#but thank you sooo much for tagging me!!!

[bi-writes]

I’m sooo curious, how did John and his young wife meet if you have an idea?

I read a young price fic where she was his son’s nanny and now I’m curious if you have lore for them too!!!

-anasdump

they are the most obnoxious group of oxygen-stealers you've ever seen, and they're in fucking uniform.

taking up all the bar counter space. hogging the pool tables. throwing the darts so hard, they nearly took out some poor man's eyes. if they laugh and holler and spill one more fucking speck of beer on your leather purse, you're going to wind it up and smack them up the throats with it.

you approach the bar for a refill. you crane your neck as you look for a spot to grab the bartender's attention, but they're all shoving each other and slamming their hands on the wood and getting in the way. you huff, stepping up to a couple of them.

"hey, you need to move. no one can order if you're just gonna take up the whole counter."

the biggest one turns to look at you head-on. you glare a little, motioning with your hand for them to move, but he just leans back against his elbows. he's got the ugliest army haircut, and he wears his dog tags out in front like it's some kind of medal. you doubt he's ever seen anything outside of whatever stupid base he came off of.

"sure, we'll move. but it'll cost ya."

he looks you up and down, and you purse your lips when you meet his eyes.

"no. move over. i'm asking nicely right now."

"oooo," he laughs a little, nudging his friends with his elbows. they laugh, too. "i'm terrified, love."

you decide to just move them yourself. you shove your way between them, but when someone grabs your arm and tugs you backwards, you don't think. you just swing.

your knuckles connect with that asshole's face, and he cries out as he steps backward into his friends.

"don't fucking touch me!"

"you cunt--"

"oh, you did not just fucking call me that, you stupid, brainless piece of shit--!"

"easy," a low voice says behind you. you're almost glad for the interruption. your fist would falter with another punch you think, already bruising around the knuckles.

he's weathered, this new man. you would smell the military on him from a mile away, but he's older in a way that speaks volumes to you. he has the hands of someone that only knows hard labor, and the lines in his face have been warped not by time, but by decisions. he wears a beanie and a scruffy beard, and by the way the other men shuffle in his presence, he must be someone important.

when he steps in front of you, he blocks the view of wandering eyes. you peek around his arm, and every single one of those idiots has their gaze on the floor, and they stand at attention.

"you're an embarrassment to the crown, you lot," he mutters. "supposed to be examples. supposed to enact...some sense of duty in others, and yet all i see are a line of fucking boys that never learned their manners in primary." he laughs, "i mean...to call a lady a cunt?"

you rub your knuckles gently, looking down.

"i expect all of you to report to lieutenant riley at 0600 tomorrow. and your weekend passes are hereby revoked."

the whole pub is a little more relaxed once they're gone. you take a seat at the bar, and the bartender gives you a solemn smile before going to make you another drink.

"i uh..." you stiffen when you hear him behind you. "i want to apologize on behalf of them. tha's no way to treat someone, especially a woman."

"especially a woman," you laugh a little, shaking your head as you pick up the drink set down in front of you. you take a long sip of it, turning to face him. "i can handle myself, thank you very much."

"i can see tha'." he nods to your hand, which looks a little raw. you hide it under the counter, taking another sip of your drink.

"you know, i think you have a lot of other things to worry about," you snap. "like the band of assholes you apparently are in charge of."

"i'm sorry about them," he says again. "you won't see them here or anywhere close to you ever again. tha' i can promise you."

"you listen here--" you turn in your seat to face him, poking his chest with your finger. you try not to think about how your finger doesn't even budge, hitting a thick, pelted chest that has no give. you glare up into those baby blues. they're so bright--gorgeous. your breaths shake, but you steel yourself. he looks anything but afraid of you, no, he looks amused. "you all bring nothing but shit tracking in those boots of yours."

he sniffs, tilting his head to the side. "not a fan of servicemen, are you?"

you laugh, shaking your head.

"i'd spit on you, but even that's too good for you."

he grins. a full-blown smile, and when he leans into your space, you don't move. your finger on his chest flattens, your entire hand pressing there in the middle of his chest.

"i'm john."

you look him up and down. his pretty eyes, the dated but kept beard, the smile lines, the warm and solidness that sits under your hand. he's a teddy bear under that, but you're not fooled. this man isn't like the others--he's wise. experienced. it means he's trigger-happy, and it means he has blood on his hands.

you give him your name anyway, and he repeats it, low enough and close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

"i need another drink," you say, putting a finger on his lips and pushing him backwards. "and you're gonna buy it for me. buy me a few, actually."

john chuckles, taking his jacket off. he drapes it over the back of your chair, and you try to avert your gaze when you see big, burly biceps and coarse hair. his arm stays there, behind you.

"you understand me, john?" you coo, and he smiles big. he nods.

"yes, ma'am."

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕

Like the flow of ink across skin, his artistry carried stories to the surface: delicate linework, shaded secrets, painted dreams. Not only did artwork hold the stories he created, but his own decorated arms told tales of their own, and you would be hard pressed to keep anything a secret among the soothing hum of his tattoo machine and voice while you lay in the sanctuary of his workspace, drawn taut by the tension of his proximity that you craved more of. 

But with the fierce tide of secrets, also came burning revelations. 

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Tattoo Artist!Rafayel x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 6.5k 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── T 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Tooth Rotting Fluff, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, teasing and flirting, slight angst (anxiety and insecurity), first kiss, first tattoo 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ── HERE 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ── This whole fic was inspired by the utterly phenomenally talented @obligatedart and her Tattoo Artist!Rafayel artwork ― I was captivated and on the first day of working on this, I wrote 2k words in the span of 2 hours, never have I been so inspired. ── Thank you so, so much for allowing me to work with you on this, love. I had the time of my life! please be sure to check her out her blog or visit her linktree! ── Event runners, please mind the tags and specifics written at the end of this fic, well beyond the read more cut... this fic has 32 fills in total.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

─── 𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

“Sooo,” Rafayel teased, the vowel long on his tongue. “I’ve got no clients this afternoon. What does a fishie like me gotta do to get your cute butt into my studio, kitty?” 

You sighed into the phone, picturing the way he would be sitting on the high stool at the counter of his shop, swinging his legs while he held the phone between his shoulder and neck to talk to you. There were no doubts to what his hands were occupied by — through the speaker in your ear, you could hear the quiet hash of a lead pencil brushing over paper. 

“You’re only asking because you want to be the one to finally break me into the world of tattoos, or whatever.” 

It was true, the tattoo artist you called your best friend and whom you adored beyond what was platonic, had used every single trick in the book of bribery and persuasion to get you through the door and onto his chair as his client. 

An honour that many artistically inclined people waited years for — to have the opportunity to display even a stroke of the prodigy’s work.

But what Rafayel didn’t know, however, was that the decision was already made weeks ago — the very concept of your tattoo design he himself sketched with your studious input would stretch from your collarbone and down towards your shoulder. Swirls of colour with strong lines would map the delicate skin.

A coy laugh filled your ear. The butterflies in your stomach roared to life at the sound. “Okay, you caught me, I’m busted.” There was a short pause where you could hear the muffled sound of shuffling, and his next words sounded somehow closer — as though they were spoken against the shell of your ear, his hot breath caressing the skin softly. “What’d’ya say, cutie?”

You stopped and thought. While your attraction was no doubt a hesitant topic for you to broach to anyone but your journal — the butterflies in your stomach swirled in agreement to that thought — holding out the game of cat and mouse no longer appealed to you. Each glance, word, or touch from Rafayel never failed to spark that heat, and you knew, deep down, that maybe getting this tattoo was only an excuse to be close to him; to feel the touch you craved with no ulterior motive. 

Ulterior motive, my ass, you scolded internally. 

But if it were true, and he had no clients for the afternoon — no matter how suspicious that may be — the two of you would be free to see one another with no outside expectation of attention being diverted elsewhere.

“Hmm,” you hummed, unsure if the teasing lilt of your tone was nullified. “I don’t know, Raffie. I mean, maybe? I’m just not sure.”

The sound of Rafayel’s sharp inhale made you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. “What do you mean ‘I don’t know’? You’ve been thinking of this design for ages!” The expression of indignation in his tone and undoubtedly on his pretty features made your stomach tie in knots — the furrow of his pierced brows and pout of his full lips, while he tilted his head to the side to better analyse your words. 

“It’s–” you tried, but he cut you off.

“What’s stopping you, huh? D’you want more colour, maybe?” A sudden gasp from the speaker made you jump slightly. “Have you found another artist?”

“No! No, you dummy,” you rushed, horrified at the idea of any other person making their mark on you. 

Only, Rafayel laughed, the sound of it was real and deep in his chest. “I’m only teasin’ you.”

“Oh, you– No, what’s stopping me is that once I get one, I might not be able to stop. You might just have a new regular, Raf,” you replied petulantly, crossing an arm over your chest in protest. 

He scoffed, and you could feel the eyeroll he sent your way in your very soul. “You say that like it’s a problem—you don’t think I wanna see my favourite girl more often? Especially so I can tattoo her?” It truly was there now, the petulant scowl on his downturned lips was crystal clear in your mind. “C’mon, I thought you were a clever kitty.”

“Do you realise just how annoying you are?” you asked seriously. Despite your words, you started to get ready to leave all the same. 

“Yup.” 

A small silence grew, though it wasn’t uncomfortable, rather he seemed to be waiting for a confirmation. And there was no way you would give him the satisfaction. 

“Well,” he sighed, “if you don’t want it, it’s fine. But I’m lonely.” That pout on his lips made his tone of petulance far more exaggerated. “Come and keep me company.”

“Fine,” you huffed, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “I’m headed over, do you want anything while I’m on my way?”

“Yes!” His shout made you wince and hastily pull the phone from your ear. Even then you could hear his exclamations of joy at being brought snacks. You finally put the speaker back to your ear as he finished with: “Gods, yes. Uh– I wouldn’t mind–”

“Your usual?”

“I was gonna say–” He groaned. “Ugh, you know me too well.” The sound of him moving over the line made you raise a brow in silent question while you slipped your shoes on. “Yes, my usual, please.” 

“Unfortunately for me, I do.” 

And you ended the call before you could hear his retort. 

The drive to his tattoo shop was pleasant and short — the sight of the ocean’s swell so close to his haven always gave you pause at the sheer beauty.

You turned your car into a free parking space, right out the front of the elaborately decorated studio — seashells and fire lilies decorated the gold, bordered windows, and with the reflection of the water a few meters away, you could almost swear the petals danced with the movement of the waves. 

The aroma of sea salt filled your senses as you stepped out of your car and into the sea breeze. It made a warmth fill you from the tip of your toes to the tips of your fingers, much like the wave of contentment you felt when you saw Rafayel yourself. 

His tattoo studio truly was your haven, too — hours upon hours had been spent behind those walls, helping the artist work through portfolio to portfolio, all while he groused at the uptick of unpleasant encounters with arrogant clients. 

It wasn’t all an unfortunate time of complaints, however. 

Your memories of his wide smile while he hung frames of his own works on the walls still engrained in your mind. How, on the frequent occasion of him being so focused on his work, you would have the exceedingly rare instance of hearing him sing quietly; the melodic tune only just loud enough to hear, but you treasured it all the same. 

All of the instances warmed your heart, and suddenly, you found yourself smiling widely as you approached the door. It was the right decision to make today the day. 

Before you could reach the singular step at the entryway, the door was swung open with a cry of happiness. 

Rafayel burst through the doorway, his smile blinding with his glee at seeing you. While he approached, you took notice of how he looked — the glint of his eyes was shimmering with the rays of the sun, making the blue and pink hues breathtakingly beautiful.

The black shirt he wore was loose on his lithe frame, and the sleeves were folded at his elbows to better display the stunning array of ink on both of his forearms that extended down to his hands. A few rings adorned his fingers — each as pretty and elaborate as the last.

Black ink filled the black spaces between an array of marine designs on one arm, while his other was decorated with elaborate scales, separated by the use of negative space. Layered over the top of the rows and rows of scales, was a luminous, finned entity, the colours blending seamlessly together to match the shades of his eyes. 

A singular fire lily on his forearm stood out the most to you, however, and your heart swooped at the sight of it. 

“There’s my girl!” Rafayel called, jogging towards you. His hair was loose around his face, the purple strands swaying with his gait. “Hey, you.”

His arms wrapped around your middle as soon as he collided with you, and you let out a gasp of surprise as he swayed you side to side. “Hey, my favourite fishie.” You kissed his cheek and pulled back, smiling just as widely as he was. 

The sun shone down, and the rays of light reflected off of the silver piercings on the bridge of his nose to his dimple piercings. They were a simple titanium silver, but they gleamed brighter than diamonds as you mapped his face. 

From the round collar of his shirt, the theme of his tattoos continued all the way up to his sharp jawline — the use of scales and negative space repeated, but instead of solid, dark shading on his arm, the scales were engraved with the gentle touch of flower petals to fill each one. 

There was no splash of colour to compliment, rather the monochrome palette of black and grey applied to a standard of perfection only an artist could attain. Strands of his purple hair fell over the lines of his tattoos as he stood there, staring at you like you were the blessing he needed for that day. 

Which, you supposed you were. 

“You brought me a snack?” Rafayel asked, his eyes widening slightly while his lower lip pouted. 

In reply, you shook the brown paper bag in your hand — the momentary stop at the convenience store worth it for the utter adoration in his expression. “I swear the way to your heart is through your bottomless tummy,” you teased, poking his stomach.

“Hey! Hands off, you’re touching the goods!” He snatched the bag and danced just out of reach of your fingers to peer inside. 

You snorted a laugh and shook your head. “What goods?”

Rafayel’s eyes snapped up to glare at you. “Puh-lease, I have abs, okay?” 

The butterflies pivoted their movements in your stomach, and you cleared your throat to fight the bubble of emotion in your throat, but he didn’t notice your sudden, flustered actions on account of his face being buried in your peace offering. 

His mussed hair suddenly moved and revealed his gleeful expression. “Seaweed chips?”

“Only the best for my man.” 

“Ugh, I could kiss you. C’mon, come inside.” Rafayel grabbed your hand and led you back towards his studio, his grip sure and true — unwilling to let go. And you couldn’t help but feel dizzy over how you wanted him to make good on his threat, or the fact that your hand fit so perfectly in his. 

The interior of his studio was aglow, to say the least. The walls facing the sea were floor to ceiling windows with pillars between each stretch of glass — every single one decorated with the theme of water in mind. Your favourite one depicted a pod of dolphins, their fins seeming to move and chase the momentum to propel them forward and catch the pearlescent spheres of bubbles. 

A few of the windows were wide open to the view — curtains swayed with the sea breeze, and with it they carried the sound of cawing seagulls. 

“They’re loud today,” Rafayel commented, nodding his head towards a heaped pile of sand a few paces from the window, where a small gathering of gulls called to one another endlessly while you watched. “I could’a sworn they’d been possessed by you at one point, they were so obnoxious.”

You shot a glare at the artist, though he only smirked. “What are they going on about, then?” The bag of treats in Rafayel’s grasp made a dull thump as it settled on the till counter. “Surely they aren’t shouting prophecies and telling you that I was going to come today.”

“And what would you say if I said yes, cutie?” Rafayel laughed heartily at your exaggerated eyeroll, and he then gestured towards a large fishbowl. “Someone else also missed you.”

“It’s only been like, two days,” you sighed, but you still looked towards the fishbowl and found a small, red fish pacing the glass — back and forth, back and forth. If he were a dog, you would have guessed his tail would be wildly wagging with excitement. “Hey, Reddie, baby.”

The fish did a fast loop and faced you, his fanned tail swishing from side to side so fast that small bubbles floated to the surface of his water. You walked over, smiling wildly as you felt Rafayel’s dumbfounded gaze watching your every move. 

The tip of your finger touched the cool, smooth surface of the glass. 

“I would have thought that you missed Reddie more than me. What the hell?” Rafayel grumbled, and just as you looked over at him, you found his arms crossed over his toned chest, the fabric of his shirt rumpled and pulled tight over the muscles of his biceps. “Why don’t you greet me like that, huh?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you cooed, and you stepped back from Reddie’s tank. “Would you like a re-do?”

“Well duh.”

You smiled gently and walked towards him. “Hey, Raffie, baby,” you repeated, and you lifted your finger to boop the tip of his sharp nose. 

In response, his nose scrunched, and he shook his head, the sway of his hair mesmerising. With such a small distance between you both, you took him in, committing the way his eyes sparkled with mirth and the quirk of his lips, the metal of his snake bite piercing reflecting the afternoon sun’s light. 

“That it, kitty?” he teased, the tip of his tongue running over his lips. 

“That’s it,” you affirmed, nodding assuredly — albeit ignoring the swoop of your stomach as you watched the movement on his tongue. Get it together, you reminded inwardly. “So, what’s on the agenda today, my second favourite fishie?”

“Second favourite?” Rafayel scoffed. “You’re a brat, y’know that, right?” 

“Yup.”

Before long, you were lounging on the seashell-shaped couch in the reception area, while Rafayel kept fiddling around behind the counter, the scratch of lead over paper louder this time compared to earlier. “What are you up to?”

He looked up, his wide-eyed gaze meeting yours briefly before he glanced back downward. “Nothin’.”

“Nothing? That’s a lie if ever I heard one,” you teased, sitting up straight. Rafayel didn’t look up at you again, until: “I guess we’re both hiding secrets today then.”

Fiery eyes met yours faster than you could blink, and he narrowed his gaze. “And what do you mean by that absolutely ridiculous accusation, Miss Fishie?”

You were in trouble now — that title had only been bestowed upon you when Rafayel suspected something, whether it be a prank, secret, or whatever else he could sense with his otherworldly observational skills. “Miss Fishie? I haven’t done anything–!”

“You’re not doing yourself any favours by getting so defensive, cutie,” he laughed, sitting up straighter on his stool and crossing his leg over his knee. His shirt creased as he moved, and he placed his elbow on the countertop, his chin now resting in his hand. “Go on, shoot—what’s got my girl’s tongue all tied and twisted?”

You blinked, taken aback by his curiosity — there was no doubt you expected as much, but to be such a genuine interest without the undercurrent of his usual teasing manner was unusual. “Uh– Well…”

Rafayel arched a brow, urging you to continue with his free hand before he draped it over his thigh and spun his pencil absentmindedly over his knuckles. 

“Well I decided something…” 

“And that something is?”

A deep, steadying breath did nothing to calm the racing beat of your heart. The sudden nerves of admitting your desire to have the tattoo snuck up on you far faster than you hoped they would. In one exhale, you said: “I want you to tattoo me with that design you came up with.”

It was Rafayel’s turn to sit speechless. 

The pencil that was flipping effortlessly over and through his nimble fingers fell to the floor with a deafening clatter in the silence that filled the space between you — though it was only a few paces, it suddenly felt like a cavernous trek. 

He cleared his throat, and you looked at your lap, hastily placing your hands there to fidget and have an excuse not to meet his eyes. 

“You want me to what? Did I just hear you right?” His voice was strained with an indiscernible emotion, though you noticed the rasp of his tenor was far from unpleasant. 

“You heard me right,” you mumbled, picking at the skin by your fingernails. Footsteps sounded over the floor of his studio, and they grew louder until you could see the source toe to toe with you from under your lashes. 

The warmth of Rafayel’s fingers brushed against your chin, and he cradled your jaw to move your head upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. A smile, one of genuine warmth and happiness, pulled at the corners of his lips, and it somehow made the gleam of his eyes even more dazzling. 

“You want me to tattoo you?” His voice was soft, and as he spoke, you felt his thumb brush gently over your skin. “How long have you been planning this, kitty?”

“I decided ages ago, but I only worked up enough courage this morning.” 

Rafayel beamed — the piercings on his lips, nose, and brows outshone by the brightness of his smile. “Okay then. Let’s get you ready, yeah?” He offered his hand, and you took it, letting him help you up from the couch. “Can’t have my favourite client disappointed, so I’ll pull out all the stops.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, squeezing his hand. “I couldn’t ever be disappointed by you, Raf.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in me,” he said, smiling over his shoulder at you. 

A closed door came into view, and the thud of your heart against your ribs grew painful — it was his space, where he worked day in and day out, where he tattooed true masterpieces on his clients and where he was in his element. 

Your breath hitched, and he noticed. 

“Hang on,” Rafayel whispered, and you were suddenly crushed to his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into yours and grounding you in the present. “What’s goin’ on in that head’a yours? Talk to me.”

The rumble of his voice in your ears soothed the rush of blood that thrummed in your ears, and you took another deep breath. “Just nervous, I think?”

Rafayel squeezed you tight, and stepped back to lean in close, his nose almost touching yours. “That’s alright, cutie. It’s me, and you’re safe.” His hot breath fanned over your lips, and the butterflies rampaged through your stomach at his proximity — it would be so easy to close the distance, to claim his lips and take what you’ve craved for so long. 

The train of thought must have shown on your expression because he winked, the tip of his tongue toying with the shining piercing. You watched the action, only to realise he was doing it on purpose. “Up here, pretty girl.”

You blinked, your focus moving from his lips to his eyes. “I’ve got you and I’ll be sure to make this first tattoo a beautiful one; hard to surpass the canvas herself, but an artist’s gotta try, yeah?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and Rafayel grinned back at you before he kissed your forehead. 

One step after the other, you followed behind him, your hand still held tightly by his as he guided you into his booth.

The walls were painted in a pastel blue — a colour that soothed something deep in your soul, while splashes of fiery red and soft pinks decorated the space in all manners of fauna and flora, from whales to coral. 

“There it is,” you breathed through a wide smile, a small giggle of laughter making your voice shake. The culprit for such awe was framed on a wall — the same, impassioned shades of red, orange, and yellow of the petals were identical to the ones that adorned Rafayel’s arm. A fire lily, symbolising such fierce passion, couldn’t be imagined to be placed anywhere else beside the artist’s space.

“There it is,” said artist assured. 

The piece was simple but symbolic; one afternoon of you both glued to the hip of the other, brushes in hand while you playfully splattered paint over the canvas in a bid to sabotage his attempts to challenge you. What resulted was an outlined flower with flames of pink that licked the leaves, never charring the beauty of your joined creation. 

“Never have and never will move this one,” he continued, walking backwards. “Thomas was insistent the other day on moving it to the gallery.”

“He what?” you gasped, astonished. While Rafayel was a renowned tattoo artist, his venture into traditional styles resulted in his need for a manager to juggle the endless pieces and enquiries of purchases. “But didn’t you tell–?”

“Oh, I did.” The stool next to the padded chair squeaked as Rafayel sat down, and the wheels spun as he pushed himself to the corner, where all of his supplies were messily placed. “Haven’t seen him run so fast from a lit match before.”

The implication of a lit match being waved around the precious creation made your heart leap with fear, and you started forwards, a finger pointed at his chest. “Raffie!”

“Hey, hey, it’s not harmed, is it? Kitty–! Stop–” His protests were cut short by his laugh, the jabs of your fingers hitting each ticklish spot on his side with precision. “Enough, enough—I yield!” 

The wheels of his stool squealed with how fast he pushed away from your looming figure, and he held his hands up in surrender — deep, navy blue and black lines that curved around his thumb, index, and ring finger was the only art visible in his act of contrition. The rings gleamed like his piercings under the studio lights overhead.

“Good,” you goaded, lifting your chin. “Don’t you dare do that again.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said aloud, but as he turned away to focus on his supplies again, you could have sworn you heard a mumbled continuation of: “Maybe I would if you react like that. Adorable.”

As he fiddled with his tools, you walked around the space. Frames were hung high on walls with awards he won over the years, as well as a few choices of his most prideful works — one of which was a stunning, surrealist, fantastical interpretation of Reddie and a Merman, the red scales of Reddie’s body contrasting against the crystal blue of the Merman’s fins. 

“Okay, cutie,” Rafayel sang from behind you, the excitement in his voice far from hidden. You turned around and found him staring up at you, his eyes gleaming with a kind of tender adoration. 

His palm slapped the leather of the reclined chair. “I’ll get you to take just your shirt off so I can get to your shoulder,” he said quietly, gesturing to the stencil he had made. “Then you can get your cute butt up here, and let’s get started, yeah?”

“My shirt off…?” you whispered, eyes widening slightly. Of all the possibilities and outcomes of you getting this tattoo, somehow, this was the one thing you had not considered — naturally, being close with Rafayel meant that accidents did happen and so many hasty apologies had been said through laughter, but as for a purposeful act of this nature made your stomach tie in anxious knots again. 

It didn’t help that the swirling feeling of restless butterflies grew worse the longer he stared up at you from his perch on his stool. 

“Yeah, Miss Fishie,” he teased, tapping the shining leather of the seat. “Won’t be an accident this time—I can turn around if it’ll help.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “What? It’s fine, kitty. I think you’re cute, y’know, so I don’t mind.”

Oh.

Oh.

“What?”

Rafayel chuckled and shook his head. “C’mon, times tickin’ away. I wanna get started.”

“You are such a smug asshole,” you groused, trying utterly hard to ignore the heat crawling up from the collar of your shirt. “Seriously, you really are.”

“Yeah, and yet, here you are, my feisty kitty.” He made a show of smirking cheekily while he turned around, and he reached for the box of gloves on his trolley to pull free a pair. 

The thunderous beat of your heart made you swallow thickly, and you cleared your throat to try and force it to settle in place, though it was in vain. Your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, and slowly, ever so carefully, the fabric revealed the skin of your stomach, your chest and neck, until it passed over your head to be held in your trembling hand. A shaky exhale made your sides flutter.

The stool Rafayel sat on made a small clinking noise as he moved to sit comfortably. “You ready now, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking at the floor hastily when he made a move to turn around. 

The silence swelled uncomfortably, and it passed for a beat until you heard him ask: “What’s up, kitty? You wanna get on the chair for me…?”

“Oh, uh– Sorry, Raf–”

“If you apologise again, I will take this–” Rafayel picked up the tattoo machine on the table beside him, and effortlessly twirled it in his hand, “And I will tattoo a post it note on your forehead saying idiot.”

His sudden and ridiculous threat made a small laugh burst out of your constricting chest, and you stepped slowly towards the aforementioned chair. “You wouldn’t do that–?”

“Bet. Try me.” He scooted the stool closer to the chair and offered his hand to help you up onto the comfortable padding. “Apologise again and you’ll see.”

A small, nervous sigh escaped your lips, and with the guidance of Rafayel’s cool, smooth hands on your back and shoulder, you laid back against the chair, somewhat uncomfortable with the position — especially since he was so damned close to your side that you could feel every single one of his exhales against the skin of your shoulder or chest, dependent on where he positioned himself to place the stencil. 

He hummed quietly as he worked, tilting his head side to side while you laid stiffly underneath his scrutinising gaze. “If you sit like this for the whole session,” he started, licking his lips absentmindedly, and he leaned in so close while looking at your shoulder that his loose hair tickled the tip of your nose. “I’m not taking the blame for how sore you’re gonna feel after—though it gives me an excuse to give you a world-famous-Rafayel-massage.”

“World famous, huh? Who else has had one?”

The colours in his irises burned at your question, and he stared at you from the corner of his eyes. “Only one person—she may be a brat, but she’s my world and I wouldn’t have it any other way. So don’t you worry, cutie.”

“Raffie,” you whined, looking away from his intense gaze as though it seared through you, the burn of it terrifying and oh, so addictive. “Don’t do that to me, please.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed again, arching a brow before he focused back on his task. The click of his tongue sounded while he smoothed over the paper and gently pulled it away from your skin to reveal blue and purple lines from the stencil. “Sorry, kitty, ‘fraid I can’t listen, ‘specially not when there’s truth to it.”

You groaned low in your throat and threw your arm over your eyes to shield yourself from the embarrassment of meeting his stare. 

“‘Kay, we’re good to get started. You feelin’ ready?” he asked suddenly, his voice now coming from beside you as opposed to above you. 

You moved your arm and blinked against the sudden, bright light, and you glanced to the side. 

Rafayel was sitting patiently, his hands in his lap while a small smile curled his lips upwards — the light in his eyes didn’t reflect just the bulb above you, but his joy for the moment. “Hmm?” he prompted, tilting his head to the side. 

Slowly, you turned your head forward, inhaled deeply, and let it out with a huff as you stared up at the ceiling. “Better now than never.”

“That’s the spirit,” he teased. 

Movement from the very corner of your peripherals made you snap your attention towards Rafayel once more, only, you froze in place at the sight. A hair band was around his wrist while both his hands raked through his hair — streaks of purple caught the light as he moved uncooperative strands into a messy up-do that left the longer parts of his hair remaining loose down the back of his neck.  

With the hair gone from his forehead, his eyes became far more piercing — colours that would normally be intense in their own right, bore into your very being as you met his gaze. 

The gloves he grabbed from a small cardboard box fit snug over his hands, and the plastic snapped against his wrist while he adjusted them to be more comfortable. “Alright then, kitty.” He winked and leaned forward, one gloved hand resting on the skin below your collar bone, while the other securely held the machine. “Here we go.”

The initial prick of the inked needles on your skin made you hiss with the sudden pain, and your head jerked upwards from the headrest to stare into his face. “Shit!”

“You’re okay,” Rafayel soothed. “It’s always gonna hurt more during the first few—wanna relax and let me work?”

You grimaced and rested your head back down onto the headpiece of the chair. “Not like I got a choice, right?”

“Nup.” 

Time passed slowly while the ink coloured your skin, each stroke of the needles stung a little less than the last and the discomfort plateaued enough for you to lay more comfortably in the seat. “You’re doin’ well, kitty,” Rafayel praised softly, the hum of the machine momentarily silenced as he wiped the tender flesh of your shoulder, cleaning it of built-up ink. “Not much longer to go, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” 

A small silence stretched, only occupied by the droning hum of the needles effortlessly working, and the slight hitch of your breath as he moved the machine.

The light over your shoulder lit up his sharp features, and you smiled at him through the sting of pain. With the adrenaline of sitting still while he worked, a sudden rush of bravery overtook you — starting at the tips of your fingers and your toes, much like the wave of warmth earlier, and it settled in the depths of your stomach like a molten weight. “Raf…”

“Mm? Yeah, cutie?” he asked, his eyes not leaving the fast-disappearing blue, stencilled lines on your shoulder. “What’s up, you alright?”

Fire coursed through your stomach, swirling upwards into your chest and around your heart. The feeling was intoxicating, freeing with its very presence. “Have I ever told you…” You licked your bottom lip, the sudden dryness of your mouth forcing you to clear your throat. 

Your best friend, the light of your life, and the recipient of your deepest affection, stopped the machine in his hand and glanced upwards, arching a brow in question. “Told me what?”

You blinked and dragged a deep lungful of air to quell the rioting butterflies in your stomach. In one breath, you exhaled and spoke quickly. “That I think you’re really pretty.”

A beat passed, another, and another. 

Rafayel seemed to have frozen in place. The amethyst of his eyes bloomed to be blinding, though he sat as still as a geode, unmoving with shock — the rise and fall of his chest from each breath even ceased. 

A sobering amount of ice flooded your veins and embarrassment burned up the skin of your chest and neck, the scorching pain of the needles entirely unlike it. The reality of preferring to be chained to the chair for eternity with the constant pricks of needles over your delicate skin, rather than take in the way he only sat there, hit you like a tidal wave. 

“I’m sorry–” You gasped, the build up of shameful tears forcing their way to the corner of your eyes. “I didn’t–” The chair rattled as you hastily moved to sit up on your elbows. “I’m so sorry, I’ll go–”

Before you could even sit up and run from the room, you were forced backwards by the solid weight of a body. Tattooed arms caged you against the chair — steadfast, gloved hands were planted either side of your hips, while you scurried backwards with a squeak of shock. 

Rafayel had moved so fast it was a blur. All you could see was his face, the way his cheekbones were dusted pink; how his lips were shining from the light next to you. 

“Raf–!”

“Shut up.” 

You tried to shy backwards, to gain some distance from his suffocating presence, but he followed, keeping his nose close enough to yours to bump against the tip of it — a normal, cute tradition that suddenly held you in its vice just as tightly as the man who loomed over you. 

“Please–”

“I said shut up, cutie.” Rafayel remained immovable, his hands still caged you in place — no matter how hard you tried to scoot backwards over the leather chair, you could not escape the warmth of his molten stare, or the way his breath came in slow, deep exhales over your cheek and jaw as you desperately looked everywhere around the room but at him. “Look at me.”

“Please don’t make me.” The pressure of tears on your waterline made you squeeze them shut, desperate to stem the flow. “Please, I– Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Who are you talking to, kitty? You, or me?” His question made you freeze, the entirety of your body stiffening, and he pressed his advantage. “Huh, so you’re talking to yourself and gettin’ all worked up.” There was a slight shuffle, and the sound of latex gloves snapping followed straight away. “You’re gonna make me ask again, aren’t you?”

A heavy sigh sounded, and you felt the rush of air against your shoulder, above the freshly done tattoo. The room was filled with a silence that grew and grew, expanding to encompass your whole being to make it feel like an ornate pane of glass soon to shatter from an unseen pressure. 

“Miss Fishie,” Rafayel whispered, his voice so close you could almost taste the words on his tongue. His fingers gripped your chin gently and turned you to finally face him. Through the protection of your closed eyelids, you could imagine his expression of pity, and it only soured the butterflies in your stomach. “I need you to look at me, pretty girl. C’mon.”

Your eyes opened immediately — the fond use of your nickname mixed with the praise made a whole new heat settle in the pit of your stomach, and the butterflies bloomed through the murky depths to flutter once more. 

Rafayel looked earnest, almost desperate in his need for you to look at him. The way his eyes glimmered and ebbed with the waves outside, amethysts and coral colliding as one again; his mouth slightly agape as he stared back at you. His hand moved from your chin to cup your jaw. 

“I–”

“Shh,” he soothed. The pad of his thumb brushed over your cheek, a soothing gesture that only made your heart ache more. “Why’re you gettin’ all scared, baby? I didn’t even get to reply—you shut me out like a clam, or an oyster, take your pick.”

Baby. 

Never before had that word been said between you, and you blinked fast in shock. The flush of heat deepened on your chest and neck while it spread to your ears. 

“But you’re– You don’t–” The stuttered reply was silenced by his arched brow. Each of his movements were sharp in clarity, and if you hadn’t have felt so poised to run, you would have admired the way his tattoos and piercings only made him more beautiful in the moment. 

A small, amused smile played at the corner of his lips, and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet the pink skin. “My cute kitty can truly be so damned stupid sometimes, y’know.”

“Hey–!”

“Do you see me backing down?” Rafayel pressed, his brows suddenly furrowing and casting his eyes into shadowed depths. “Do you see me runnin’ away from you right now?”

You hesitated, and in your telling silence, you realised something. The feeling of it crashed over your whole body like a tsunami wave — far more intense than you ever felt before. “...No.”

“No,” he repeated, and he moved closer. The tip of his nose brushed yours. “I think you have your answer then, baby girl.”

“Hmph–” Any reply to him you could have mustered was utterly banished from your mind at the feel of his lips on yours. It was tender and soft; the warmth he held consumed you whole. 

Slowly, he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours, his breath fanning over your parted lips while a smirk tugged at the corner of his. “Is that enough to show you just how much I want you; how long I’ve waited for this?”

“You knew!” you burst out, staring at him with wide eyes. “How–?!”

Rafayel chuckled quietly. “It’s Reddie’s fault.” The rise of his shoulders in an indifferent shrug obscured the light for a second. “He’s the one hidin’ my secrets.” 

“You– You’re blaming a fish–! Oh my god.” 

You surged forwards and captured his lips again, the leather under your legs scuffed with the sudden movement. Rafayel grunted with the force of your embrace, and he kissed back fervently, one hand on your waist while the other rested on your cheek. 

The soft, feathered feel of Rafayel’s hair tickled the pads of your fingers, and you wove them upwards, revelling in the shuddered breath that hitched his chest. Your tongues met in a brief dance, and you tugged his head back lightly — more tresses fell loose from the updo to cover the ways your fingers entangled to your anchor. 

“Shit, kitty,” Rafayel huffed, his lips only far enough away to draw breath. “If I had known you felt like this…”

“What, you would have said something sooner and put us both out of our yearning, heartfelt misery?” 

Pink and purple danced with mirth, and he kissed the tip of your nose. “Damn right I would have.”

“I guess we’re both pretty dumb, huh?” you asked quietly, holding his face in your hands. 

Rafayel winked, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a playful smirk. “Yeah, I’d say so, but you’re still the cute one.”

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Half-Baked Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Confession • N2 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Making The Other Laugh • G5 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Brushing Their Hair • B3 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Desperate KIss • I1 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Please." • N5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Licking Lips • G5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Anxiety • O3 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Arms Crossed • I2 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "I'm Here." • I2 ── MASTERLIST ── Gingerbread Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Tattoos • B4 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Pinned Down • N3 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Finally Kissing Them • G3 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Dreams Really Do Come True • I2 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Can't Stop Smiling • N5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Admitting a Crush • G2 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Don't Ignore Me." • B1 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Look At Me." • I2 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Soulmate is Best Friend • N2 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Piercing • ALT ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Coming Back For Another KIss • O2 ── MASTERLIST ── Medical Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "I Love You." / "So You Should." • I5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Are You Talking To Me?" • O4 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "What Is It?" ── MASTERLIST ── Tolkien Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Forehead Kisses • B1 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Will You Let Me Kiss You?" • O2 ── MASTERLIST ── Types of Love Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "now that I have known how it is to be with you, I can't go back." • B2 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ they complete one another • B3 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "that was surely something..." • I3 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ feeling butterflies in their stomach • O5 ── MASTERLIST ── Language of Flowers Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "look at me, it's alright." ── MASTERLIST ── Beginnings Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ first time • ALT ── MASTERLIST ── Eclipsing Bingo (@eclipsingbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Paralysed By Fear • O3 ── MASTERLIST

[aleksa-sims]

Meet My Couple Valentine's Challenge! ❤️

Thank you so much for tagging me @simscici 🥰

That was fun! I have chosen N. & myself. First I wanted Philip and Bianca, but they are not together anymore. 🤷‍♀️

Our most memorable pic shows our first night together. I chose this moment/pic, because N and I waited sooo long (over a year) until we could finally be REALLY together!! Nico and I have only seen each other ONCE, before this night in the picture. Our first encounter was in a club. After that we wanted to meet again but.... I couldn’t!🤦‍♀️😞 It’s extremely embarrassing how I behaved & acted, but I was just too cowardly to see him a second time. Rather anxious of being rejected. I was extremly shy and had complexes about my body. I still struggle with that sometimes. Anyway, we were just talking on the phone for weeks and months... I kept having some stupid excuses why I couldn’t see him. I thought before I lost him completely, I prefer to text him every day until I dare to tell him the truth. However 4 months after our first meeting I finally told him why I can’t see him. He believed me. I told him EVERYTHING about myself and my probs. He was great and had a lot of patience with me. Over time I became more confident. Besides, we couldn’t wait any longer. We often argued about it until I dared to jump over my shadow, a year later.🤦‍♀️

But yk, I think we would have run into each other again eventually, because...... it just had to be! ❤️

I'm gonna tag: @simari @pink-chevalier @sims4littlebird @nova-kim @igglemouse @mysimsloveaffair @silverspringsimmer @bakedsimmer

[rennerator]

YUP SOOO TRUE, it felt like that indeed... A Tragedy... A crime... Poetic, but still, EMPTY... Empty in the way that it felt, to me, like as the episode was going more and more it was destroying and "taking away" just everything that was built and constructed and developed during all the whole 15 seasons... Because what an AWFUL way to end such a beloved series, that had SO MANY INTERESTING and INCREDIBLE characters and stories... What a way to pay homage to the fans and cast, to the characters and their journeys that were all part of this show... To the "motto" of Found Family / Family Doesn't End With Blood... By making it ONLY about the "Blood Family"... By making it feel like all the interactions and bonds and growth and wins and losses were for nothing... By having Dean and Sam just wear the "same outfit" that they had on during the first episode... For what? To say that it was just the first and last episodes that truly mattered? Anyways, sorry for the additional rant/yap on here! XD Yeah, I don't like the Finale... It was a HORRIBLE experience, for me, to watch it... Thank you SO MUCH for sharing this with us!!! I hope you don't mind me tagging along with your post!!!! You are WONDERFUL! :) <3

don’t get me wrong i am a finale hater at my core but there’s something poetic about how it’s thoroughly established throughout the show that cas was the “malfunction” in the system that caused the story not to go the way chuck wanted it to by developing free will and rebelling from heaven and then the moment he dies the story ends with dean dying and sam living an “regular life” the way it would’ve if the series never happened at all

like the series spends a lot of time saying cas is NOT the way he’s supposed to be. he rebelled the moment he saved dean from hell. he turns the narrative on its head by developing free will and making his own decisions. chuck even tells him that this is the only universe in which cas “didn’t do as he was told”. he ruins chucks plan for the brothers at every turn by caring about them.

then moment cas was gone the story went back to the way it would’ve ended if the show never happened and he had never affected anything. like the “error” was deleted and it reverted to the way it “should be”. dean died tragically and stupidly on a hunt way too young doing a job for his father. sam got out and lived an “apple pie life” and died old. they went to heaven with their family and it’s all The Way It Should Be, not matching up with the message of found family the show developed and instead returning to the blood family vibe of the early seasons pre cas. like he died and the story stopped resisting chucks wishes. idk i’m just yapping but it feels like something

[endureandsurvives]

I got tagged by @theemeraldforesthideout

rules: pick a song for every letter of your URL and tag that many people

Everglow - Starset

Numb - Linkin park

Dark city - Machinae supremacy

Untraveled road - Thousand foot krutch

Ricochet - Starset

E🙃

Anthem of the lonely - Nine lashes

No plan b - Manafest

Dance with the devil - Breaking benjamin

Scava - Hollywood undead

U🙃

Rocket dragon - Machinae supremacy

V🙃

In my remains - Linkin park

V🙃

E🙃

Save a place - 1969

[al-luviec]

something simple to try to get out of art block (it didn't work)

[quinnigallagherjones]

tagged by @luthientinuvielss (thank you sm bee !! 🥺🥺🫶🏻🫶🏻) to do this picrew !!

tagging: @inourtownofhawkins @darlingboydiaz @bossuets @userastarion @benoitblanc @chronicowboy @danielsousa @eddie-kaspjack @maygrantgf @billhaders @vinmauro @keikomiura + anyone else who wants to do it !! (as always no pressure 🫶🏻🫶🏻)

[unriding]

hi evie !! how have you been ? :33 i hope you dont mind me borrowing you and moze for something ehehe <3

[federthenotsogreat]

I might've had another idea-

[nemotakeit]

i think that if we dig all the way down to the roots of tøp's musical theme, it all comes down to that constant internal conflict between desperately wanting to be seen and desperately wanting to stay hidden. we can see how they've been making gradual progress in "managing the tension" but it's still there on Clancy. dare i say it's the central theme of the lore as well.. the reason the character & the era Clancy feels so rebellious is because he's actively fighting to Be Seen. the oscillation continues, but a subversive variable has emerged.

[shy-sapphic-ace]

Guys should I write a Dracula musical. Should I???

[solar-halos]

What kind of characteristics or traits do you think Annie's baby has that reminds her of Finnick??

omg i love this question so much, thank you for asking!! especially since whenever i do write odesta's kid i do have to make a very big effort to remember that its canon that annie says their kid reminds her more and more of finnick as he grows up. these hcs are mostly based on things ive mentioned in the Deep Dive universe, but i will make sure to explain the more Out There stuff so that it makes sense even without context!!

whereas i think annie is very talkative and energetic, i think odesta's kid would take after finnick and be more on the quiet side. if we want to run with the hc that finnick has always been a people pleaser, then i think its very possible that he was a perfect blend of a teacher's pet and a class clown. Odesta Baby is effortlessly likeable (i love annie cresta, but i don't think she'd be effortlessly likeable i think she's likeable in a way that intrigues people yet also might annoy them. like "do i fuck w her or does she just ignite something contrarian in me" but anyway this isn't about annie cresta this is about her son)

with that being said, i also repeat the phrase "careful precision" like my life depends on it whenever im writing a fic with odesta/johannie and the baby, but i think it holds so true. i think finnick basically tackled everything with careful precision and was overall a very calculated person, so i think it would be jarring for annie to see how that manifests in more casual ways with their baby. like, maybe he creates outline after outline whenever he does his homework instead of taking on annie's "fuck it we ball" approach. or maybe when someone is explaining card/board game rules he impresses everyone with getting things right the first time bc he is like i need to understand it the first time through i need to understand it the first time through i need---etc etc. i just think that it is very obvious that the wheels are turning in his brain in overdrive mode bc he doesn't want to fuck anything with anyone up and something something perfectionism screams finnick odair. but also obviously i think that they are all very smart, i just think that finnick and the baby get anxious about needing to be perceived as intelligent

i also think he's a writer!! i think finnick's victor's talent (poetry) was rooted in some truth, so i like to think that when he and annie were kids they came up with silly little stories to pass the time, and Odesta Baby eventually picks up the mantle and annie is like who taught you that. i also think he looks at everything and creates stories behind it: clouds, toys, furniture, you name it! which i also think would be very finnick this man would bump into a mannequin, apologize, and then not even have that "oh i just said sorry to an inanimate object" moment"

i also don't think he loses his temper very quickly. i know i am kinda getting into "nurture vs nature" territory here, but even though i think johanna and annie (who i hc raise Odesta Baby) have very short fuses, i think Odesta Baby came out of the womb nonchalant. i have no backing for this other than anecdotal evidence that my brother is the token nonchalant person in the family despite everyone else Not Being Nonchalant

i think this is getting way too long so i will just leave it at this: i think he is a sore loser, just like how i think finnick odair, youngest victor of panem history, would also be an extremely sore loser. and i think annie would get a kick of seeing Odesta Baby sulk just like finnick used to bc it would be very quiet yet obvious discontent and she'll be like girl. all we did was race to the buoy and back its not like your firstborn child was on the line

[rapidhighway]

this whole thing made me forget to sleep it is 6am 😔

[festivating]

hi!!!! absolutely LOVING attrition, I wanted to ask about your writing process...

how long have you had the idea for the story? what's your outlining process like? how big of a backlog did you have before you started posting?

your dedication and committment to this fic is incredibly impressive and i am astonished (and grateful!!!!) for the consistent weekly updates and fr i just wanna know how you manage it all... (speaking as someone who has been working on the same 40ish chapter fic for over 5 years lol....)

keep up the fantastic work!!

Omg hiiiii friend thank you for the questions I LOVE talking about writing!! I usually start writing long stories after I get an idea for a particular scene, and then I heavily outline around that scene and I plan everything down to the smallest detail, but for attrition I just.... didn't plan at all, that fic spawned to existence out of pure whimsy and happenstance. It was supposed to be a ONE SHOT 😭I started writing it in May of 2023 after I read the first book and I was like mm wouldn't it be interesting if Glinda found Elphaba at the convent surely this won't be longer than 5k words...

I am a severely delusional person.

By the time I hit 20k words I realized perhaps it would not be a one shot lol. I didn't really have an outline I just kept throwing ideas on the page thinking eventually I would just run out of things to say, but it actually took a very long time before that happened. The backlog is pretty much the whole fic tbh, I finished it all and sent it to my beta reader (who was horrified because the whole thing was one massive document not even divided into chapters) and then we went back and forth for months while I polished things up, tightened loose ends, added foreshadow, cleaned up the prose and things like that.

I'm still working on revising the final chapters, but the fic was 80% done before I started posting in November! I am truly more of an editor than I am a writer, the first draft of this thing was finished very quickly and it was very rough, so it took a lot of revisions before I was satisfied.

But anyway, yeah! I may not be the best person to ask how to manage it all because my process is weird I write super fast very unpolished first drafts then spend two lifetimes editing and revising. Mad respect to you and other writers who are able to write exactly what they want from the start and post that to incredible results!!

[everymanpdf]

moodboard for i spoke with a priest finally and it really really helped me and a massive weight has been lifted and im way less scared. featuring nick caves introduction to the gospel of mark

[gildedlife]

AND WE ARE AT THE END OF VANITY. james fitzjames of the terror. private, selective, 21+. written by merrin. ©