have to get married for you to finally come home." Natasha greets you with a teasing voice, the ends of her tone are tender and warm as she pulls you in quickly for a tight embrace. 

You let out a surprised squeal at her tight grip, choking out a laugh, "Get off, please. I can't breathe."

"Oh shut up, you missed this." 

You smiled against her body, pulling her closer and taking in the familiar scent of her perfume. Natasha's grin widens when a familiar hand pulls her away gently. 

"Maria, finally nice to meet you." your hand reaches forward for the brunette to take. The woman with a posture so straight gave you a winning smile, pulling you in again into a tight hug.

"What is with you two and tight embraces, oh god, I feel like my lungs are crushed." 

Maria chuckles, "Okay, you are dramatic." 

Natasha swiftly moves beside you, hanging her arms around your shoulder, "So.. tell me about this Gray woman, does she make your life vibrant contrary to how monotone her name is?" 

You let out a nervous laugh, "Nat, I told you we are just friends. I don't think it's a great idea for me to date, I don't want someone to get stuck up with someone like me."

Natasha completely stops, her face is ready to fight the words you just have stated, "Like you? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just don't think I'm ready for anything," you stated, mouthing a small thank you to Maria as she easily carries your suitcase into the car. "I wanna focus on myself, that's literally it."

Nat leans her body on the car, her arms crossing right at her chest, "And we love you for that. Apologies for my remarks." she declares, the corners of her mouth twitching in a wide grin, proud of what she's hearing from her precious best friend. "Now get in. My fiancée and I will take you for a wild ride."

Your smile widens at her silly words, playfully slapping her arms as you duck down to sit in the back seat. 

You watch them interact with each other, how Maria holds out her hand for Natasha to take, how your best friend can't seem to take her eyes off the brunette, how the brown-haired woman has a smile permanently plastered on her face. As you watch them carefully, something gnaws in the deeper ends of your chest, slowly clawing its way out to let you know that this feeling, the feeling of envy, the feeling of being wanted to be loved, is still present, alive, even after shoving in and crushing it to pieces.

It somehow mends itself and it's now clawing wildly out of your chest, making you look away and focus your sights on the moving scenery laid out of the clear window.

Westview is still the same as when you have left it, the tree-lined streets stand beautifully, the proud sun sets itself onto the blue sky, its rays peeking in between the leaves of the trees, making it look like a scene out of a postcard. 

When the moving scenery finally comes to a stop in a very familiar neighborhood, Natasha quickly hops out of the car to open the door for you, her head tilting as she gives you a cheeky grin, opening her arms as she points at a house.

"What do you think?"

You gape at her, "You brought a house?"

"Me and Maria thought it would be nice to have a house before the wedding and this, woman right here," pulling Maria closer to her, Natasha kisses her cheeks loudly, "She surprised me with a house!" 

Your eyes flicker at the brunette whose face is turning red, "That's great, Maria, wow. You are in deep."

"Oh, shut up. I'm saving you money here from checking in a hotel." Maria's stoned voice made you laugh loudly, shaking your head as you carried your suitcase with ease, letting out a silent huff at how heavy it is. 

Letting yourself breathe in the sight before you, the couple's house screams cozy and homey. You can picture them starting a family with this house, little Natasha running around, Maria's stoic face as she scolds their child, and family pictures scattered all over their house. Their future unfolds before your eyes, and you badly want to see what the future holds for you. 

Will it be just like them?

"Hey, Nat." your hand grips Natasha's wrist, "I wanna see something, is it okay if I meet you two at dinner?" 

"Sure, want me to drive you? Where are you even going?" Natasha quips, arranging your suitcase in the corner of the room she had pointed out. 

You shrug, "I just wanna walk around, it's been so long. I wanna see if something has changed." 

"Call me if you need a drive back home, yeah?" The redhead's smile was contagious, making you give her a grateful smile.

That's how you found yourself walking aimlessly on the sidewalks of the neighborhood, each house feels familiar yet different and strange. It's like watching something out of a picture you have hidden in a box that has a label of 'memories'. 

It doesn't feel real, how you are walking to the very place you have run away from. Nothing would have prepared you for what happened years ago, the final conversation you had with Wanda was eye-opening. It did help you get the closure you wanted but not the ending of what you had hoped. Despite that, you chose yourself, you chose what you needed instead of what you wanted. 

It is hard, to choose between a want and a need but you knew what weighed more. Even if it left you on a lonely journey of self-healing, it was the very first time you have chosen an option that does not revolve around her.

Life shouldn't revolve around her and yet you had caught yourself standing outside the coffeehouse, eyes gazing at the empty building, despite the day not being done, the lights were off, and dust forming inside the clear window pane.

Thank you for your patronage. This coffeehouse has permanently closed.

You blinked away the sudden bitterness pooling at the tip of your tongue, gulping the remaining dejection crawling out of your throat over a closed coffeehouse, you looked away.

Westview did change, if it's the same as what you have left, the coffeehouse would still be here, not an abandoned building sitting with its bleakness seeping out of its clear windows. 

The grimness you have felt for something that seems so insignificant to others made you feel petty, but maybe you were just holding on to something that needed to be let go of. 

Hearing the sudden whipping of the wind and the yapping of a fast little dog running right at your ankle, you look down and instantly crouch to take the dog. 

Brows furrowing, you tried to look for a collar.

"Sparky– I swear to god. I am so sorry—" a hoarse voice comes next.

Your head whips fast. 

"...Y/N," she says breathlessly, her soft tunes sounding like she's running out of breath, catching it.

Wanda. 

It shouldn't bother you.

If you had moved on, it really shouldn't.

But it did. The look on her face sits gorgeously, she gapes at you wild like a fish out of water, trying to make sense if you are real or just another delusion of hers. You blink, your heart is calm but your mind says otherwise.

"You–you're back?" 

You nod. "Yes, I– uhm, just today."

The nibbling of her bottom lip made you turn your gaze away, softly setting down the dog on the ground, the cute pup instantly ran towards the frozen woman. 

"They, they closed months ago." she suddenly declares, watching as your eyes linger on the building. A tense silence ensues, making you clench the quiver of your chest. 

"It was nice to see you, Y/N. I hope you will enjoy your stay here," she mutters, you turn at her, watching as she struggles to clasp the collar back on the puppy, her hands are visibly trembling. 

With one last final glance, she smiles at you, "Sorry again, he always likes to run away from me. Okay, I— I want to—" she struggles.

Then settle for a simple, "Goodbye, Y/N."

You let her walk away, her long chocolate brown hair sits beautifully at her shoulders, then it hits you. A memory replaying right in your eyes, watching her walk away, steps heavy on the pavement. This is so familiar. 

"Wanda!"

The turning of her head was fast, the hope pooling in her green eyes made you waver. 

"What time is it?" you asked. 

Her shoulders fall, looking down at her watch, "Eight-forty-nine," she replies. 

"Would you like a coffee at nine?" 

fin.

general masterlist ◄

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

[sirhamburrger]

for romance roulette!

akaashi and 26!!

(library books that’ll never be returned)

game two, the treasury’s romance roulette (borders by @cafekitsune)

congratulations, player [REDACTED], for completing the game! your matchup is... the kindhearted and (eventually) heartbroken keiji akaashi, with your shared story centred around library books that’ll never be returned. now presenting...

windows to your heart (akaashi x gn!reader) || wc: 775

cw: angst angst angst!!, reader death, unnamed terminal illness

you never were the kind who liked to read books of any sort. until - which you weren’t proud to admit - you followed a cute guy from your literature class to his daily haunt.

the library.

it most definitely wasn’t a place you would’ve chosen to go to yourself. you always thought it was too quiet, like the silence had an unsettling weight to it you couldn’t really explain. but there you were, lingering in the among the bookshelves, eyes scanning the room intently until they landed on him. 

keiji akaashi sat at one of the windowside tables, dark hair falling into his eyes as he read, completely immersed. his fingers rested lightly against his lips, the faintest furrow between his brows.

he noticed you almost immediately  that first day. you were peeking out from behind a shelf, your expression a mix of hesitation and curiosity. holding back a smile, careful not to show he'd seen you, he returned to his book. but the third time he caught you staring rather obviously, he decided to speak. 

“you can sit with me if you want,” he said, not unkindly.

your eyes widened, and you stammered something incoherent before finally settling into the chair across from him.

from then on, you were there every day. at first, keiji watched you as you read. not so much actually reading, but flipping through pages too quickly to actually absorb any of the content. years of wanting nothing to do with books had made this bad habit of yours.

eventually, though, you began picking out books he’d recommended to you. you’d show up with them tucked under your arm, always with a breezy smile on your face. it became an intimate but effortless routine between the two of you - shared books, debates over characters, long conversations that stretched until the library lights flickered, signaling closing time.

he remembered the day you’d reflected, laughing, that books are like the windows to other people’s hearts. he didn’t tell you then, but he thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

the first time you didn’t show up, keiji assumed you were busy.

the second time, he convinced himself it was nothing.

by the third, worry crept into his thoughts, like alarm bells ringing in his head. when he texted, your replies were slow, distant - pieces of a conversation you didn’t seem quite ready to have. 

you finally showed up again, thankfully, but you looked smaller, paler in a way that drained the life in you. you smiled when he asked if you were okay, brushing it off like it was nothing. “just a little under the weather,” you always insisted, but keiji knew better.

the truth came slowly, in fragments you shared hesitantly over americanos at a nearby coffee shop. you were sick. something you didn’t want to name, something you didn’t want to dwell on. it was something neither of you could stop, or save you from, after all.

he sat there, his hands still around his cup as the weight of your words settled over him. you looked away, like you expected him to recoil in disgust, like you were waiting for him to leave.

but he didn’t. he could never.

he stayed by your side through the weeks and months that followed, even as your world grew smaller. the library became your refuge again, though you no longer wandered the shelves like your energetic past self. keiji brought the books to you like instead, reading them aloud to you when you were too tired to hold them yourself.

“the books i read are windows to my heart, every single one of them,” you whispered to him once, your voice fainter than ever. “when i’m gone, you’ll still have them. you’ll still have me.”

keiji couldn’t possibly find the words to respond, so he simply held your hand, holding on to what little he could.

when you finally leave him, the world feels unbearably silent. 

on your desk, he finds the last stack of books you borrowed, neat and untouched since your passing. he can’t bring himself to return them, not even when the overdue notices start to arrive. these books are yours, pieces of a story that ended far too soon.

sometimes he sits in the library, trying to feel your presence there again. he closes his eyes and imagines you sitting across from him, flipping through a book with that same focused expression. he imagines your voice, your laughter, like sunlight streaming through the windows, filling the space between the shelves.

“windows to your heart,” you’d said.

keiji wishes he’d had more time to open them all.

best regards, the treasury office.

a/n: i am bored and in traffique jam. it feels evil to post akaashi angst days before his womb eviction date but. as i said i am bored. sorry you had to die in this one </3

hope you're not too sad anon i just took this prompt and ran with it (this is just meant to be angst i KNOW it)