#i don't know if any of this makes sense so i had to write ot down and have some external opinions

[laismoura-art]

Ok folks, I've got a crazy theory I'd like to share with you! (Gotta see if I'm not alone in this)

Y'all know how I made a clan from scratch for Harumi, the Order of Cetrion, and I'd love if NRS also made a brand new clan for her.

But knowing MK1, I think they could end up making her clan

The Tengu!

That's all very speculative, so take everything I say with a grain of salt, but also hear me out!

The Tengu's original description was basically "a Japanese clan, enemy of the Lin Kuei, that was not the Shirai Ryu" and hmm, what clan do we have in MK1 that is Japanese, enemy of the Lin Kuei and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NOT THE SHIRAI RYU?

That's right, Harumi's clan!

That alone could qualify them, but I found some other cool details that I'd like to point out:

The Tengu is a legend from Japan and is described as a bird like creature that lives in forests and mountains.

And where do we see Harumi for the first time?

Surrounded by trees, maybe even in a forest!

There's also her outfits. We've seen two so far, the classic one and the wedding gown:

Her classic fit has a flowery pattern (which I know plenty of folks beside me use as an indication that she's is connected to nature), and her wedding gown not only has flowers but also birds in it!

And you know who else has birds on their outfits? The Tengu:

I think it would make sense to MK1 to use the Tengu cause they need a clan for Harumi and they have one sitting around that fit all the requirements!👀

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Now there's a bit that I'm still pondering:

What will be made of Wu Lae, the original Grandmaster of the Tengu?

I've got two... OK, three theories so far:

1. They will make a bit of a mash-up with these two characters. Sounds bold, but that's exactly what they did to Havik and Dariou (and arguably with Ermac and Jerrod), and as they genderbent Cyrax and Sektor I think they could make Harumi the one behind that mask.

I think they would essentially just put an feather looking silver armour in top of her classic fit and maybe the iconic mask so we can easily identify both characters.

2. They will make him Harumi's lieutenant. Basically give him the Sektor treatment. He's still an important member of the clan, but not the leader. (I quite love the idea of Harumi leading a women only clan, so I hope they genderbent him)

3. Wu Lae who?🙃

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Now, since I'm brainstorming, I got some ideas to add to my AU!

I've been wanting to make some changes to the Order of Cetrion, basically expand things, give it a big network with sub-clans all over the world (make it Lin Kuei level) and in case you're wondering, that's mostly so I can make a sub-clan in Brazil that is surrounded by living Guaraná plants that watch out for intruders!👁

I'm thinking about making the Tengu the main clan, located in Japan, founded and led my the Shirai family, and the Order of Cetrion being what's called this big network of clans and sub-clans.

Wu Lae will be Harumi's lieutenant (and a woman)

I'm still brainstorming the details, and I'm taking suggestions!🩷

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So, what do you think? Too crazy of a theory, or is there something here?

[moonstruckme]

Ik you're probably busy rn and you don't have to write this ir you don't wanna-

So remus with. Sensitive reader? Like i, personally, get teary any time someone yells at me or is angry ot condescending and i feel like even though Remus is th sweetest person ever when it comes to scolding, being reprimanded by my favourite person would so make me cry.

And we all know that Remus can get abit hot headed around the full moon so maybe smth along hurt/comfort w that ❤️

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: weed, mention of vomit (no description of any kind, just a brief reference)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 755 words

You steal the blunt from between Remus’ lips, holding out your bag of crisps as a trade. 

He accepts, side-eyeing you in a way you choose to interpret as playful. Although you know the days leading up to the full moon are hell for Remus, neither of you mind this part so much. You’d prepared last weekend, stocking your shared flat with lavish quantities of chocolate and weed which you allow yourself to sample as payment for your efforts and general good-girlfriend standing. You think you’ve done a decent job; your boyfriend is lax on the couch next to you, the space between his brows wonderfully smooth and free of the wrinkles that accrue there when he’s having one of his migraines. 

“Alright, you’re done after that,” he says as you inhale.

“What?” You let your mouth drop open in faux indignation, a giggle building in your chest. “No fair.” 

“Mhm.” He crunches noisily on a crisp, mindless of your pouting. “You’ve had enough, dove.” 

“Fine."

He leans forward for the blunt and you hold it for him as wraps his lips around it, exhaling the smoke with an insouciant expertise. He reaches forward to take it from between your fingers, but you move quickly, leaning away from his reach to take a swift hit. You imagine the smoke curling and winding in your lungs as you suck in a great breath. You blow it out the corner of your mouth, your lips twisting into a grin. 

Remus isn’t smiling. 

“Are you serious?”

His tone is incredulous, and your giggly high fades as you realize he’s not joking. 

“I just said you’ve had enough,” he fumes, snatching the blunt from you and squashing it into the ashtray on the coffee table. “Are you trying to green out? Because I’m not in the mood to clean up your vomit.”

Your mouth has gone dry. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Remus huffs, closing his eyes and tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your face burns. He’s exhausted with you.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, and though his tone has cooled slightly, the exasperation is almost worse.

“I don’t know,” you say. Your voice comes out squeaky and wrong. “I’m really sorry.” 

He looks over at you, some of the storminess clearing from his expression. 

“I thought we were playing, I—I wasn’t trying to—“ You take a shuddering breath, trying to keep the wetness in your eyes from escaping. “I won’t throw up, I promise.” 

“Hey.” He sounds almost confused, but it morphs quickly into alarm when you blink and a tear skids down your face. “Hey, don’t cry.” 

“I’m sorry.” You push your fingertips into your eyes as if you can forcibly dam the flow. Your skin is hot to the touch. “I’m not trying to.” 

“Dove, come on.” Remus’ hands encircle your wrists. He pulls them towards him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so harsh.” 

“No, you’re right.” Your voice quavers. “I wasn’t taking you seriously.” 

“I didn’t need to be stern with you,” he says, tone firm but soft as he raises your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “It was a misunderstanding. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.” 

You press your lips together, unsure how to respond but resolute on stopping your tears. 

Remus frowns. He sets your hands down carefully, using his thumbs to soothe over the hot tracks on your cheeks. 

“Sirius always says I get bitchy this time of the month,” he murmurs. A little laugh startles out of you, and he grins. You get the sense that was his aim. “Thank you for dealing with me when I get like this.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I know you don’t have to, and I appreciate it. I’ll try to keep a better leash on my temper.” 

“I always want to deal with you,” you laugh, following it with a sniffle. “I think I need to keep a better leash on my delicate sensibilities.” 

“I love your sensibilities,” Remus argues. He mushes your face affectionately between his hands. “I’m sorry for scolding you, sweetheart. Do you feel sick?” 

You take hasty stock of yourself. You’ve definitely reached the point just past too much, but you’ll be okay. “Nope,” you report back happily. “But I do feel like I’d like some snacks, please.” 

Remus passes you the bag of crisps, then some chocolates, then a tin of biscuits. And you feast on kisses for the rest of the night.

[cherubispunk]

BARK! BITE! BLEED! (PART I) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: being without is always easier when you don't know what it is to be 'with'.

a note from Lucy: heyyyy! hows it going? yes...im back with another series. Those of you waiting for cherub, its coming. I promise. hand over my heart and the other on the bible. but words have a funny habit of not wording so...tale please take the humble peace offering of slutty fwb!frankie and please dont bite my fingers off.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 5742 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, slight noncon voyeurism, thin appartment walls, mentions of cheating, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, heavy religious imagry (come on, is this even a surpise when it comes to my writing?), age gap but not bombastic sorry chloe (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, could be considered dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (do i need to spell it out to you not to do this?), creampie, biting, its not vore!!!! but there is something inherrently sexual in the themes of metaphorical consumption, softdom!frankie, scratching, gore imagry in the sense of a hunter prey type of thing? More of lu being dell, batshit insane, blurting words onto a google doc and praying ot makes ense when being blasted out into the void.

series m.list | m.list

“At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is merely a bitch. True power lies in those who don't just bare their teeth, but make you bleed when they sink in.”

Frankie was a quiet man. He would always keep to himself. Never usually stuck his nose in anyone's business unless it was for their own good. Stayed in the four walls of his own apartment he rented close to the barracks. He’d made one friend in the entire complex. You. His next-door neighbour. The only thing he knew before prying was your last name on the buzzer out front. From there it was waiting. And watching. Frankie had an obsession with observing you from his kitchen window every time you came home from work at the bar. Stood in the shroud of shadow and sheer curtain. He dug his claws in and clung to each passing conversation in the hallway, or the laundromat down the street whenever coincidence let you pop up there too. Stored each part of you that you trusted him with in his mind for safekeeping. Often caught himself staring at a particular pair of red lace panties whenever you did your laundry. 

There was one small, tiny little problem in all of this, however. Lisa. He supposed he should thank her really, because without her, he would have never moved out of the barracks in the hope of starting a life for them. He would have never met you. It was convenient, reasonably priced and he could excuse poor plumbing and heating for the fact it was close enough to his work that he didn't have to wake up any earlier than 5:30. But Lisa…oh, Lisa was Machiavelian. A conniving woman, with her heart set in thick ice, and a cold, unforgiving grip over what was hers. It made him wonder what he saw in her in the first place. Maybe he was blinded to everything but the curve of her face, or the pout of her mouth and the pant of his name as it passed her parted lips. Or there was some morbid fascination he had with her teeth as they bared to his skin and bit down. Tearing him to shreds. Either way, there was something to live for when being ripped apart by her. Something to distract from the sounds of pleasure that seeped through paper thin walls at night. Your pleasure. At the hands of a man he felt nothing compared to and knew nothing about. So he’d roll over and fuck out his frustration on the woman he hated but chose to stay with until she left him for another.  

Another day, another ache. Another pain cramping in his lower back as Frankie inched closer to thirty and still no happier. Twenty-seven, a stable-ish job…and what else in life to show for it? He was bitter. In no place to want the company of another unless only for the night. Except tonight he was alone again, pressing his key into the lock, twisting it open, closing the door behind him. And then waiting…listening. Anticipating the drag of his hand south over the plane of his abdomen to under his boxers where he’d tease himself to the sound of you with another man. The pretty whimpers you’d let slip under the weight of another man's skin and bone, and the pleasure flooding the gaps of your synapses. 

Only this time there were no cries for more. No whimpers, or moans. No. These sounds were shouts. And anger ignited you as you rampaged through your apartment on the other side of the wall, getting dressed as Mark, the man you’d wasted months on, chased after you in pursuit of your forgiveness. 

“Who do you think I am?’ Frankie heard through the wall, pressing his ear to cold plaster with bated breath. Your voice was shrill, seething with the intent to carve into Mark’s skin with an onslaught of verbal mutilation. Have the words mark him with bleeding, weeping shame. “No, really? You think I’d never figure it out, Mark? Am I naïve to you?” 

He slipped out of bed with careful stealth: Followed the sound of your voice through the wall, walking with his ear pressed to it before the sound of your front door opening made him jump, stepping back for a second. He blinked, once, twice…then raised his hands to plaster again and leaned closer, ears straining to hear what was now distance shrieking from the hallway outside. Which he followed to his front door. Listening intently behind the wood.

As he held his breath until his lungs burned in his chest, something flared up in Frankie. A desperate, wanting, starving need to swoop in. Be your knight in shining armour. The words were stuck in his throat, and if he wasn’t careful, they would choke him blue. But if he knew even a shred about you, it was that you’d hate that just as much as whatever it was Mark had done to you to have you tossing him out in the early evening. You were a private person. A woman who never appreciated prying ears or eyes. You avoided all his questions about your past whenever he asked. Swerved him off topic and into the hedgerow before he had a chance to blink and realise he had the backhand of whiplash. And if he let it slip once that the walls were thin, there was no telling where your quick mind would jump to next. Frankie never knew why or what made you so guarded. But he imagined one day you bit the hand of god and he stopped feeding you. 

Frankie’s heart was thumping to the beat of his anxiety in his throat, making it harder to swallow the lump it formed, clammy palms pressed to the cool wood with the rest of him. 

“You’re a sick man!” He heard, followed by a thumping of something being thrown, then a yelp out of Mark as Frankie guessed he was dodging whatever it was you threw his way. Shoes, maybe? Something else? “A coward! So get out. Don't call. Don’t come knocking. And tell your fucking wife!” 

A shuffling of ashamed feet. A slam of your front door. Clattering around behind shared walls. Then silence. 

It was five minutes of silence. But it felt like the seconds within those intervals were put on the rack and stretched in torture. Five minutes that he should have used to step back from his door but didn't. He just prayed there was more of you to have to himself for a second. 

Then the descent of knuckles came beating down on his door. Causing his heart to jolt out in his chest then plummet into his stomach. Twisting his insides into knots that made him sick with intrigue. He took a step back. And a breath. Then waited a second before opening the door to find you stood there in a silly little lace hemmed tank top and sleep shorts. Your hair dishevelled and cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words stuck to the backs of his teeth and the roof of his mouth like soggy, claggy toffee. So he shut up, grateful you cut him off first. 

“We’re having a bonfire. So whatever shit Lisa left here, bring it with you. My door will be open. I’ll be on my balcony.” And you left him with nothing but that. Stomping back down the hall in a flurry of your anger. 

Frankie stood there, feet practically glued to the floor, fingers curling in on his palms as his blunt nails pressed into already calloused flesh. And an image of you, teeth bared to him like Lisa’s once were, appeared in his mind. An apparition of hurt, torment and his own vulnerability. But it was too late. His feet moved before his mind could and he was already collecting the things of his ex-girlfriend who had wronged him time and time again, stuffing them into his arms in a bundle of broken memory, anguish and lingering hurt. 

He found you standing by a metal bin of a man's belongings. The odd t-shirt, pictures of your face next to his, smiles happy and bright with the joy of a relationship you never expected to cave in. In your hand was a packet of cigarettes you'd told him in the passing of a hallway’s conversation that you’d quit, but evidently not. And a crumpled, misshapen box of matches. In the other was a bottle of Whiskey. The brand Mark insisted on liking and you’d bought him for a birthday present. A present he’d never receive because he was as dead to you as the day was long. 

“I thought you quit.” He said, trying to start a conversation that hit a dead end pitifully quickly. 

“Toss it on.” You mumbled dismissively with a jerk of your head to the pile, eyes glued to Mark’s belongings, washing down your bitter words with an even more bitter swig of drink. 

Frankie complied wordlessly from there, dumping the contents of his arms on top of the photos and clothes, stepping back while you poured a generous amount of the liquor on top. A seasoning of fuck you not farewell to the people you’d shared your life with and would thankfully never cross paths with again. He took the bottle from you when you pressed it into his chest, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste. It wasn't smooth. It was almost sour, with a kickback that burned too much to be pleasurable as it passed down the column of his throat in a thick swallow. His thoughts trickled in from there as he read the label and glanced at you. He wanted to get you drunk. Get you to slip up. Let yourself be taken for once.

You both watched, deadfaced, as you struck a match, used it to light a cigarette and then tossed it in the bin as memories curled up under heat. The alcohol setting the blaze up in a satisfying roar of good riddance. 

He thought it was a little strange. How you’d come to him. Yes, you were friends. But the type of friend that only ever conversed between life events. In the empty limbo of hallways and laundromats. Not burning things on your balcony in the hope the heat will melt your heart back together, It was a little late for that. Stone doesn’t melt. And the two of you had hearts of set concrete from the turn of events you’d experienced. Encased in the cage of bone that would no longer open to another unless broken in two and forced apart. So you slid down the brick wall, knees bent to your chest while you smoked. The flame flickering a violent xanthous, ochre and scarlet. 

He joined you on the floor, passing back the bottle. The two of you side by side, and it only just occurred to Frankie how lonely he was now. But how terrified of intimacy he was. Intimacy of a level deeper than skin/ The both of you wordless, silent as the decaying dead of night. Only the crackle of fire between you and a sniff for your nose as the evening air nipped it and made it run. So to distract yourself, you condemned your tongue to bad liquor, chasing it with a drag of your cigarette and a grimace,

“God, this is shit.” You scoffed. 

“Not a hard liquor gal?” He chuckled, turning his head to glance at you out the corner of his eyes before the flame had his eyes attention again. 

“More of a wine person, really. But even I can tell this is shit.” And you gestured to the bottle in your hand, reading over the label and sighing. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, inflicting another taste upon himself when he took it out of your grasp. “It is.”

Silence again. Not awkward for you who preferred your own company to others, but for him, who had been watching you begging for an in, it was clawing at his insides like a starved animal would at the walls of its enclosure. 

“So…” He drew out, and you had to bite back an amused smile. 

“What?” 

Frankie found himself staring in trance at your side profile, with the same fascination you honed in on the flickering flame. He thought in silence for a second. Asking himself the same question. 

"How long did you date Mark for?" He asked. The name made him grimace as if it tasted sour in his mouth. Like he had to spit it out with disgust in every syllable for fear of it burning.

"Six months." Another awkward, off beat pause followed as he nodded. Then asked again. 

“Did you love him?”

"No." You said flat out. But your words were honest and brutal to the man you let in then kicked out. 

Frankie found himself suffocating a sigh of relief in his own ribs. They pinched slightly with an attempt of something profound to be felt. Like a child who had stumbled upon a strangely twisted shell at the beach. "Have you ever loved anyone?"

You turned to him, tilting your head. But Frankie couldn't tell if it was annoyance or respect for the bravery he had on asking you such personal questions. "What is this? Keeping Up With The Kardashians?"He held up his hands in quick defence, backing down. 

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

"There isn't anything to know except for the fact I'm pissed off." You muttered. “And I figured you would be too, considering the argument I heard a couple nights ago through the wall of my kitchen."

Frankie felt his face go pale, then heat up in the apples of his cheeks. "Oh. So you heard that?" The way your cigarette smouldered as you spoke was the only movement on the narrow balcony. So you did know the walls were thin. It made him wonder what else you knew. If you knew how he strained to listen through plaster and drywall each night. 

"Oh, I heard it alright.” You smirked, finding sick pleasure in the way he seemed to squirm. “Something about Lisa finding you...'dull behind the eyes'." Frankie watched as you rolled your eyes and doubled back on your standing in the argument, "If you're going to insult someone, at least be creative about it. ``Give them a good reason to cut it loose." You were like a pendulum to him. But one that spun in clockwise, then anticlockwise circles, instead of oscillating back and forth. Unpredictable in a way that both horrified and intrigued him. 

"Dull?" He had to laugh in disbelief, "I am not dull."

You smiled to yourself at that, leaning your head back against the brickwork. Ready to shatter his lie with a flick of your sharp tongue. "You are dull, Frankie. You get up. Go to work. Come back. You do your laundry every Sunday— and I know that because so do I. Your car is always in the exact same spot next to mine. Without fail. Now, you can put all down to ‘strict military regime’, but the bitter truth is," You looked him in the eye, your cig hanging from your lips as you showed him the satisfied grin pulling at your mouth, "you are dull. We all are. We work, we grind, we cry because we work. You ache to the marrow and you get stabbed in the back. And you're begging on your damn knees to bite the hand that feeds you. But if you do, then you starve.”

Frankie had never had his own fear served to him by such a beautiful devil before. And he wished, with all he had left in him that Lisa hadn’t taken or ruined, that you were wrong. It made him want to cave into himself to protect what little he had left. Snarl like a wounded bitch as he held back from others to lick his wounds. Maybe offer it to you and beg you to take it off his hands. But how could he argue when you were practically holding up a mirror to his own eyes? "I hate that you're right." He said in solemn downcast bereavement. And watched the cloud of smoke float silently in front of your face to obscure the very mouth that let him have it in such careful, exact slicing words. The blade of your knife was sharpened to a paper thin point. Now stained with his body’s red. 

"There are very few things I'm wrong about. Regardless of that, it's a simple formula and easy to understand.”

“And what is it?” He asked, but regretted it for he knew his heart might not be able to take much more. Not that he showed it. This whole exchange his brow hadn’t folded into a single crease. 

“Two things in life are certain: Death. And taxes. You work to pay your taxes, and you die from working."

"That's a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things."

"Life is pessimistic." You shot back with amusement, intently staring in a fixed trance at the pile of burning memories. The last warmth it offered was metaphorically and literally its own destruction. Irony, as Frankie pointed out to himself in his crawling mind. "It crucifies you, and burns you...until you curl in on yourself at the corners and turn to ash." 

The conversation had reached a level of solemnity he hadn’t expected, but he’d be a liar if he didn't admit to sinking his claws in yet again. His teeth might come next if you gave him the sweet chance. 

You were quiet after that. Both of you were. The remnants of a fire that symbolised how Mark was no longer relevant in your life, and neither Lisa in his. If he thought Lisa was machiavellian, the word had new meaning now. But like with her, it drew him in and snared him into blissful trance. It was the type of blind faith you pin to a deity in the sky. The type that you never see but are forced and gaslit into believing because it's shoved down your throat from a young age. You were not his savour. He knew that in the pit of his very existence, the eye of the storm in his gut.

He would be crucified by you. 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

"Aw." You pouted in mock appreciation, pressing a hand to your chest. "Thank you." 

Frankie afforded himself the pleasure of laughing at that. As cynical as it all was, it was real. You had just dared to say the quiet hushed parts out loud for him to digest. Though he felt like he was choking on it more than swallowing it. Regardless, he pushed it down to find confidence in himself and prod further. 

“You keep doing that.” 

“What?” “That.” Frankie pointed to all of you with a gesture absent of any direction, as if it was obvious. He watched as you tilted your head and scrunched your face a little. That crease in your brow…how it would haunt him in future. He felt like the prey. He was torn between wanting you to hunt him slowly so he could feel something at your hand, agony or not. Or asking you to do it quickly so he doesn't have to pursue through the bitter aftertaste. 

“I’m not following.” 

“You do this thing…where you turn conversations on their head. I feel like I'm getting whiplash.” He forced out a chuckle to make it seem like he was playing through with humour. But his words were genuine under the lace disguise of jest. You really did confuse him. You had his string of thought in knots. Complicated ones. “Why?” 

Your eyes narrowed at the question. “You’re trying to figure me out.” 

“Why shouldn’t i?”

"Because I'm not the distraction you need." You bit, almost like a warning. And Frankie would have listened if he wasn't so hellbent on breaking in. No matter how hostile, how feral, he'd take the time to tame the caged, battered, abused animal. 

“Maybe not.” He agreed, twisting his upper body to face you. It’s important to understand that what Frankie felt wasn’t love. At least, not how he’d experienced it in the past. This was an infatuation birthed by the fruit of lust forbidden to act upon until now. “But you’re the one I want.” With those words came a darkness in his eyes. The kind that reminded you of floods and tempests in biblical art. You were that tempest, with swollen grey clouds and a hammering of thunder ringing in his ears. Laughing as you crashed him onto rocks while he swam helplessly with little energy to the shore. Only to be shoved back with another crushing wave that cut through flesh and met bone with a chill like ice. “Just because we’re sad and miserable, doesn’t mean we have to give up a good time.” His instincts were buried before. Rolling in their grave at the chance to touch you. So he pressed his palms to the lid of the coffin and pushed. Reaching out to trace a delicate line along the angle of your jaw. His eyes were drawn to the soft plush of your lips and how they parted ever so slightly. “I want a distraction, baby.” 

He had you where he wanted you. And the liquor mixing thick with your blood had inhibition slipping through your fingers. His breath was hot on your lips. Needy to be paid attention to.

“Would it be worth my while?” You challenged, ignoring eye contact for now. Instead looking to his lips for the lies. 

“You don’t think I could satisfy you?” He smirked, lifting your chin with a single thick finger curled underneath and the pad of his thumb swiping slowly over your bottom lip. “I’ll do better than anyone else could.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of confidence you have there. At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is just a bitch.” 

Frankie chuckled at that. A deep rumble that rattled the bones that protect the hollow hole in his chest. “Come on…let me have a taste.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply. He took the silence and the glimmer of ‘i dare you’ in your eyes, pressing his lips to yours to consume you. Devour you whole. They took their time in sinking together and suctioning your lower lip into his mouth. Then his tongue dared to venture forward past parted lips to lick into your mouth and taste the backs of your teeth.

First, you let go of trepidation to take a hold of him. The roots of his hair and the back of his neck, fingers curled like talons. After, you let go of all else. The thoughts scratching the back of your skull, the headache that blistered before by the inferno calmed down and you were forced to focus on him alone as he took a handful of your hips and lifted you up to his lap to roll into him like a steady tide. 

You pulled him by the collar of his shirt to your room, clothes left in a scattered flurry along the way. Breadcrumbs to pick up later and either regret or laugh at. He unhinged your jaw to let slip your airy moan as his hands travelled south to meet the seam of your cunt. All else fell into place when he circled your clit with two fingers to start the first loop of the knot in your belly. A warmup for the act of sin, and need, and wanting. Whatever god there was should have never been prayed to in the first place. And Frankie knew it now that he was damned to hell from the first parting of your thighs for his wandering hand. His teeth were ready for sinking as he gathered your legs and hooked them over his shoulders to walk open mouthed, spit decorated kisses down the trunk of your navel. Pressing his nose into your mound. The must of your cunt making his eyes light up as he stared at the bob of your throat when you swallowed sharply. Head rolled back to the pillow. His tongue glided into your folds for the first lick. Making a hot wet stripe of a path from your asshole to your clit. He used the tip of his tongue to circle it and glide lover to curl into your quivering hole. Drawing out the taste. The beckoning gesture of his tongue gathering your taste in his senses. A thumb following suit to roll the bud of your clit under it, his nose clumsy as it bumped into it too. Obsessing over the tang of your arousal, thick in shine over his lips the scruff of his chin.

Your thighs clamped over his ears that were red. The heat made your own skin burn. Dark curls of his hair whispering against their insides as he continued to devour you from the seam. And your orgasm– it burned bright after the first fizzle. Made your eyes scrunch closed as he pulled it from you with hand and tongue. What was used for his words had yours spilling from parted lips like a puppet. A vessel for him to carry pleasure through. It had you toppling over into oblivion. The abyss. 

With bones brittle and hollowed like a bird you were fine to be dead weight as he ascended your body again. Folding you in half with your legs still bent over his shoulders. He traced the jut of your collarbone with the blunt edges of his teeth. How he wished they’d be sharp to sink deeper. But you were grateful as it would be easier for him to not draw blood and see the inside of you ran red like all the others. It was easy to not be human. It was easy to not show emotion and weakness. 

“Feel that?’ he panted against your goosebump pebbled skin, and you nodded. You did. It was the promise to feel desired and not broken. And not maimed beyond repair by another person you let in. Another person you built yourself up to prepare to love, to only have the rug pulled from under your feet and the brickwork clatter to the ground. It was the same promise to him. And the desire that ran thick in his blood made his pulse thrum heavy under its weight. Its intrusion hot under his lust scorched skin.  

“Yeah.” 

“Imma make it go away for you, baby.” he promised with a kiss to the hollow of your throat below its column, between your clavicle. And it was anything but empty. It was full. And round, and swollen with something deeper in his ribs that ached to be let loose. Breathed to fill you too. “I’ll make it all go away.”

His hips pressed flush to yours and the drag of neatly groomed hair sent a shockwave through your clit and up your rattling spine. Vertebrae by vertebrae. Setting off blazing fireworks in your mind for just a second before he started a slow drag. It was a stretch that stung. But pain was comfort if it had pleasure hot on its heels like an obedient dog. Ironic how you feared men like him, who seemed so eager to please and let themselves in uninvited. But you took it willingly this time because you needed to forget for a single second about the heart that bled under flesh and bone in the cage of your ribs. 

His cock was thick, full and curved up into the part of you that you couldn't have reached even if you tried. He slotted into your heat like he was meant to stay there. And that alone made you want to scream for him to give in and not relent so you could be ignorant to the way it seemed divine. The roll of his hips kicked up in pace and soon he was hunched over you. Strong arms rippled with muscle from brutal training since the age of eighteen bracing himself on either side of your head. The feeling of him curling his hips into you made you burn. It sent a tumble of a moan from your lips through the breathless pant of his name. A name he never thought you'd call in the tangle of your sheets. But the burning need to give you what he had wanted all this time ate at him. It ripped the flesh fresh off his bone and left him bleeding into you. 

Frankie’s eyes misted over when the chain that hung from his neck slipped over your chin and you bought the metal of his dog tags between your teeth. Biting down. It feels better biting down anyway. And the cool of the metal on your hot tongue made your head swim. Looking him in his eyes and daring him deeper. So his lips pressed into a firm line, and your nails raked down his back to leave raised red lines in their wake. Tracing new paths over the old map of scar tissue. Marking new land and territory. The air between you hung heavy with the heat of exhales. And blew with the shared moan you indulged in when it coiled in your belly. The cradle of your hips accommodated his cock as it stretched the tightness of your walls. Your slick arousal giving way to fluidity of otherwise rabid motion. Starving.  

When on his tongue, you were alive. Inside you he breathed again with the clutch of your cunt around him. Warm and beating, and thrumming quickly like a hummingbird's wings. A squatter temporarily camped up in the crack between two ribs. Where thick muscle shuddered with breath. You believed something in you was worth loving. But you also knew for it to be found you'd have to be flayed alive. 

The crash of his hips into yours aided in the symphony of sex, and filled the four walls painted but void of personal belongings. If he were on the other side of them he'd be jealous. But now he was here, he was alive. Beating hearted and thriving. And any god, saint, angel or divinity could watch and weep as he finally had what he wanted. What he might have needed in order to restore his humanity that lay dormant for so long. He was trying to crack you open so he could lick up what lay inside you. Gather it up in his arms like the greedy wolf, lambs gore, blood and flesh, between fangs of his lower jaw. Have the muscle pulsing between his teeth. But he wouldn't. So for now he'd settle for the flesh on show. The mound of your panting breast that he pressed into his open mouth. The flat of his tongue pressing greedily to your nipple. Before his lips pinched together and pulled the left pert. Switching to do the same for the right. Not leaving an inch of you untouched. Because he had his chance now. And who knew when he'd get another. So he relished in what he was spared and he would take it with him to the grave. Dream of it on his deathbed if this killed him. Or if something else did. Regardless. This would run through his mind until his last heavy and troubled breath. 

“That's it.” he murmured into your breast. “Take it. Take it, baby. Take me..” 

Your back arched, strung tight like a bow ready to fire. Spine curled up into the heat of his mouth and he bit down again on the swell of your breast. Wanting to take its entire weight into his mouth and have it rot and smear into his tongue. The fizzle of nerve endings reached the tips of your curling toes. The heels of your feet digging into the planes of his scapula to press him closer in the burning of your young orgasm. 

“Come on. Let me see you come.” Frankie demanded in a breathless growl as he stared you down with his eyes.  The hue of his irises almost devoured by black of pupil. Your jaw unhinged to let rip a silent scream. Feeling that sharp coil snap, and a numbness fill your aching core before your toes curl in pleasure. He helped you ride it out with his cock fucking into your tight weeping cunt while you sang out his name in a chorus of moans, whimpers and cries. Letting go utterly as a rush filled you, lighting you up like dry kindling under your skin. The pulsating of your walls around his length had his hips faltering for just a moment, twitching within your sopping cunt. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he let out a deep guttural groan, closing in on skin with teeth again. Spilling inside you, the mix of your slick with his cum painting you white like the searing heat of pleasure between you. He leaves the last of his load with you by fucking it deeper. Three, sharp, punctuated thrusts. 

He lay flat above you while he awaited the comedown from his catharsis. The tingle down his spine sputtered out in a haze of slowburn afterglow. Eyes closed and face buried into the crook of your perspiring neck. Panting together. Hit tongue forgot for a second to shape your name the way it sounded, but with a sharp inhale, the air surged his mind. 

“I suppose this is the part where I leave?” He mumbled, pulling back from your skin. His time had come and ended. The two of you now sat back to the world of hallway and laundromat limbo. He sighed through his nose when you nodded. And he did the same, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

Frankie gathered his clothes up, putting them on slowly one by one. Drawing out the ache of being alone again by lingering in your presence. 

“Come back tomorrow.” You said. Not asked. He nodded, still facing the door. Then twisted the handle and left an empty space in your apartment where he had once been. 

[sturn-wrld]

🏮we'll be ok

pairing: chris x reader

summary: where chris reassures reader after they are getting hate for her being his public girlfriend

genre: fluff and a bit of angst

warnings: mention of abuse and sex as well as a bit suggestive at the end

a/n: i might make an smau version of this post, green are comments

masterlist

---------------------------------------------------------

you love being chris' girlfriend. you really do. but recently after you became his public girlfriend you have started to second guess if this is the best thing for you. it's not that you didn't love being able to show off your boyfriend or be showed off by your boyfriend, it is the hate.

even though a big chunk of his fans are actually supportive of your relationship, the mean twelve year olds are really mean.

"y/n is so ugly. how could anyone love her?"

"y/n better understand that I am chris' wife. NOT HER. she is a delusional bitch if she thinks otherwise."

"i think y/n must be abusing him or fuck really good because there is no other reason why chris would date that"

despite you knowing that the comments aren't true and that they are just jealous children, you still felt beat up by the fact that people would write these things about you.

now chris wasn't completely nieve to these comments either but he knew to ignore everything to not give them the attention that they wanted but he could tell you were hurt by the words being said.

as you sat in chris' bed sleeping away the data again, now scared of the outside world, chris walks over from his computer with a combined look of sadness and anger.

"hey baby, are you alright?" he stated trying to not push you to answer too much.

"i mean i don't have much option, i kind of have to be alright with the fact that my life is being torn to literal threads by some crappy twelve year olds because they are too obsessed with my boyfriend" you saying now turning towards your thoughtful boyfriend.

"mamas you can be not okay because of this. yes, it is uncontrollable what they are saying but ot doesn't change the fact that what they are doing is both ethically and factually wrong."

"i know but all of this has made me think, what if this relationship isn't great for the public eye or even me."

"what do you mean by not great for you?"

"i mean what if some of the comments are true. obviously not the 'i'm his girlfriend' ones but the ones about how ugly i am and that there is no reason why you should be dating me"

"baby don't say that. why do you think that"

"i mean well look at me and look at you. i don't benefit you in any way at all. you are clearly the better looking one in the relationship, i don't have a following online so i can't bring you more followers and im not even that good at sex"

"oh baby, i don't need any of that to be absolutely in love with you. you are smart, kind and you are most definitely the most beautiful person i know"

you suddenly felt a sense of security you had never felt before. "babe you don't need to lie" you pause for a moment looking at chris' genuine eyes and gorgeous lips smirking "you know yourself, i can't be the most beautiful person" you finish saying you both laughing at the sudden joke you pulled from nowhere.

"and i know the comments can be harsh sometimes," he continues "but as long as we have each other we'll be ok."

he now caresses your face with his two thumbs before placing his forehead on yours.

"plus i think you are pretty good at sex"

taglist

@ermdontmindthisaccount @its-jennarose

[just-prime]

Ahsoka is so slow I could cry. She was trained by Anakin and presumably Obi-wan and several other Jedi, and Rosario can hardly do an actual lightsaber twirl, let alone make me believe she could survive Ventress, Maul, Grievous, or Vader, survive order 66, or run in a way that looks fast. Bo-Katan moves faster, Shin moves faster, Sabine moves faster, Ezra moves faster, even Ewan's lazy twirls while walking around and not actively engaged in battle in the prequels were roughly as fast as Rosario's in an actual duel.

It's also canon that in this era, in a less prequels flashy version of standard Jedi abilities, a Jedi can leap SEVERAL feet. Luke in ROTJ- even GROGU can jump higher, while Rosario's feet are consistently glued to the ground. Her choreography and speed are so inconsistent with this established era and people keep writing it off and praising it as her fighting like a samurai now, even though it makes NO sense for her to, given who trained her. She isn't A New Hope Obi-wan, nor sad cave dwelling Obi-wan who hasn't stretched or lifted a weapon in a decade, and a 44 year old Jedi is still supposed to be in their prime.

I truly wonder if part of it is that they can't keep her lekku on properly if she does a flip, and they are shorter because they were meant to be more practical, but I'm really not seeing a character agile enough to need stunt modified lekku.

If they couldn't bring this to life in live action convincingly, it should have remained animated and each passing week demonstrates this more and more.

I'm sorry to anon into your inbox like this, but your post about the last episode has been so refreshing, and I've felt like I've been watching a completely different show than other people and don't know how they considered any of the actors ready. (Rosario has said she was training during filming). Thank you for your brutally honest take, you're spot on on all counts.

Couple of things.

A) I agree with everything you just said. Always feel free to come and rant into my asks.

B) I HAVE BEEN ANTI TINY LEKKU SINCE MANDO S2. It's laughable that we've seen cosplayers with more Rebels accurate headpieces. And of course everyone defends it with the 'it wouldn't be fair to the stunt person to have them try and do flips in that' and it's like NEWSFLASH Ahsoka isn't doing flips anyway!!! And sure, they probably stuck Rosario in a 5 week sword training class, but she's clearly not had to do any serious combat training given how clunky her fights are. And again, this was also a problem back in Mando s2, only she was in the middle of a foggy woods, so it was easier to hide the fact that she is incompetent when it comes to fight choreography.

C) "If they couldn't bring this to life in live action convincingly, it should have remained animated" Exactly. This is why every passing day I am increasingly pissed that this show killed and ate the animated Rebels sequel series that was in fucking development. Everything about this show, from Ahsoka, to Hera (hell, even TBoBF cameos like Cad Banes) prove that Disney is not willing to shell out for a decent makeup and/or CG designer. No shade to the artists that are currently working on it, they are doing their jobs to the best of their abilities. What I mean is they didn't have anyone on set that was in a high enough positions to say 'Hey, have any of you heard of contouring?' Like, just looking at the alien makeup of the OT...which somehow holds up better than state of the art Disney budget makeup. It's just fucking embarrassing at this point. There is no reason everyone should look as flat as they do, but it's no surprise that they do when mary elizabeth winstead is celebrating that her makeup only took an hour. Sure, it's understandable that you don't want to be sitting in the makeup chair every morning of hours on end, but in the end you are an actor who signed up to play an alien...Suck it up buttercup.

D) I totally understand how hard it is to be not liking this show right now. The amount of people who've told me that "well, clearly it's just not made for you" after I point out a simple fact that a character is out of character is painful. Looking at twitter after each episode as everyone seems to think Filoni is creating the second coming is painful. Because it really does feel like we're watching a different show than them.

Okay, I think I covered everything. Thank you again for your kind words and your wonderful rant!!!

[katuschka]

Olalla – Chapter Five

Josh Kiszka x female OC

9.483 words

I once again apologise for the delay. I though it would be easy to write this chapter, but it was much harder than I expected.

To everyone who's followed the story and even left likes or comments: Thank you SO much! I appreciate it immensely.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, drunkedness and hangover, language, angst, mentions of cheating (retrospective), attempts at suicide (mentioned), fluff, both mental and physical trauma, injury, mention of blood, panic and anxiety, survival mode

Taglist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter Olalla masterlist

I know you think you'd never be mine

Well, that's okay, baby, I don't mind

That shy smile's sweet, that's a fact

Go ahead, I don't mind the act

Here you come all dressed up for a date

Well, one more step and it'll be too late

Blue, blue ribbon in your hair

Like you're so sure I'll be standing here

(Bruce Springsteen)

Agnieszka

Several seconds passed and we still just stood there, looking at each other, neither of us knowing what to do next, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I didn’t wait for him to enter, I didn’t even gesture to him to follow me, I just let the door open. Moving across the room, I felt his gaze on my back as I fluffed the pillows on my couch just to keep my hands occupied, before I went looking for shot glasses in my kitchenette. We clearly needed a drink. 

I looked over my shoulder to see him still standing in the doorway, playing with the hem of his shirt and with his brows knit together. There was a silent plea in his eyes, but I didn’t know what he pleaded for. I didn’t want to psychoanalyze his troubled mind. Mine was reeling too, and the ball was on his court, so to speak, so I didn’t say anything else and just waited for him to make the next move. I deserved it. I wanted answers. 

I didn’t really believe what the article said. It was probably yet another tabloid bullshit. I didn’t know him well enough, obviously. But I’ve let him get close enough to me to know how he was in those moments of bare intimacy, and he was nothing but considerate. All the time. He made sure I felt safe. So it had to be a lie.

But there were things that he didn’t want to tell me, even though I had asked, and that’s why he found me in tears when he came back from his room. A singer. Well, it made sense. I needed to know why he didn’t want me to know him. I felt like he already knew everything about me, so it wasn’t fair. I gave in at last and I turned around to face him again, impatient, because the silence was unnerving. 

“Stop acting like I should be afraid of you all of the sudden…unless I should. Should I?” 

“No,” he mumbled and finally stepped inside, closing the door silently. “I need to know that you’re not.”

“I’m not,” I assured him. Silence. If I had learned anything about him from the last few days, it was the fact he was at a loss for words when troubled. Otherwise he wouldn’t shut up. I watched him swallow hard, but not a single syllable came out. I caved in and tried to lighten the mood. “I’m pretty sure Bartek sent me the link primarily to let me know that you like dicks…which I already know, so I’m not shocked by that,” I snickered, making him huff through his nose. It eased the tension a little, but only for a second. “But you still have some explaining to do.” 

He sat on the couch slowly and carefully. It was a bit funny, to watch him suddenly treating all my inanimate belongings as if they were made of sugar glass and he could shatter them with one rash movement. He looked around the room before he finally risked meeting my gaze again. “Any specifics that you want me to explain? Or just everything?”

I didn’t respond at first. Just a few hours ago, we were lying in bed naked, looking into each other’s eyes for long minutes as if they were windows to new, still unknown worlds. His certainly were. Now even a few seconds was too much. I quickly averted my eyes and turned back to my glass cabinet. He was still waiting for my reply when I joined him on the couch with two glasses and a full bottle of vodka. I poured two shots and handed him one. “Yeah, probably everything. You can start with why you didn’t tell me you’re some fucking rockstar or whatever. Pretending to be some ordinary guy…”

“I AM an ordinary guy!” 

Said the man with a huge triangular pendant hanging around his neck and wrought beads decorating his long, braided hair. Unusually pretty AND quirky. I raised my eyebrow playfully, smiling at him, and he chuckled, which reminded me that I was in fact angry and should continue acting accordingly. “Why is it so difficult to be mad at you?” 

“I’m a sweetheart,” he mumbled solemnly. “And I don’t want you to be mad at me. I gave you no reason, really. Does me being famous really change anything?” 

I sighed heavily and drank my shot in a single gulp, motioning him to do the same, which he momentarily ignored. “ No…yes, because if that’s who you are, then yes. Are you the person from the article? If not, what happened? You wanted me to let you explain. I’m letting you. So tell me. Who are you and what’s this bullshit?”

Now it was his time to let out a heavy breath. “OK...alright…

“So, about my job…I didn’t tell you because the reason why I came here in the first place was to feel like an ordinary guy for a while. But obviously, not only does it keep haunting me, this shit only got worse since I arrived,” he paused for a moment and finally emptied his glass with a wince. I immediately refilled it and did the same with mine. He just gave me a nod of thanks, toying with his shot glass while trying not to spill anything, before he continued. 

“I love my job, it’s exciting and rewarding and… I love to perform, and I love to travel the world, and I got some money, too… but it’s not always a bed of roses. you know? People treat you differently. They like the idea of you and don’t always bother to get to know the real you. Sometimes they’re even appalled by the possibility that you might not be perfect…which, of course, I’m not. Sometimes they just use you. At times, mainly when we’re on tour, it gets very lonely, even when you’re in a relationship… that probably makes it even harder sometimes, actually…and, um,...so…”

“So?”

“So, this Dave, the guy who accused me, he was my mic tech. It was his first time with a band this big and his second daughter was born shortly before the tour started. Christopher couldn’t come with us and, in fact, I had barely seen him since New Year’s Eve. It had felt different for a while…anyway... One evening, we talked over a bottle of wine, me and David. He confessed to me that he felt lonely too…as well as a bit lost.” 

“Lost?”

“Yeah, well… he in fact confessed that he felt lonely all the time, because he…actually…liked men. He just lived a VERY closeted life.” 

I didn’t like where this was going, so I drank my second shot and he followed suit. “I know this is going to sound weird and insensitive, but please tell me he took advantage of you and not the other way round.” 

He cleared his throat and pointed at my phone laying on the table. “Are you referring to the article?”

“Yes, obviously.” 

He watched me refill our glasses one more time and laughed softly, the visible tension between his shoulder blades easing a bit. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No, I’m trying to get us drunk. It’s a local custom in situations like these, and I think we both need it after everything that’s happened today. Cheers.” We clinked our glasses and poured the third round down our throats. I could feel my head spinning already, but it was a welcome feeling. It didn’t loosen the knot in my stomach, but at least the tension between the two of us seemed to dissipate, albeit slowly. He looked more relaxed, too. Maybe too much…I could literally see his mind going back to the afternoon’s event while he tried to intertwine his fingers with mine. It was written in his eyes. I crossed my arms on my chest protectively and leaned back. 

“Answer my question, please.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. No, I didn’t take advantage of him. But certain things did happen that night, and it didn’t stop there. It felt good for a while. It had been a very busy couple of months, even to our standards, and I desperately needed to feel some human warmth. Also, I thought I was giving him something he hadn’t had before, which felt comforting, too…in a way. But then one morning, after two weeks or so, I woke up with guilt gnawing at my insides. I was supposed to facetime Christopher that day, because it was our anniversary, yet there was another man lying naked in my bed.”

Now it was his eyes that welled with tears, but he quickly wiped them with the tips of his fingers and tried to blink away the rest. 

“I’m not proud of what happened. It was such a stupid thing to do, probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, because there were so many people involved. I tried to end it that day. I did, in fact. At first he pleaded, told me how he loved me and that we should be together... maybe even run away together. It felt like waking up from a drug-induced dream. It was completely insane. He was insane. He had kids... and because he didn’t seem to acknowledge that he had responsibilities at home, it felt as if it was me who hurt them all. And it was me, because I shouldn’t have let it happen. But it was too late…” His voice quivered a little and I wondered if I should say something, but this wasn’t the whole story and parts of it felt strangely familiar. I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening a bit more. ‘I think you’re just lonely…’ Followed by a kiss… I was half lost in my own thoughts, but he continued.  

“David had some pictures that he took more or less without my knowledge, and when I told him that we should stop doing what we were doing, he sent them to Chris and even posted some of them on his Instagram. It was very suggestive. He even introduced me as his “new” boyfriend.”

“But you said he was married.”

“Yeah. As I said, completely insane. I’ve always cherished my privacy. I think some fans had suspected that me and Chris were a couple, but I never said anything publicly. About anything. David basically outed me. And Christopher, too… because people were suddenly speculating again about who the “old” boyfriend was. Of course it destroyed my relationship, that’s what Dave wanted. But he didn’t get what he wanted. I couldn’t even look at him again, because it also nearly ruined my relationship with my brother. You can imagine what mayhem those pictures caused, careerwise… I had to deal with some really nasty shit for a couple weeks. So he didn’t really impress me with that gesture,” he scoffed at last.

We sat in silence for a while. He looked as if a burden was taken from him, reclining on the couch now, with his head tilted back. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I watched him chewing his lip and watching my old crystal chandelier. He looked tired and a bit sad. 

“But that’s not the whole story,” I finally broke the silence. 

“No, that’s not. He lost his job, obviously. I thought it was over, I didn’t want to see him again, I grieved my own losses. This,” he pointed at my phone again, “this is news to me too. I learned about this just last week, shortly after it all happened. The day I arrived, basically. I didn’t know his wife left him, although that’s not surprising. I didn’t know he demonstratively tried to commit suicide just to get her back, and I didn’t know he finally accused me of sexual assault when it didn’t work… until Christopher called to tell me.” He finally stopped examining the cracks on my ceiling and looked at me again, frowning when he noticed the shift in my mood. “Why are you weeping again, Olalla?” 

I tried to sort out my thoughts so that my response would make sense, but the truth is that I was a bit confused and overwhelmed by everything that happened. Most importantly, this wasn’t his past, it was his present, and I didn’t know what role I played in it, other than a momentary distraction. Just like this Dave… But apart from that, all those things he had said to me that slowly made me rethink my own life, they stopped making sense, bit by bit. 

“You told me that you had no regrets, but you clearly regret this affair. Maybe I’m just wondering if you lied…”

He looked confused at first, but his features soon softened and he reached out his hand to caress my cheek. I tolerated the touch at first, but it was no longer comforting. There was something else behind those dark eyes, and I couldn’t decipher what it was. It made me even more anxious. There’s truth at the bottom of the bottle, they say, so I reached for it again. I pretended to be calm, but my insides were churning. We drank again before he replied. 

“I said I don’t regret love, including lost love, but this wasn’t love, it was just sex. Everything that happened afterwards hurt Christopher and I regret that. I tried to explain that it meant nothing, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I quite understand,” I replied bitterly.

“You do?”

I just gaped at him. He kept throwing daggers at me with each sentence. So this is what you think of me, you bastard. After everything that happened between us, after everything he had said and done, he managed to offend me with just two monosyllabic words. 

“Yes, Joshua, I really do! I like sex, but I never cheated. Not once in my whole life. When I was with Dominik, there was no one else. He was my whole world. I just…didn’t care about other people.”  

He nodded solemnly. “It was a bit different between us. There was always a huge difference between sex and affection. It was a matter of trust and I violated it, because I didn’t tell him. In the end, he only cared because it was with another man.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if I cheated on him with a woman, he wouldn’t care. Because he never did. He basically encouraged it when we started dating. It was me who stopped doing that eventually.” 

“I don’t understand. What difference does it make?”

“He just knew that I would never love a woman.”

His words reverberated inside me with brutal force. My chest tightened and I could feel bile rising, and with it, my proverbial walls, brick by brick. I’m not a fool, and I was well aware that this romance was just a temporary thing, but so is life. I had been determined to spend the rest of mine without any more losses, but then he kissed me, and it felt as if the sun rose again after a long, arctic night. It changed me. When I let him undress me, I bared my soul to him. And when he touched me, he caressed my heart too. I bled all over his fingertips. 

Dominik once told me that a minute spent with me was worth a thousand light years. When he died, I couldn’t look at the night sky for months. I felt robbed. I felt the universe mocking me, winking at me with cruel mischief. Our wounds and personal sorrows mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. I had thought we had years, and then he was suddenly gone in seconds, and with him love. Replaced by grief. I eventually embraced the numbness that followed, because it felt like a relief. There were days when I went as far as regretting that I had ever loved him. 

Yesterday I realized that I might have been wrong. Joshua told me that we must not regret not forget love. Ever. I didn’t agree at first, I saw no benefits of loving anyone, but his lips on my skin reminded me of what it felt like to be loved. I had been so devastated by the loss of someone I loved that I forgot about everything Dominik gave me in return. And he had been right. Seen in retrospect, every minute spent with him felt longer than the last six years of my life. They just passed by. 

The memory of him was no longer painful, not even bittersweet. I realized I wanted to cherish those memories. I finally reconciled myself to my previous loss and embraced the possibility of feeling loved again, only if for a moment. 

It was never a possibility. It was only my wishful thinking. He deceived me. It only felt like love for a while, but probably only because he was a trickster.

Joshua’s hand on my shoulder suddenly brought me back from my reverie. I must have looked shaken. “Oh…no, I don’t mean…I just never met a woman I’d fall in love with and then he appeared and, like you said, you…I…Those were his words. And I…I didn’t mean…” 

My hands started shaking. I didn’t even realize that I raised my voice when I interrupted him, practically shouting, sitting words at him in rapid cadence. “You didn’t mean what? You don’t mean to tell me that you would never love me? But you would never stop loving him, right? This is just a fling, hm? Fun and games to you, from the very beginning. Or maybe you can make yourself feel better by helping me. Well I don’t want that. You saw me cry…”

The rest of the sentence was lost in my choked sob, but truth be told, I didn’t even know what else to say, or why I should continue saying anything. I could see both confusion and terror in his eyes, and that made me feel even worse, because I was sure he noticed the pain in mine. I couldn’t let him see me like that. I couldn’t let him know what he did. I took a deep breath and rose from the couch. He kept watching me with a puppy face, but he had no right to feel wronged. He knew very well that if it was just about sex, I’d never hesitate. I told him too much. I felt used. I could overlook the fact that he wouldn’t tell me anything about his present life. I was going to. But I refused to be one of the girls who warm up his bed when he occasionally craves a pussy. I didn’t care to be one of those girls for other guys I slept with, because I didn’t care about them either. But this was different from the very start, and that’s why I both longed and feared to touch him ever since that evening in the garden. I pushed him away by showing him who I am and he came back with sweet words. Did he lure the others too into his embrace with litanies about love and no regrets? How many more broken hearts…?

I watched him still gazing at me. His expression was unreadable. I could feel the cogs in his head turning wildly, but not a word left his mouth. He missed his opportunity to explain. When he didn’t move, I went to the door and slowly opened it. “It’s getting late, Joshua. I think you should go.” I tried to keep a stern voice, but it betrayed me and the last word sounded almost like a whimper.    

“Please, don’t do this Olalla, “ he whispered. “Please, don’t chase me away.” 

“What do you want, Joshua? 

“I…” He was no longer looking at me. With his head tilted down and his hands resting on his knees, he was searching for words as if they were scattered on the ground. I thought I already knew him well enough to know that if he couldn’t find them, they just weren’t there. 

“Please, go.”

I watched him rise up from the couch clumsily and approach me slowly with an unsteady tread. He stopped in his tracks when he reached me, and tried to cup my cheek, but I swatted his hand away like an annoying fly. He blinked and inhaled shakily through his nose. “You’re a wonderful person. I want you to be happy.”

“Get lost then.”

I couldn’t tell if his eyes glistened with tears or from the alcohol, and I didn’t care. I was deliberately cruel. He turned to leave, then hesitated for a moment and looked at me again, with wide eyes and his mouth half open. He looked like a goldfish again, just like yesterday. Then suddenly, something in his expression changed. “I’ve no strength left in me to argue with you anymore. Quite judgmental, for someone who just sleeps around. This!,” he pointed a finger to where the malachite pendant rested right between my breasts: This is NOT just fun and games! Bitch…” he hissed and finally turned to leave. I closed the door slowly as soon as he crossed the threshold, yet it felt as if the whole house shook with it, before a gloomy silence engulfed it…and me. Not even his footsteps on the stairs disrupted it. Maybe he was still standing on the other side of the door, maybe he just didn’t want to be heard, granting me my final wish. He was lost. He disappeared. He was never here in the first place. I poured myself another shot to desensitize my beating heart and disturbed mind, but it only worked as a catalyst that let my tears out. I didn’t want to feel anything, but my body protested, punishing me for my own stupidity. I didn’t bother with decorum anymore, I drank straight from the bottle. With my eyes puffy and stinging, I kept wandering around my living room, crying, hiccuping, trying to tear off my skin with my fingernails and tumbling over the furniture, until I woke up on my bathroom floor without knowing how I got there. 

After he booked the flight home, he contemplated for a while if it wouldn’t be easier to spend the next night in Krakow instead. He’d have a nice lunch, he’d go to see the castle again, he’d stuff his belly with those delicious donuts again until he wouldn’t be able to walk. He’d just enjoy himself.

No, he wouldn’t. Who was he kidding?

He’d be on edge and miserable, and surrounded by even more people who might recognize him. And apart from the fact that trying to book one night for one person at this time of year and at such a short notice would be silly and futile, he didn’t really want to. He didn’t want to contemplate the reasons why and he didn’t know what to expect in the morning, but his gut was telling him to stay just a little bit longer instead of just running away. He needed to see her face again and to apologize for those last words. She deserved them, because she hurt him, but he didn’t really mean them, because he knew why she did. It would be so much easier if she really was just an irritable bitch and nothing else, without all that masked hurt. She was right. He had seen her cry, and he acted on his natural instinct. Again. 

It had gone too far, and he only realized how far when he uttered those last drunken words that sent her reeling. He didn’t realize what he was saying, how it would sound, and that it wasn’t even true… Anymore? Never? You learn new things every day. Even about yourself. It surprised and shook him even before her outburst. That’s why he was suddenly at a loss for words when it backfired. All that talk about love…there’s love, and then there’s love. He realized he’d fucked up. Again. It was different this time. He was lost in a whirlwind of his own confusing emotions. 

His night was filled with troubled dreams and when the morning came and he opened his eyes, he cried. He felt on edge, his limbs restless and his mind set on overdrive. So he decided to do that he always did when he needed to clear his head. That’s why he was here in the first place. And then, in the evening, if they met again, he would try to make it right. Or at least better. 

They were climbing the same steep path again, but it was different than before. She glanced around with apprehension, searching for the sun in the sky, only to find it setting on the other side. Or maybe the ground moved? Joshua started singing long before they reached the top, but the song was also different. It sounded more like a warcry this time. He still didn’t forget how she told him to get lost, so he tried and tried until he was almost translucent, and her bandages kept loosening until she looked like a mummy in a cartoon. Their argument was the reason they were late, with the stars already appearing in the sky, becoming brighter with each passing second. Some of the brightest ones turned to spotlights as soon as the sun disappeared under the horizon, illuminating the peak of the mountain like a stage. “Oh look, you’re home,” she said and expected him to retort back. His only reply was a silent stare, full of melancholy and reconciliation. 

She saw him standing next to her, and yet he was also waiting for them at the summit, under one of those brightest lights. The closer they got, the more different he looked, with his long, dark and shimmering cape flapping around his ankles in the howling wind and his hair combed and straightened. This cloaked Joshua suddenly howled down at them, and the one next to her screamed back. It sounded like a battle between elements. Wind and fire. She lost her footing and was falling…falling…until a pair of hands seized her in mid air.

Agnieszka woke up at the worst possible moment: still a bit drunk, but already nauseous. The first thing she felt was an unpleasant pressure on her left cheek. She had been sleeping with her head resting on a slipper. Not sure where she was or even what day it was, she slowly tried to get up. No motion would be slow enough though and a sudden violent wave of nausea made her lay down on the hard tiled floor again. Mentally, she was still in that dream when the memories of the previous night slowly crept back to her. It felt like an anvil resting on her chest.

She tried to turn her head to the side next and noticed a sliver of dim light behind the half-closed door that revealed the back of her couch. It looked like early morning. Blue hour before dawn. The coldness of ceramic tiles under her legs, as well as the softness of the bathroom rug that helped to keep her body warm finally gave her enough clues to figure out where she was. She tried to sit up again, holding on to the toilet bowl for support. It was a wise choice, because she had just enough time to turn her head to the side and throw up in it. 

After she recovered enough to stand up, she somehow managed to move. She didn’t get far, just crashed onto the couch and fell asleep again. At one point, in her half-conscious state, she could hear her door open and then close again silently after a while. The following dream was just a surreal jumble of noises and tumult. Thunders, church bells, bombs…

Agnieszka had promised Maya that she would be there for breakfast, but it was already half past ten when she finally managed to drag her ass down the stairs to meet her sister in the lobby. She expected to find the infamous Berserk Maya there, but – judging by the look her sister instantly shot at her – she was to be confronted with Maya the Mother, which was even worse. She considered turning on her heel and going back to her room to just die, but it was too late. “So? What happened, Olalla?”

Instead of responding, Agnieszka just sat in one of the armchairs and countered with another question. “Were you checking on me?”

“Yeah, can you blame me?”

No. Agnieszka just shook her head and rubbed her eyes to stop them from stinging. No. But Maya definitely could reproach her for not showing up earlier. And she did.  

“I met Josh yesterday evening on the upper balcony, so I didn’t expect you to report to the kitchen this morning.” She cast her a knowing look, and there was a hint of reproach in her words, because the original plan was to spend a few quiet days without her kids here, not doing Agnieszka’s work. And she was supposed to leave today. “But I wanted to make sure you were still alive. Barely, from what I’m seeing.”

Agnieszka pinched her brow. The dilemma between wanting to know what he said and NOT wanting to know what he said was a torture even without the debilitating headache. However, the hangover seemed like a blessing now, because she could blame her current state on it, without having to talk about the real reason why she felt so miserable. “Hm…I’m hungover, obviously. What did he say? Is he gone?”

“No, he just went out for a walk, I guess. I saw him leaving around nine after the morning fog dissipated. But he will be gone soon. He told me he’s leaving tomorrow morning. So I figured some shit happened. Otherwise, nothing much, because those idiots turned up and made some snide remarks, so he just wished me a good night and disappeared into his room. So, what did he do? Or, should I ask, what did you do? The whole house knows what he allegedly did, thanks to that prick, but I – for one – don’t believe it, because he’s a sweetheart. So, is it because he…you know…likes men? I guess not. Yesterday morning you told me you two fucked, and then you were gone for the whole afternoon and you were literally glowing when you returned, so I guess you fucked some more, so it’s probably not that… ” 

Agnieszka didn’t say anything for a while. Everytime Maya started talking, she was like an unstoppable locomotive, hooting and puffing her lengthy monologues like hot steam, which was overwhelming on a good day. It made people think, but it also made them want to tear their hair out sometimes. Today Agnieszka felt like drowning. She had been trying to avoid this. Yes. No. I don’t know. Does it matter? He’s leaving. It’s over. Replaying yesterday’s events was painful, because she began to see cardinal errors in her drunken judgement. 

She had spent too much time with men who were fun to be with, but nothing more, and she was grateful for that, because they gave her no reason to like them. Joshua was nothing but caring. So patient with her and her mood swings, so kind, all that time just giving, even though he himself obviously felt like shit. And she completely disregarded that, and demanded even more instead. She absolutely deserved those last words. She wanted to fuck him from day one, while he just offered to be her friend, yet he finally gave her what she really wished for. It wasn’t his fault that she fell in love with him. 

She stood up and started pacing the room. The headache was getting worse.

“No, I already knew that. And he didn’t do it. At least he said he didn’t. But I also learned that he doesn’t love me.” Agnieszka cringed at those words, because she realized how stupid they sounded as soon as she uttered them.

“Why should he love you? Apart from …well, you know,... you two still barely know each other.” Maya’s expression was quizzical at first, but it soon changed to one of pity when she noticed Agnieszka’s pained look that she failed to hide. 

“Oh, Olalla, I’m so sorry. ” She moved around the counter to hug her sister, who however grabbed her by her shoulders to keep her at a distance. Agnieszka didn’t want Maya’s comfort. In spite of being younger, Maya was more like a second mother to her for years now. She needed someone who’d listen to her without judging her. Or feeling sorry for her. 

“I’m not an idiot, Maya. I know this could be a stupid summer romance at best, but I just thought that there was something. And yesterday he said something along the lines that he could never really fall in love with me, because I’m a woman. We were drunk and I think I really overreacted, but… I fell really hard for him, in spite of trying not to, and…this just hurts, the knowledge that I mean nothing to him…”

Maya leaned against the counter with her lips pursed, and huffed. She was trying to be patient, but her sister made it really difficult sometimes. She had thought that spending some time with someone nice would open Agnieszka’s eyes just a bit. That was her plan when she decided to play the matchmaker. But now she thought that older sister really was an idiot. Even more touchy and self-destructive than she had thought. Hurting other people along the way.  

“Well, firstly, I don’t believe that. Of course, I don’t know what’s going on inside his head, and all things considered… But I saw him looking at you and I heard him talking about you. I’m positive he likes you and he looked really downcast both yesterday and this morning. And secondly, you’re a hypocrite! This is exactly what you have been doing the whole fucking time. At least he doesn’t treat you like a piece of meat. Don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m sorry you’re hurting, but I’m also glad to see it finally backfired. Monumentally, I should add, because Bartek’s obviously really jealous. He’s always been a jerk, but this is a new level. I don’t don’t blame him though. He lost to a queer rockstar. Ouch.”

Maya’s words felt like literal physical blows. She wasn’t done yet, though. She let Agnieszka process them for a while, hoping that she would, and then she striked again, forcing Agnieszka to confess the most painful part of the story: “And having mentioned the way Josh looked, you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“What question?

“What did you do? Don’t tell me that you confessed your love for him and scared him shitless, because that would be a shocker! And I’d piss myself at the irony of it.” Berserk Maya finally entered the building. Spewing tough love and ample doses of sarcasm on those who needed a proverbial slap. There was venom in her words, but that’s what she often did to try to make Agnieszka see sense, even though she usually failed anyway. This time it finally worked. 

“No, I told him to get lost so that I wouldn’t have to do that. And he called me a bitch, because that’s what I am. I’m a shitty person. Happy?”  Agnieszka’s face twisted in an attempt to stop the tears that threatened to spill. They did anyway and she finally let Maya hug her, sobbing on her shoulder. 

“You’re not a shitty person, Neszka,” Maya whispered soothingly. “But you would be if you kept him thinking that he hurt you, instead of letting him know that you did that to yourself. He should know.” 

Agnieszka only nodded and sobbed some more, before Maya finally broke the embrace and looked her sister in the eye while patting her shoulders playfully and with goodhearted encouragement.

“Good, you can tell him when he gets back. I’m reserving the first row though, because it’s going to be quite a spectacle - you actually talking to people. There's chicken soup in the kitchen, by the way. Go get yourself together. You look like shit.”

They were both chilling on the veranda, enjoying the uncommon peace of mid afternoon when they heard the first rumble. A lot of people were still outside, because they set off late due to the thick fog that threatened the ruin the day earlier in the morning. The sky cleared eventually, promising a pleasant day after all. That changed abruptly after 2 p.m..  Agnieszka was the first to stick her head out to see the menacing clouds drifting towards them from the south. That was unusual. 

The storm hit hard, because no one expected it. It didn’t last long, but it was followed by tumult and hustle. They could still hear thunders in the distance and the sound of sirens and medicopters pierced the air. Their drenched guests finally started filling the lobby, one by one. Some of them were laughing, others looked shocked. A lot of people injured on Giewont, as the lightning hit, one said. Three casualties already, their neighbour came in, crying. 

It was almost four and still no sign of Joshua. Agnieszka started panicking. “Do you know where he went?”, she asked Maya. 

“No, he didn’t say a word, but…hey! Where are you going?” she cried after Agnieszka, who was already running upstairs, taking three stairs at a time. 

When Maya finally caught up with her in her bedroom, Agnieszka was already rummaging in her wardrobe, hastily filling her backpack with all the necessities she might need. The mountain rescuers were busy taking care of other people. They wouldn’t start looking for him until after dark. To hell with it, they probably wouldn’t do anything until tomorrow. This was the only option. Where is everything? Where’s the rescue blanket…

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to find him.”

Maya just watched her in shock for a while. “Are you insane? What are you going to do? Search the whole mountain range? Maybe he’s already on his way. It’s still early. We have no idea where he is, for god’s sake!” She was raising her voice gradually. 

“I have a hunch.”

“A hunch? A HUNCH?!?!” Maya grabbed her sister’s arm, who turned to her with wild stare.

“Let me go!” she hissed. There was a feral madness in Agnieszka’s eyes that Maya knew very well. She recognized it immediately. Those were their grandmother’s eyes. They called her Mama Bear. 

“At least try to call him,” Maya said weakly. 

That was a sensible suggestion, Agnieszka had to admit. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Yes, phone. Where’s the phone…she dialed his number, but it went straight to voicemail. She tried once again, with the same result. Sick with worry and even more determined now, she tossed it into the backpack together with some other stuff: head torch, spare socks, a rescue blanket… “Tea. I need tea.”

Maya looked at her stoically, and without any more words went back to prepare the thermo flask. She would stay one more night.

The storm was over, but low clouds lingered and filled the woods and valleys with milk. It was a gloomy journey up those hills this time. So different from when she took the same path exactly a week ago. When she heard his voice for the first time…

It was almost six when Agnieszka finally arrived at the Murowaniec cottage in Hala Gasienicowa, out of breath, exhausted and drenched in sweat. The place was packed with the people who seeked shelter there during and after the storm, but still no sight of Joshua. She tried to suppress the waves of anxiety and threatened to engulf her when she started asking them, one by one, if they, by any chance, saw him, but no one met a man that would fit the description. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he never took this path, and was somewhere else entirely, while she relied on a stupid dream. She almost gave up, squatting in the corner of the main room, clutching her head in her hands, when a tall, middle aged man approached her. “Miss?”

She raised her bloodshot eyes to look at him. “Yeah?” she uttered feebly. 

“Those people there said that you were looking for a short guy in his late twenties/early thirties…?”

“I am.”

“Longer, braided hair? Ridiculous sunglasses?”

“Yes!” she spurted and quickly stood up. “Yes! Have you seen him?” 

“Indeed, we did. We met him while descending Koscielec. He was on his way up. It was shortly before the storm.”

“Oh my god, thank you. Thank you!” He tried to call something else after her, but she no longer listened, already running out the door. She had been right. She had to find him. 

There were two paths leading to the saddle below the final path to the summit of Koscielec. so she was once again groping in the dark. If she chose the wrong way, she might miss him in case he was already on his way back. And if he was injured, she might not find him in time. 

Oh God, please don’t take away another one. Please let him stay. She was mad with worry by the time she reached the Black Lake an hour later, and there was still no sight of him. Please let him be ok. Losing all her remaining self-restraint, she started  crying loudly here, where only stones and clusters of mountain grass could hear her uncontrollable sobs and hiccup, as the tears ran down her face and chin like rivulets of sorrow before trickling down her neck where they threatened to choke her. The fog turned the vast space of the craggy amphitheatre that surrounded the mountain lake to an eerie wasteland buried in milky silence. It muffled every sound cotton, yet she could hear every single footstep she took.

Climbing up the steep slope that led to the saddle, she started calling his name, but it was met with silence. The world around her was already immersed in semi-darkness and she climbed up the saddle, the clouds making the night approach even faster. She paid it no mind, she was set on moving on. She kept going, climbing up the wet and slippery stones, calling his name. 

“Olalla?” It was feeble at first, but when she called back again, she heard his second response clearly. It was coming from above, maybe 50 or 100 metres up the path. She couldn’t really tell in the fog. 

She found him sitting on a rock under one of the steeper parts of the path, with his arms wrapped around his torso and his eyes wide with shock. He was drenched, shivering like a pinscher. He looked overwhelmed, disoriented and shaken, but - thankfully - very much alive. She started after him, pulling him in a tight embrace. He was shaking. 

“Dzięki Bogu!”

“What?”

“I’m just so glad I found you. Oh my god, so glad! Why didn’t you answer my call? And why are you still up here? Are you hurt?” She rocked him back and forth in her arms, unable to let go, while she showered him with questions. Only after he whispered a feeble “hey” in her ear, she let go and cupped his cheeks in her hands instead, searching his face for cues. Was he injured? Talk to me man! He reciprocated her stare with a feeble smile. 

“I tossed my phone down the hill when the shit started. Keys too. Spent an eternity crouching on my toes on a few blades of grass. Couldn’t feel my legs afterwards. That’s why I slipped when I tried to climb down eventually. I think I sprained my ankle.” She moved her hands down to examine it, feeling it carefully with just her fingertips, but he still hissed with pain. 

“Shit. Can you stand? We really need to get you down. It’s getting dark.”

“How did you find me?”

“I just… knew. It doesn’t matter now. We need to get going. 

He tried to stand up, while she supported him, with his arm around her shoulders. They tried to make a few steps, but his legs gave way and he whimpered in pain. 

She sat him down in the patch of grass again. It was almost dark and the path was wet and slippery. She had the head torch, but that wouldn’t be enough. She didn’t mention bears, so as not to scare him even more, but the truth was that she was scared of them too. It was no use. They would have to spend the night up there. She was prepared for that. She took a few deep breaths and contemplated what next. He was soaked to the bone and agitated. She had to keep him calm, dry and warm…

“So, you were at the top when the storm hit?” she asked, her voice unnaturally calm. He only nodded. 

“It’s really fortunate that you chose this one,” she continued matter-of-factly, while she started rummaging in her backpack. “The neighbouring Swinica is higher and with a lot of iron…I mean safety chains. It usually attracts most of the lighting. Are you thirsty?” It was all just a feeble attempt to suppress her own distress, because she knew that at least one of them had to remain calm. She had the basic knowledge of what to do, but she had never spent the night up there. In reality, she was panicking… Maya! She almost forgot. Pulling her phone from her backpack, she noticed she had four missed calls and almost no battery left. She started rummaging in the pack again, feeling the panic rise again

“Shit, I can’t find my power bank. I must have left it on my bed.” She checked the battery again. 3 %, just enough to type a brief message for Maya. 

Found him. Koscielec. Sprained ankle, gonna bivouac, will need help in the morning.

The battery died before she got the confirmation that it was received, so now, they just had to pray for the best. 

Looking at his soaked-through windstopper, she frowned. “Do you have any warm clothes you could use as an isolation?”

“Yeah, a spare hoodie. I think it’s still dry.”  

The world around them suddenly turned orange, making them turn their heads to the west where the setting sun finally peeked through the dissipating clouds. They could feel its faint warmth on their faces. Joshua closed his eyes and took a slow, deep and shaky breath. Agnieszka looked around them. The sky was indeed already clearing, which only meant that it would get cold very quickly. 

“Good, put it on immediately. It’s getting chilly and you’re shivering terribly. Unfortunately, I have only one rescue blanket. We’re gonna have to cuddle.” She looked at his legs with concern. “Spare pants?”

“No, just these shorts,” he replied absentmindedly and finally opened his eyes again, but the expression on his face remained distant and dreamy, and he kept looking at the sunset. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Yes, it’s beautiful, but listen to me! We need to keep you warm. Joshua, look at me!” She cupped his cheeks in her hands and turned his head to face her. They were cold to the touch, so she checked his hands next. Ice-cold already. He was breathing rapidly now, but thankfully still kept shivering. “I think you’re already a bit hypothermic, baby. Quickly, shed this wet sweatshirt.”

He did as she told him, while she took out her thermo flash full of hot tea and forced him to drink some. Then she wrapped them both in a rescue blanket and snuggled close to him to keep him warm. 

She cradled him in her arms until he started shaking violently again, his teeth chattering loudly. That was a good sign, his body temperature rising again. They remained like that for at least twenty minutes, until he finally relaxed and wrapped his arms around her, drawing circles on her forearm with his thumb. “I’m sorry for what I said, Olalla,” he whispered and kissed her hair. “I’m glad you’re here. I thought I was going to die here. Without saying things I should have said...” 

She shushed him. “I wouldn’t let you.” 

They watched how the sky darkened and the celestial dome revealed all its wonder. Not ever the lights from the town below could dim its beauty. His fingertips found her chin and turned her face to his. She watched how the tiny light reflected in his eyes before he closed the gap between them and their lips touched again in a gentle kiss. They deepened it eventually, taking their time to communicate without words. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to miss your flight,” she whispered when their lips parted.

“Yes, I was going to.”

They talked eventually, They talked about everything. They talked until midnight, when the breaks between sentences became more prolonged and their stiff muscles relaxed eventually. 

“How does your dad call you, again?” he asked her after a while, his voice already hoarse. It took her by surprise, because he could have heard it just once…a week ago.

“Neszka.”

“Neszka…,” he repeated. Pronouncing it was like eating ice cream…or getting ready for a kiss. “It’s beautiful. A perfect name for a butterfly. Very fitting.”

Still in a tight embrace, she snaked her left hand under his shirt and up his chest, making him sigh. “Your heart’s beating so soundly,” she whispered. She felt the vibrations of the steady rhythm travel through her fingertips, reverberating her bones until she heard them inside her head, ringing.

“Like a bell,” he replied and closed his eyes.  

He fell asleep eventually, but Agnieszka couldn’t. They didn't have time, just moments, and it would be a crime to waste a second. There would be enough time to sleep once she’s laid in her grave. Starlight illuminated his face enough to reveal the prominent curve of his brow or his parted lips, and she couldn’t stop watching the silhouette of his profile. He was beautiful. 

She snuggled even closer, burying her face in the curve of his neck, breathing in the unmistakable and intoxicating scent of his body. Every minute spent with you is worth a thousand light years. I don’t care what you think or feel, you’re here now and I love you. “Kocham cię.” She whispered those last words with her lips pressed against the velvet spot right below his earlobe, tattooing them into his skin with her hot breath so that he could carry them with him wherever he goes. Closing her eyes, she imagined what it would be like to wake up to the warm scent of his body every morning, knowing very well this wasn’t meant to be. That’s why she cherished every inhale as if it was her last intake of breath in this world. He had crushed the remaining pieces of her broken heart to pulp from which it could be remoulded again, and she was suddenly determined to do so, with or without him. She would remember his touches till the rest of her days… 

She dozed off at last, because when she opened her eyes again, the sky had already turned to indigo, with a sliver of pink on the northeastern horizon. She started at the realization that the morning was approaching and the sudden movement made him stir as well. They were both stiff from the cold, their noses icy and their feet prickling, but with her hand still under his shirt, she could feel the warm skin of his chest. “What time is it,” he mumbled against her cheek.

She looked at her garmin. “5:15. The sun will rise soon.”

“Marvelous. I need to pee.” His words made her laugh out loud and she could feel him sniggering against her skin, his chest shaking against her arm.  

“Ok, big boy. Let’s get moving. We should try to get closer to the cottage as soon as the dawn breaks. How’s your ankle?”

“Better, I think. No twitching pain anymore. Just a tingle.” 

After they packed their things, he relieved himself behind one of the larger stones, and began their slow descent as soon as the dawn broke. He could stand, that was good, but she still supported him in the most precarious passages. The precipitous stony path was still wet and slippery, and they were taking their time.

It was just a brief moment of inattention. She let go for only a second to adjust the strap on her backpack. The motion made her thermo flask slip from the bottle pocket and fall to the ground where it clinked loudly upon the stone. 

Joshua turned around to see what happened and his bad foot slipped on the wet surface. She watched in slow motion how his outstretched arm sweeped the air in front of her in a vain attempt to take a hold of a turf of grass next to her left leg. Her heart nearly burst out of her chest. She quickly darted forward and tried to catch him, but her fingertips missed him by a few centimeters, and the last thing she saw before he disappeared below were his wide and terrified eyes. A millisecond later – but it felt like minutes – she heard a choked yelp. 

He fell only a few metres, and she could climb down to him with ease, but it was still a terrifying sight. His forearms were bruised and bloody, as well as his left shin, all the way from the knee to the angle. But her heart almost stopped beating when she felt his head and found a dark matted patch in his hair behind his left ear. He was conscious, but she could see his eyes drooping. He looked at her, and whimpered. Then he closed his eyes and she buried her fingernails in the flesh of his bicep just to keep him awake. 

“Joshua, you mustn’t fall asleep now. Listen to me! Stay with me!” She sang to him songs of her childhood while she cradled his head in her lap. 

They found them shortly after 7 am. Three bulky guys from the mountain rescue were the first ones to arrive, accompanied by her dad and Maya. It all seemed like a dream. Agnieszka felt lightheaded and nauseous, and her hands started shaking uncontrollably the moment she saw them. It was as if someone opened the floodgates and all the previously suppressed anxiety and fear gushed through her veins. Their voices were coming to her from great distance, muffled by the ringing in her ears. They lifted him from her lap and she winced at the sudden chill caused by the morning breeze. The men kept asking her if she was hurt, but all she could do was to repeat “him, him…” over and over again. 

Her dad was the first to notice. “Neszka, child, I think you’re getting into shock.” He pushed her head between her knees to keep her from fainting and kept rubbing her back comfortingly when she finally heard the sound of a helicopter in the distance. She opened her eyes to see it already hanging in mid air right above them. 

She heard the men talking. One of them mentioned Krakow. It sobered her momentarily as her heart pumped a fresh dose of adrenaline into her veins. Krakow? Why Krakow? The medicopted belonged to the hospital in Zakopane. Why would they be taking him to Krakow? What was wrong with him? She stood up and felt two pairs of hands holding her arms as she started after the men that moved around the stretcher. She didn’t even realize she was shouting until Maya shouted back. “Be sensible! He has a head injury and he’s an internationally acclaimed musician. He’s going to Krakow! Don’t argue.”

When she calmed down, they finally let her come to him. He tried to say something but she couldn’t hear him through the sound or medicopter blades, so he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him. “Call Jake,” he mumbled.

“Jake? Your brother? How am I supp…”

“My emergency contact…,” he wheezed and squeezed her hand once more before the paramedics shouted that it was time to go. She watched them pull the stretcher up into the medicopter and soon they were just a dot in the sky. She stood there for several minutes, frozen and unable to take her eyes off of them until they disappeared on the northern horizon. She was only barely aware of Maya hugging her tight and of the lukewarm morning wind cooling her wet cheeks. Silence engulfed them, only a single hawk screeched in the distance.

Author's note:

I took this picture in High Tatras in August 2019. I later painted it (This is the painting, obviously. The original photo is featured in the this story's graphics).

We (me and my husband) were just descending when the sudden storm swept through the whole mountain range, killing several people that day. Five people died, including two children, and at least a hundred people were injured, most of them on the Polish side of the Tatras. I took the picture right before the storm hit. We were very lucky.

@its-interesting-van-kleep @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @thewritingbeforesunrise @lvnterninthenight @fleet-of-fiction @takenbythemadness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @tripthelightfantastix @sanguinebats @love-isnt-greed @klarxtr @kiszkas-canvas @wetkleenex-gvf

[maochira]

Blue Lock Boarding School AU [Part 1]

Synopsis: Because your father is the principal of a soccer boarding school, you have no other choice than to attend it. Despite that, you're not part of any of the school's soccer teams, which makes your schoolmates wonder why you're even there.

Characters in this part: Isagi, Kaiser, Ness (he doesn't say anything, tho)

Me? Another writing series? Yes. This idea has been sitting in my head for a while and thanks to @youngstrawberry69 I'm finally writing this!!

Tags: gn!reader, reader is Ego's kid (+Ego is older than in canon so him having a teenager kid make sense), Kaiser is an ass (everybody act surprised)

You never really got a chance to decide if you wanted to attend Blue Lock or not. Well, it's not like you ever had any other school in mind anyways. At least that's something you didn't have to worry about. Being the principal's kid comes with its advantages anyways. But also disadvantages.

Everyone knows you're the principal's child. You'd expect that to make them interested in becoming friends with you, but it's the opposite. For some reason, the other students are either intimidated by you or they have an irrational disliking to you. Even now, after weeks, you've never been approached by anyone. And the few times you did try to talk to other students, the conversations were either incredibly awkward or you were straight up ignored.

You simply gave up on trying to find friends at Blue Lock. Everyone is focused on their own ego anyways, so you decided you should as well. You got used to it quickly to some extend, but the feeling of loneliness remains in you.

In the recent days you've noticed a particular student has been eyeing you more and more often. Yoichi Isagi. But because you're aware of the way everyone at this school views you, you don't think much of it. It's not like he'd ever approach you to talk, right? No one ever does.

While you're walking through the hallway, lost in your thoughts, you suddenly hear footsteps getting closer and closer to you. Not the type of footsteps that sound like someone wants to walk past you, these are the type of footsteps when someone is approaching you.

For some reason, you thought it would be Isagi. Maybe you even hoped it would be him. But no, it's Michael Kaiser. Someone you've heard a lot of not so good things about. And of course, he's accompanied by Alexis Ness.

"Look who we've got here. All alone as always." Kaiser says in a condescending tone before he lets out a short chuckle. He opens his mouth to continue talking, but you've decided to ignore him and speed up your steps to escape his presence.

But Kaiser isn't having any of that. "Where do you think you're going?" He grans your wrist to prevent you from walking away.

"What do you want?" The annoyance in your voice is obvious, but Kaiser ignores it.

"Oh, I just wanted to talk to you." He pulls his hand away form your wrist and gets a step closer. "You know, there's a question I've always wanted to ask you."

"What do you want to know? Just get over with it." Even though Kaiser does intimidate you a fair bit, you try not to show it. You don't want him to feel as if he has any power over you.

"Well, I've just been wondering, why aren't you in any of the school's soccer teams? Aren't you the principal's kid? Shouldn't that make you a prodigy? But you're out here with no talent at all."

It's really hard ot not get provoked by Kaiser's words and the stupid smirk on his face. "This is none of your business." You get ready to walk away once again, but quickly notice Ness is standing in your way to prevent you from leaving.

"So you admit you have no talent?" Kaiser laughs mockingly. "Just leave this school already. Why are you here if you suck at soccer?"

"Leave (Y/N) alone!" A somewhat familar voice yells from the other side of the hallway. Familar enough to recognize you've heard him before, but not enough to know who it is. But apparently, he knows who you are. Well, almost everyone in this school does.

Kaiser's tone and expression quickly change to annoyance. "What do you want now?"

By now, the voice has turned out to belong to Isagi. He ran over to you and looks as if he's ready to fight Kaiser. "Leave them alone." He repeats while trying to push Kaiser away.

"Ugh." Kaiser rolls his eyes and takes a step back. "Come on Ness, we're leaving. My next class is about to start anyways." Ness quickly walks over to Kaiser and both of them are about to leave, but not before Kaiser turns around to face you and Isagi one last time. Although, he doesn't say anything. He just looks at you with the most condescening gaze he can do before he walks off.

"Are you alright?" Isagi wants to know as soon as the other two are gone. "Did he hurt you or anything?" The concern in his voice is genuinely surprising to you.

"No no, I'm alright. He just tried to talk me down." You let out a nervous laugh. "Thank you for your help, though."

A soft smile appears on Isagi's face before he continues talking. "No need to thank me, (Y/N). It's not like I could have left you with Kaiser like that."

You nod in response, but now you're about to get to the part of the conversation where everything gets awkward. There's nothing you have to say anymore and it'd be too weird to just walk away like that. But luckily, Isagi continues.

"Is it okay if I call you by your first name? Or would you rather be addressed with your last name?" It's clear that he feels a little bad for not asking about that earlier.

"(Y/N) is fine. Honestly it'd feel weird if you addressed me with my last name. You know, because of my dad ." You let out a short giggle, suddenly feeling more comfortable because of the care Isagi shows towards you.

"I already thought it would be like that, just wanted to make sure." Isagi stops talking for a moment, but you don't respond yet because he looks like he's trying to find the right words to continue.

"I always see you on your own. Do you not have any friends here?" He asks after a few moments.

You shake your head while another nervous laugh escapes you. "To be honest, no."

"Well, you look like you could need one." Isagi places his hand on your shoulder and looks right into your eyes. "How about I'll be your friend?"

In a matter of seconds, there's a bright smile on your face. "I'd love that."

Tagslist: @luvistarzx, @kaineedstherapy12, @zyuuuu, @youngstrawberry69, @yerinsshi - sign up for my taglist here!

[dissociacrip]

this is okay to rb i think, especially if you have anything to add or any insight. idk. i'm tagging this the way that i am because i'm seeking community/connection(tm) or something

hypotonia is not like. a rare thing. not really. but i do remember my OT googling what it was.

low muscle tone/hypotonia may technically be a symptom rather than a diagnosis (barring benign congenital hypotonia, which afaik is controversial) but it's the closest thing to a "diagnosis" i've been given for some of this stuff because the potential cause of it hasn't been investigated and i guess it's not exactly urgent since my particular case isn't severe and doesn't seem progressive (hypotonia can be progressive & is involved in some progressive and degenerative conditions.)

but i wish it was talked about more and i wish more was known about it works and how it affects bodily function and i wish what we DO know about it was more accessible to the public when it comes to those who suffer from it. it's also kinda hard whether to KNOW you have it or not since its "signs" have so much overlap with other conditions that aren't related to muscle tone. it ranges a lot in severity too. and there's two different types (central and peripheral.) it's linked to dozens of diagnoses too which is why i say it's not uncommon.

but also i guess due to the complexity of how it affects the body and its lack of distinctiveness with most of its symptoms makes it kinda...hard to talk about? and i imagine w/ some people it's hard to distinguish the effects of hypotonia vs. their other problems. issues with chewing, writing, breathing, speaking, posture, coordination, etc. can be due to so many different things ranging from mental to physical. but it's not always something that can be lumped together w/ those other things because there's "my muscles don't work" in a terms of chronic muscular pain vs. "my muscles don't work" in terms of, like, they lack the ability to adequately support the body and bodily movement. if that makes any sense.

which ranges from someone like me where having to hold myself up sucks + mild motor skill/coordination impairments and mild developmental milestone delays, but others never meet those milestones or need assistance with things like breathing and ingesting food.

it's not a diagnosis but it can affect the body in complex ways like muscle shortening and stiffness due to our bodies having to compensate in weird ways for the lack of adequate tone (esp those of us who grew up with it), tibial torsion and femoral anteversion, flatfoot and knock-knees, reduced cervical lordosis sometimes leading to bruxism and occipital headaches, etc. PT centered around muscle strengthening to correct my "improper" movement and stuff.

and there's other stuff that can come with it that people like to consider """gross""" like drooling, constipation and other gastric, and pelvic floor dysfunction which can result in incontinence/problems with bladder control. muscles are involved in a lot of things. wild.

i'm rambling but i just wish more people talked about it. all i really have is that one interview that surestep did with meagan veracha, who has hypotonic cerebral palsy, about living with hypotonia as an adult.

maybe i wouldn't care all that much if i had a diagnosis that would "explain it" but "i might have gHSD/hEDS" doesn't rly do that for me because ppl in those communities obviously focus a lot on the joint dysfunction aspect (because those 2 conditions center around hypermobile joints so that's just natural, it's not a bad thing per-se, barring other problems that those communities have) but for me my case of symptomatic generalized hypermobility is secondary in how it impacts me vs. my muscles being bad at their job and my hypermobility might even be secondary to my hypotonia anyway.

dyspraxia/DCD (some people with it have hypotonia but not all - i thought i had it before i was told i was identified as having hypotonia when i was a kid...over two decades late) is another guess but again that centers more around coordination than things like "anything other than lying in bed is hard on me because my muscles don't support my body like they're supposed to."

maybe muscle tone is a complex medical concept that shouldn't really enter the public lexicon but i have no other language for it.

[not-so-lost-after-all]

The rest is still unwritten

This piece is inspired by my thirst to reunite Astarion with his mysterious family and I admit I had a lot more fun writing it than I anticipated. It starts like some torture porn (Astarion's past) but don't worry, it's an angst with a happy ending.

Dalar Ancunín and the princess of Evermeet were borrowed with the kind permission from @spacebarbarianweird Hope you are going to enjoy it because I certainly had a blast writing them!

Words: 2500

Also a prologue and continuation to this:

...

This night is the lucky night, Astarion thinks with a smirk - he's presentable enough to go to the city. Few hours has passed since sunset and half of the people at the inn are already drunk and he's almost jelaous how carefree they are. It smells like piss and vomit and ale here and as usual it's too much for his senses. He picks a target quickly, a young human male sulking alone near the stairs.

The innkeeper kicks two humans who started a fight out of the door and barely anyone pays attention to that. But the loud chattering stops when someone starts singing. Astarion watches that man from the corner of the room. A man with silver curls and emerald eyes, pretty enough even for an elf, his ears elegantly pointed. His two companions at the table soon join him in singing and playing lutes, both apparently more comfortable with the attention of the crowd than the elf. Astarion doesn't remember ever seeing him but he is sick to his stomach. There's something familiar about him, something that Astarion can't even name, but it's not a pleasant feeling,it's like a phantom pain in a hand that was cut off ages ago.

The song is a ballad, the words mix of common and elvish.

Take me with you Where the red wine flows Where the wind blows Before my lonely life is set So blow out the candle Then I will whisper you my secrets

Astarion feels a cold wave washing over him and knows right away this panic attack is worse than what he has experienced in the last thirty years. The song is interrupted only by occassional whispering and Astarion needs to get out, right now.

It's snowing outside but it doesn't bother him, of course. There's only a faint yellow light comming through the front window and the dirty street is empty. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his nerves, calm that sudden despair and anger about his stolen life and a voice singing that same song once upon a time. Just a shadow of a memory, innocent and lost forever…

"Are you alright, my lord?"

Astarion sharply turns his head to her, just like a predator. My lord… he likes the sound ot that. It's a young girl in a skirt with mud stains, obviously new to the city. She is no older than twenty, he thinks. Pretty enough with a body that isn't threatening by any stretch of imagination. The girl is watching him with already misty eyes. Now, that was a game he can win.

"I just needed some fresh air, darling. Same as you, I suppose."

She gives him a shy smile and he notices her upper lip is bigger than the lower and the gap between her front teeth is bigger than normal. "I know, how stupid of me. But it's been just two pints for courage."

"New to the city? I suppose you're looking for a job."

She tells him she's a seamstress and he tells her he lives in a palace and if she's interested in working there, the job can be arranged. As he walks her through the streets, he describes Szaar palace in flattering terms. When they are close enough, that cursed place appears in front of them like an black rotten tooth. She tells him her name but he immediately forgets it. She doesn't need a name, she doesn't even need a face. He's her first and she's a sweet girl who kisses his brow and giggles. "Maybe I could even fall in love with you," he lies. She sings him a lullaby which makes her fall asleep. Better to spend the night in unwanted arms than with flayed and smashed fingers, he supposes.

Astarion brings her to Cazador shorty before sunrise. When the reality of the situation dawns on her, of course she gives him one wide eyed tearful look like all the others and her voice is barely above whisper. He doesn't move a muscle, he's immune to that after so many long years (his inner voice mocks him that even that is just another lie). Elinor. She tells him her name is Elinor.

When he returns to that inn two night later, even the innkeeper barely remembers that elf. "Funny thing, I thought it was you."

...

Several life times passed but Astarion is doing still the same thing. It feels like purgatory, the same places, the same words, a parade of faces and bodies he doesn't rember the next night. Some ot them want him to hurt them, to choke them, to fuck them raw… More nights he's the one who ends up beaten and bruised and feeling dirty no matter how many baths he would take if that was even an option. A few of Cazador's guests would cut him with knives or whipped him so badly it would kill a mortal. One of them wanted to gauge his red eye, so Astarion kneels and screams to please that pathetic old man who comes in his pants while Astarion feels the cold blood and vitreous sliding down his face on his shirt. The only thing that brings him some relief is when Cazador sends him to kill someone but those mortals always die way too quickly.

He thinks he must have been especially terrible person while alive to deserve this. Because he can live in a world where the gods are cruel and ignore him but not in a one where they are insane.

And yet…

It seems like the fate finally blessed him. It's her. A lost princess of Evermeet. Who gave him her blood and her trust and impossible moments of comfort. Who - when he was about to replace his prick of a master - told him that she wants nothing more than to dine with him, listen to his beating heart and free him of his hunger but if he really wants to do this, he allows Cazador to forever trap him in the past and ruin his life the second time.

One day she returns from her reverie all excited, grabs him by the shoulders and tells him he has a brother, she used to know him decades ago! Astarion doesn't share her enthusiasm. He recalls an elf with silver curls from over a century ago but he also remembers that his own grave was abandoned. Something terrible must have happened in his family and it certainly was his fault.

His twin brother Dalar is a ranger and can sing! He's an adventurer and an excelent shooter and has a pet drake called Nikym. Astarion already hates him and just watches Tavira with weary eyes but she caresses his cheek. "You have noone else, my love." That's not true, by some miracle he has her and wouldn't ask for anything more.

Still, Tavira is adamant and relentless and one day they enter Dalar's camp. They are welcomed by a hissing drake and an elf pointing an arrow at them. "Ah, the princess Moonflower in all her runaway glory!" the elf says.

Before Tavira can say a word, he notices Astarion who stares at him in disbelief and gasps for air he doesn't need. Astarion takes a few steps forward, studying him. Tavira told him that his twin brother looks very much like him but it was something different to see his mortal copy just in front of him. This is what he looks like but not really? Voices and imagines run through his head but he doesn't know if they're memories or he just made them up during the last two centuries.

He feels like throwing up… he… needs to get out. Before he can, Dalar pulls him closer and hugs him. "You bloody fool, it took you long enough."

....

For the whole next month they live in those woods, he spends the days with Tav in their tent and the nights hunting with his brother. They both can see in the dark and the hunt will be thrilling, Dalar says the first evening. If he wonders about Astarion's vampirism, he doesn't pry.

Astarion can sense the animals and hear their heartbeats and often gestures to Dalar to show their location. Sometimes Dalar prepares a fire and Astarion returns a little tipsy with a fox devoid of all blood. Sometimes Astarion watches the stars with the head of a small bronze drake in his lap and Dalar brings him a freshly killed boar without a word. Astarion adores his brother but his unwavering kindness sometimes makes him want to scream because it reminds him of all the things he's lacking in, things he can't even be anymore.

Once during the full moon they jump into a lake from a rock. Dalar of course yells in discomfort when the cold water envelopes them and Astarion laughs at him and pulls him under the water for a bit. Nikim is keeping watch on the rock and fizzles a fire from his throat in confussion. They both feel like little boys again…

He remembers their parents now, wealthy merchants from Waterdeep, he remembers their father's voice and their mother's soft hands. He tells Dalar about Cazador, even the things he's too ashamed to tell Tavira. His brother listens but often excuses himself when it's too much and says that he needs to go kill something. His eyes are wet but angry.

When the month is almost over, there is still one conversation that is long overdue.

"So you really don't remember," Dalar says while petting his drake who hums in agreement. "When I found out that you're supposed to be dead, it was some eighteen years too late. I tried to find some of your friends who were still alive. There weren't many, you've always been an ass." His brother gives him a crooked smile.

"Says the one who's always lied for my sake."

"Never said you don't have funny ideas. Anyway, there was this older magistrate who knew you well enough, perhaps the closest you've ever had to a friend. He claimed it was a group of Gur who killed you. You apparently sentenced two of them to death and banished the rest of their little tribe from the city. He knew your grave is empty and assumed the Gur had stolen your corpse for whatever reasons."

"What a lovely fairy tale about avenging injustice," Astarion grinns in disgust.

"Is that about Cazador? Because your friend said you indeed accepted bribe from the reclusive lord Szaar to deal with the Gur. So did he a year prior."

Astarion doesn't really know what to think. Only a few months ago he would be full of bitterness learning that he even wasn't that special. He deserved that beating, perhaps. But now he knows his self-worth well enough to realize that noone deserved what followed and still, no raging against the heavens would change a thing. "I admit it was easier to believe that the two fucking centuries were some karmic justice," he grunts.

"Do you always presume everything is your fault?"

"Oh don't preach. Although you're right. As usual," Astarion rolls his eyes.

His brother is quiet for some time.

"You never asked what happened to our parents."

No, he didn't. Whatever made him and his brother go their separate ways, Astarion remembers it was ugly and involved their father and mother. "They're dead because of some misdeed of mine, I suppose."

"My misdeed, actually. I brought my so called friends to our house. Turned our they just wanted to get me drunk, steal the keys and return that night to steal our gold. They managed to kill our parents before you stabbed two of them to death a made the others run away. You almost killed me too when I got back in the morning, yelling details about how mother and father were slaughtered at me. I never even got to see them again. It was our last conversation before you came here."

Astarion doesn't remember that, doesn't want to. He presses his lips together before speaking gain. "Did I tell you that I will never forgive you for that?"

"You said a lot of things, yes. Not so perfect now, am I?"

"I forgive you," he squeezes his brother's shoulder. "Why not when I can see them again. Death has never stopped me before."

He recalls that outside of Tavira, he was never forgiven for anything but it doesn't really matter. If that's what Dalar needs, Astarion knows enough about forgiveness to give him that.Besides, he's not the one who has to live with that memory.

They finally leave the woods with the next sunset.

...

Another decade has passed, full of adventures and memories he can dream about at night. He still has nightmares sometimes, some days worse than others, but Tavira barely minds by now. She puts her arms around him and tells him a story about greedy dwarves and a treasure inside the mountain. Or sings.

Take me with you Where the red wine flows Where the wind blows Before my lonely life is set

Dalar taught her how to sing and take care of dragons and for some time Astarion wonders why she fancies him and not his brother who comes with few complications. When he asked Dalar about that, his twin just laughs. "Right. Well, my taste in partners is rather narrow. You can have that princess with flat ass all for yourself. The only women who inspire desire in me have more on their chest to play with."

They haven't found a cure for him but they sure as hell had a lot of fun and made a lot of money. When Tavira mentioned her old kingdom once again and how it's time to go home, it's not a suprise for the brothers. Why not? The princess of Evermeet is rich and has a family now and can return with her head high. Her kingdom is a place soaked with magic, surely there's something there that can return Astarion to the sun or ease his hunger.

So, one warm summer evening becomes one of his sweet memories. He stands on the deck of a ship, watching the lights of the port city disappering in the distance. His brother stands next to him, Tavira's hand is in Astarion's cold hand. Three elves heading to the land of their kin to find their place there. Tonight their story begins, the rest is still unwritten.

[pinchofhoney]

Hi!! How are you doing? I wanted to send in a request for your celebration, please!! But first, congratulations for this milestone!! Ot's amazing!! 🥳 I would like to make a fluffy request for Ben Barnes with prompt n°2 in the fluff list (the one with the playlist). I don't have a plot or anything of the kind, but as we know how important music is for Ben, and that he often makes playlists (for his roles for example), I thought it would suit him. I hope you feel inspired by this idea. I hope you have a nice day, and congratulations again!!! 💕

if only my heart had a voice # 200 follower special event

» prompt event » special events masterlist

fluff prompt two: “make me a playlist sometime, will you?”

credits to ben barnes and his 2021 instagram story

ben barnes x reader

word count: 1.5k

warning: none, just another fluff, no use of y/n

summary: Music has the power to tap into our memories and stir up deep-seated emotions. And the beauty of it is that each time we hear a song, it can bring back those same memories and feelings as vividly as the first time we experienced them.

a/n: hello<33 i'm great, thank you! i hope you're doing great too and the upcoming weekend will be the good one!! thank you for your request, i hope you will be satisfied enough with what i have prepared and that the level of sweetness is just right for a fluff queen<3 and if not, i hope the video i found will melt your heart so much that what i wrote will no longer matter

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @wolfmoonmusic @myladydarkling @alexxavicry

The chilly evening had settled in, with the frosty breath of winter creeping in through every nook and cranny of the cozy house. You sat perched on the soft leather stool at your boyfriend's grand piano, your fingers tentatively hovering over the ivory keys. You were wrapped in a fluffy, knitted blanket that had been lovingly crafted by your mother, with its comforting weight enveloping you with warmth.

The fire in the nearby hearth crackled and sputtered, throwing sparks and shadows onto the walls of the room. The flickering flames illuminated the piano in a warm and inviting glow, casting dancing shadows across the polished wood of the instrument.

The room was filled with a plenty of comforting details. Starting with soft and cozy throw rug, which was spread out in front of the fireplace, inviting you to curl up on it and bask in the warmth of the fire, a nearby shelf stacked with an assortment of books and ending with a collection of photographs from your travels with Ben, adorning the walls with captured cherishing memories and moments frozen in time.

But your attention was focused on the piano, and the notes that Ben had taught you the previous night. With a deep breath, you began to play, trying not to make any mistakes and the sound of the piano filled the room and bring a sense of comfort and peace.

The keys felt cool and smooth beneath your fingertips, the weight of each note echoing through the room. Unfortunately, you weren't as skilled at playing the piano as you had hoped to be. Every now and then, your fingers would stumble over the keys, causing you to furrow your brow in frustration. Your perfectionist nature demanded immediate success, but the intricacies of the music proved to be a challenge, especially for a person like you who had never really been in touch with the piano.

You let out a defeated sigh, feeling overwhelmed and discouraged. But just as you were about to give up, you heard the sound of Ben's footsteps approaching. He entered the living room, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, the rich aroma of cocoa and marshmallows filling the air.

“Hey there,” he said with a warm smile, placing the mugs on a small table nearby. He sat down next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “How's the practicing going?”

You couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, shaking your head in mild embarrassment. “Don't act as if you haven't heard that sound of failure,” you said, feeling a sense of comfort as you leaned into his embrace.

Ben responded with a soft laughter, his arms tightening around you. “Don't be so hard on yourself, love,” he reassured you. “Learning to play an instrument takes time and practice. You're doing great, and you'll get there.”

You let out a deep sigh, feeling a sense of impatience with your progress. “But I want to be there now,” you muttered, poking out your lower lip in frustration.

“Has anyone ever told you before that you're impatient?” he laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You've only been playing for a week, my dear. Give yourself some time.”

You couldn't help but smile at his teasing tone, feeling a sense of warmth spread through your body. Ben always had a way of making you feel better, even when you were feeling frustrated or down.

“Maybe I would have been better at it if my teacher wasn't so distracting,” you teased playfully, poking his side.

“Excuse me?” Ben's eyes widened in mock surprise. “Now it's my fault?” he asked in a playful tone, his lips curling up into a smile.

A sense of warmth enveloped you as you lifted your head to kiss Ben's jawbone, which was easily within reach from the way you were seated. There was something about being with him that made even the simplest of moments feel special. It was as if the world around you melted away, leaving just the two of you in a warm, cozy bubble.

After a peaceful moment of silence, with only the sounds of the fireplace crackling in the background, Ben asked with a smile, “Would you like to hear me play something?”

“Anything you like,” you replied, feeling the tender weight of his kiss on your head before he moved his hand away to make him more comfortable to play.

You scooted back a bit, tucking the blanket more tightly around you as though the room had suddenly grown colder without his closeness.

“Well?” Ben prompted, fingers poised above the keys.

You shrugged, unable to hide the grin on your face. You knew that anything he played would sound beautiful to you, and you savored each and every note that he brought to life on the piano. “Maybe something that reminds you of?”

Ben's eyes crinkled at the corners as he considered your request, his fingers dancing over the keys. Slowly, a familiar melody filled the room, and you couldn't help but close your eyes and let the music wash over you. It was the same song that had been playing on the radio during your first date, and the memories it brought back made you smile.

The notes seemed to transport you to another world, easing your worries and soothing your soul. The warmth of the room, the soft embrace of the blanket, and the gentle light from the flickering hearth cocooned you in a peaceful bubble.

After a moment, you opened your eyes and looked over at Ben. His eyes were closed, and he was completely lost in the music. The way his fingers moved effortlessly over the keys created a beautiful symphony, and you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of admiration and love for him. You noticed the way the firelight danced across his face, highlighting the features that you loved so much, and you felt grateful to be sharing this moment with him. There was no place you wanted to be more than here. With Ben.

As the melody came to an end, you let out a soft sigh, feeling as if you had just woken up from a beautiful dream. You looked back at Ben and saw that he was looking at you, his eyes filled with love and tenderness. “I love you,” you said what the first thing that popped into your head.

A small smile formed on Ben's lips as he heard your words. He reached out and took your hand in his, squeezing it gently. “I love you too, more than anything in this world,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. You leaned in to give him a soft kiss, feeling more in love with him than ever before. As you snuggled up to him again, you felt a deep sense of joy, knowing that you were the luckiest woman in the world to have him in your life.

As you settled back into the cozy atmosphere, you thought of something that had been on your mind for a while. “Hey, make me a playlist sometime, will you?” you asked, looking up at Ben.

He looked a bit confused, as if he didn't understand why you were asking this all of a sudden. “A playlist?” he repeated.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I don't know why you haven't done it yet. I’d love to have the songs that you associate with me. With us. I think it would be nice to always have them with me.”

A smile spread across Ben's face as he understood your request. “Of course, love,” he said, leaning in to give you a loving kiss on the forehead. “I'll make you the most special playlist you've ever heard.”

You snuggled into him even more, feeling his warmth enveloping you. “You know, there are some songs that always remind me of you,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Like the one we danced to in my trailer when you visited me on the set,” he chuckled as he recollected the moment. “Or that one we listened to on our picnic date while watching the sunset.”

You smiled at the memories that flooded your mind. “Yes, I remember,” you replied, feeling a sense of nostalgia mixed with happiness.

Ben reached for his phone and began scrolling through his music library. “Let's start with this one,” he said, pressing play on a song that you had never heard before. The music that filled the room stirred up emotions within you, and though you didn't recognize the song, it felt as if it was crafted for you and Ben alone. As you listened, you couldn't help but wonder about the other songs that Ben associated with your relationship, those that held a special place in his heart and reminded him of you every time he heard them.

As the night went on, Ben played song after song, each one more beautiful and meaningful than the last. And as you listened, you knew that this playlist would always hold a special place in your heart, a reminder of the love and happiness that you shared with the most important person in your life.

[cyanmountains]

Dream logic is actually quite a good way to describe 73 yards. But dream logic in a kind of horror setting way? I don't kmow at all what I'm supposed to do with this episode. Please tell me all your thoughts because I certainly don't know what to think!

It feels like this episode had no substance at all, I don't even feel like we got to know Ruby better through it even though it's basically just her throughout this episode. I feel so unmoored by it.

When Kate showed up I was so happy because I thought oh now something's happening, now we're moving forward but then that was a dead end too.

There isn't a nice circular logic to it either, no puzzle pieces that clicked together at the end. If Ruby saved the world by making sure Roger ap Gwilliam resigned as a prime minister then by going back and preventing the Doctor to step on that fairy circle in the first place would've collapsed all that? I know time travel logic is always a bit timey wimey but this is just ot making any sense at all.

Just what am I to do with this episode??

I really feel that "I don't know what do this episode", exactly my initial thoughts lol 🤝

Totally agree with the lack of substance , this episode told us nothing new about Ruby's personality. I think like most of this episode, it might be partially flawed writing, partially intentional to support the effect of the episode.

My current interpretation is that this episode is meant to put the viewer in Ruby's shoes and make us feel what she feels. We aren't meant to focus on the plot, it's all about Ruby's experience. The storytelling in this episode puts emotions and "vibes" over story and substance, with mixed sucess.

Based on my own experience with this episode, I can say that it was frustrating and confusing to watch on a rational level, but very impactful on an emotional level.

That's also why Ruby feels so flat in this episode: She's a viewer insert (not saying this is necessarily a good thing, but i think that's what they were going for). We feel happy and reliefed when Kate shows up because Ruby is happy and reliefed. We're dissappointed and frustrated when she leaves because that's what Ruby feels.

As for the writing not clicking together in the end, I feel like that might just be RTD's writing flaws. My personal opinion: he always struggles a bit to write satisfying conclusions (some of his season finales and stuff like the meta crisis solution in Star Beast come to mind).

So yeah, I feel like the ???? vibes of this episode are a result of experimental writing with some flaws. I think the experience viewers have with this episode is gonna be highly subjective, it will work for some viewers and for others it won't.

Thanks for ask! <3

[this-acuteneurosis]

I'm curious how you characterize the dark side of the force in DLB. Does it behave more like an addictive drug that influences it's users to unhealth, or do you have it more like a sword- a dangerous tool that's not an inherently corrupting thing? (or maybe some other option I haven't thought of?)

Ooooooooooof. Okay.

So, my perspective on the Force generally, but certainly for this fic, is that the Dark side...isn't a thing.

Technically.

It's just a name.

I had a hard time before I started writing fic with the SW universe because the bad guys were progressively bothering me and I didn't know why. And it eventually came around to, the way that the Dark and Light side are portrayed, the Dark side is just...stronger? And that really didn't sit well with me. (I have no interest in arguing this point with people, it's my personal opinion.)

The biggest issue I had (among several) was there seemed to be this sense that the Dark side was like a drug, or a semi-sentient evil that lived in your head, or something, making you more bad. Or at least making you stay as bad as you were.

And like, there was no equal and opposite effect from the "Light" side. The good guys were always at risk of encountering that one thing that could turn them from the light, but there wasn't equal weight given the other direction.

This makes sense from a story perspective in a lot of ways, in that most stories are about resisting evil, and could get pretty boring if there was no challenge. But like, practically? If these things are supposed to be on some sort of cosmic scale?

I didn't like it.

And some of it comes back to the points that Leia was making to Yoda. How to you measure evil? What is the standard you use?

People keep making comments on DLB about Leia using "Dark" force powers that I have never heard of because I don't consume most SW material beyond the first 6 movies, and I sit there and I'm like...screaming in the Force is an Evil power? Like...why? (Please don't tell me. I don't actually want to know.)

I think there is probably a sense of malice and intentional hurt that you can pick up off of people who are what we would conventionally call evil. That you could pick up on the pain and anger tied to feelings like revenge. I can see Force sensitive people feeling that, looking at their students and going, "That. Don't do that. Don't be that. It's...dark. It's Dark."

But l just feel like this mis-attributes the responsibility from the person to the power.

And that's before we get into my violent rejection of the Force being sentient/semi-sentient.

I just...I'm very big on character agency in my stories. I think there are interesting things you can do by trapping characters with Fate or higher powers or mind control or any number of other things that impinge on their agency. You can do really interesting and compelling story telling that way.

But to me, the message of the OT was that Everyone Had a Choice. Luke had choices. Han had choices. Leia had choices. Lando had choices. Vader had choices. Hell, even Palpatine had the choice to not be evil.

And I find that allowing the Dark side to be a thing, especially to be a thing that exerts its own influence is just...not my vibe.

I think I've at least implied this before, but when people choose to hurt people with the Force in DLB, they aren't "using the Dark side." They are using the Force and they are using it to be cruel or angry or manipulative or whatever the hell else other unkind/evil thing they want to do. Their choice can be morally judged, but the power is in fact really just a tool. And people might not agree on the moral status of the choice, as Leia argues to Yoda.

I think there is real danger in labeling the feelings behind the intentions behind the use of the Force as Good and Bad or Light and Dark. I think it's why portrayals of Anakin and Vader are so vastly different depending on how you interpret his personal agency. I think it makes people defend some of the choices the Order and individuals in it made when those choices were Bad and Harmful, because surely Good/Light people wouldn't be Bad. They would know. They would never.

They could. They didn't. They do.

Anger is not evil. It's an emotion. Acting on anger is not intrinsically evil, and we do people a disservice by saying it is. It sure as hell has consequences and can absolutely cause harm. But so does any action take under any emotional state.

Teaching people they become powerless when they succumb to any powerful emotion--"good" or "bad"--is equally harmful and I think was key to how Palpatine manipulated Vader for decades after Vader had lost any real reason to be alive. And how people in real life similarly abuse and manipulate other real people.

Am I taking this too seriously? Maybe. But hey, uh, as you may have notice, that's kind of my bit.

[another-clive-blog]

wwhat if clive just. exploded. in his mobile fortress

SO !! I may have gotten a little carried away with this prompt ?? Like I know this was probably for the meme or for a semi-serious conversation but also. I love angst. Anyway I wrote a little something. I hope that's okay and thank you for the ask !! =) TW : mention of death, implied character death (and Claire can be counted as dead, so you know). Also : this is Claire's POV, it takes place right after the gang has deployed the flying Laytonmobile, there is no comfort. Word count : ~ 500 words.

Writing under the cut !!

"Aren't we going back for him ?"

Why are they all staring at her ? They know the whole story, what Clive did and what they did before him. So why is Bill looking at her like that, as if he was completely removed from any of this ?

"It's too dangerous," Hershel is the first one to answer- of course he is. Always firm in his beliefs, an unwavering beacon of light. But beyond the man she loves, Hershel is one thing : the pilot of the car-plane, and therefore the one person Claire has to win over if she wants this vehicle to turn around.

"I can go alone." She tells him, and really it makes sense. They aren't sending children back into that monstrous thing, and Bill is not an option for… obvious reasons. She is the one who should go get Clive, say and do what needs to be said and done. She knows she can do it- actually, the hardest part is convincing Hershel of this. "Please. You know he isn't the only one to blame."

Hershel hums. His hands tremble on the steering wheel, probably itching with the desire to yank on it. Claire knows he wants to, and hopes he does so soon enough.

"We've lost too much time on our escape. I am sorry Celeste, but we can't make it." What ? No, they absolutely can. She can do this- she has to.

But as she opens her mouth to say just that, Hershel half turns towards her.

His head is held high and yet, his eyes are sorrowful and his voice is quiet. "I need to make sure the children are safe." He simply says, like an apology or a goodbye.

Before she knows it, Claire is standing and gripping the car door with both hands. Luke is screaming and Flora's little hands are gripping her vest, trying to keep her- from what ? It's not like she's going to jump and fly away, and plummeting to the ground won't solve anything.

There is nothing she can do.

"Why do you want to go back for him anyway ?!" Bill yells at her. "This man is a nuisance !!"

Clive is in the wrong. She knows this. Somewhere deep down, she also knows that there is no saving him, that, even if he gets ouf ot there alive, it will only be a temporary thing. It is too late- it has been for quite some time now.

Ten years. Time really does fly by when you've been condemned from the very beginning, or when you've never actually lived any of those ten long years. Then again, it seems that no one has really moved on from that terrible day. It's almost as if they had all been transported to this present day with her, only to witness history repeating itself. The smell of fire and the screech of metal are overwhelming, and she isn't sure if the screams she hears are real or mere echoes of the past, of that experiment and the explosion and the suffering, the fear-

"I don't want him to know what dying a lonely death feels like !"

The car takes a sharp turn. The kids scream in surprise and Claire falls back down- but when she sits up again, she notices that the car has in fact not changed its trajectory.

It takes her a few seconds to come to this conclusion, because the fortress behind them is gone.

-_-_-_-

There ! I am actually upset that the first piece I've shared with Claire in it is exclusively about Clive, although the parallels were too interesting not to be exploited. I am however planning to write another piece for Claire on her own because I genuinely love her character.

Anyway that was a good ask, thank you so much anon for sending it !! <3 <3

[hatboyproject]

First, you are a legend. Second, I have finally broken down and started playing thru the ME trilogy thanks to (a) my ability to take a sabbatical, and (b) a friend buying me the legendary edition, and (c) threats of violence from my loved ones should I not play it. I've finished ME2 and I am 100% not booting up ME3 if there's snowball's chance in hell that the LE version of your mod is dropping any time soon.

*sings* you're not our bitch and you're not a machine * I'm a fic writer, I expect nothing. And I know this stuff takes forever and I 1000% expect the answer to be 'no' but the only thing I am inquiring is whether there is an updated ETA for your mod. OR if you have need for a legendary edition beta tester. OR if I can send you cash money to help offset the time being spent on a labor of love. OR if I should say -f- it and get my hands on the original edition of ME3 so the hatboy mod you've already (gloriously) provided us, works.

Also thank you for giving me hope that I will get to play a Shoker option, which makes the most sense thematically and narratively and I am aghast at what bioware chose to do with Joker (and EDI, wtf). You're doing god's work.

Just this week, I got some of the updated synths I've been waiting for, but I'm still waiting on BroShep.

I am still working on HBLE, don't you worry! In between writing fic myself, doing a painting, and a playthrough of ME3 to refamiliarise myself with its pacing, I have been going in and putting some necessary setup stuff in place, which is all very boring and un-exciting and not really showcase-able. Big chunks of the structure have been built, but most of the audio work has to be done, still.

In the OT, a lot of work had been done before I had the ability to read a line to the synth myself and have it transpose the voice directly, which noticeably improves delivery. So much so that it is difficult to use a lot of the previous edition's takes. This has the knock-on effect of the line needing to be re-animated because, of course, the timings of everything are now different with the new audio. There are very few lines whose takes will not be re-done.

Fortunately, however, I have my lipsync automation tools, and I'm much better at animating now than when I started. So it takes a lot less time this go-around... but still time!

Sadly and wonderfully, this is a massive mod and is much more than just a straight port. If it was a straight port, it'd have been done already. I would apologise for that, but I like to think the end result will be worth it, haha!

I am adding new content this time, including an entire conversation about his sister that you can unlock by completing some vanilla dialogues.

I am so glad that you've been enjoying your time with Mass Effect and that my mod is on your list of things to do. In what I am sure is the most shocking statement of the century, I agree that Joker is the most thematically satisfying romance for Shepard. I can't wait to get it to you! I promise, I am doing my best and there's nobody who wants it in your hands more than me.

Regarding testing, it's not quite in a state where it can be tested just yet. A few conversations work (first convo, EDI body convo, EDI discussion, some ambients) but nothing else yet.

Regarding supporting me, I do have a Ko-Fi. You can find a link to it in the pinned post, and donations absolutely do help my creative efforts, and I go a little feral when I see someone has donated. But as always, I want to make it clear; The Hatboy Project is free and will never be gated in any way. Everyone gets the same release at the same time. All you have to do is own a legit copy of the game... Which you already do!

Excitement like yours helps keep me going. Thank you so much.

Edit: lmao my link is not in my pinned post lol rofl it's hatboyproject.ko-fi.com tho

[bsaka7]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

i was tagged by @longeyelashedtragedy! i had actually been seeing this go around f1blr and was hoping someone would tag me...so thank you!!!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

i have 96 (46 off anon, 50 on anon). of fics written in recent history, i have 48 f1 fics (35 off anon, 13 on anon) and 18 footiefics (11 off anon, 7 on anon). i have sort of a weird relationship with anoning - i generally don't mind if people know the fics are mine, but i usually don't want them on my account, generally because of quality reasons (or just a distancing). i generally anon anything that i've been away from the fandom for a couple of years, but i think this might change now that i'm like, not actively growing up in the same way. i feel like it makes sense not to want ventfic from age 14 on my account, but i don't necessarily feel the same way about well-written work from a fandom i'm no longer a part of...but then again. embarrassment factor. so who knows.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

661,265. Most of that is from the last three years. Nearly half is from 2022 alone! I'd like to crack 700k this year, but I'm not sure if it's going to happen. I've been a bit stagnant lately, but there might be something bigger (if uninteresting to everyone but me) in the works...

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

at the moment i basically only write footie rpf though i'm generally open to writing more f1 rpf or really whatever might take my brain by storm. i've written for lots of other fandoms but for some reason, it's basically ONLY rpf fandom that pulls me in and i actually get fully involved in, despite the fact that i love lots of fictional books and movies and things. the only other thing i could see myself writing fic for at the drop of a hat would be star wars OT/original EU. oh that's not totally true. i occasionally will write or consider rpf about various bands, mostly from the 90s 😑 but I've not written any in ages

taking some time - this was my first "big" f1 fic and i'm fully aware of why it's popular. it's fairly well written, it plays into common characterization, it's an extremely popular pairing, and it's unique enough (i hope) to still be vaguely interesting.

baby, need a ride - banger of a title, if i do say so myself (who doesn't love a bit of ke$ha). this is popular for a lot of the same reasons as the last, with the bonus of it being pwp.

[redacted] - i almost unilaterally refuse to admit i've written this fic. it got great comments from a lot of fic writers who i really admired in my early f1fandom days (and some i still do). this fic is, to me, extremely symptomatic of falling into fandom characterization without considering real-world input. it was maybe my second??? fic i wrote??? for f1. it's for a pairing i genuinely began to despise literally weeks after i wrote it. this fic is my no1 candidate for orphaning except that i don't like to orphan bc i DID write it and i do like to see what people say about it (and the comments are always lovely - i don't fault anyone for liking this fic. i'm glad to have created something that resonates deeply with many people!), even if sometimes i don't like reminding myself of who i was when i wrote it.

ill ray - this is probably the fic i'm proudest of being popular. i've definitely read fic that's been inspired by this which is a total honor. this is also the only fic in the top 5 that's not from what i consider my "early" f1 fandom era. this fic is mean and it's nasty and it's gross and it's stomach churning and it turned out better than i could have ever imagined. one of my favorite things I've written.

sheets soaking wet - early f1fandom pwp. i remember the exact weekend i wrote this lying on my futon. one of the first threesomes i wrote, i think.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

of course!!! i love comments and i am so grateful for them and i want people to know what they mean to me! i also am generally desperate for thinking deeply about fic (and for community at all) so i always want to engage with ppl who say interesting things! sometimes im a bit slow at responding - I especially sit on long comments - but I get there in the end :)

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I honestly have no idea. I've written multiple fics where is sort of implied all of the characters die at the end (as the sails burn down like paper, echo of the future (sort of. this one is iffy. there are spinoffs I'll never write), green gloves) so maybe one of those? i don't have a great sense of these things.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Maybe like... Charles and the Three Curses or something. I think it's a nice getting together, figuring out your problems ending, and they'll probably end up together for a long time. Most of the endings of my fic even if they're "getting together" or sort of "traditional" happy endings, I don't consider to be happy endings bc its all about getting trapped in the evil misery cycle or something like that.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i would think i hate on my own fics more than anyone else possibly could. that being said, although I've gotten a few backhanded compliments, no, no hate, thank goodness.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yeah. i go through phases of writing it and then trying not to write it but i find it fairly easy to write and it can convey things i struggle with in any other kind of work yeah. in terms of what kind, i try to write stuff that has interesting emotional and political undercurrents. i like the real world in there. i like complication. basically, I use it to get at something that I'd struggle at getting at in a different fic of a similar length - it pares things down to bodies and emotion, even if there's still plenty of space for lying and misinterpretation and so on. i like to think my pwps are often about power. I've also said many times that i consider very little of the pwp I've written to actually be hot. idk....take that as you will.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

ive never done so though im not opposed to the idea. unless my f1 star wars au counts as a crossover which i don't think it does even though technically like in sequel 10000 someone probably does meet luke skywalker or like wedge antilles crash lands in old man seb's cornfield or something...

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

don't think so, thank goodness!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no... I've had exactly one request ever and I turned it down. I'd probably say yes if someone I talked to regularly wanted to translate something, but I'm a bit of a control freak and it's not something I'm very comfortable with...

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, though again, not opposed to the idea... it could be fun! the other thing I'd like to do but im shy about would be to write a little fic in the universe of one of my friends fics but I've never done nor asked to do it so.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

if i have one, i don't know it. usually when im done with something, i move on and rarely return.....i think i have more consistent themes and questions that i like to read about and return to, rather than ships.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

i don't really have a lot of wips.... pretty much everything i decide to write ends up finished! there's only the Big Time Travel Story (not fic) in my head that maybe I'll actually get working on pretty soon here...

16. What are your writing strengths?

Probably my greatest strength as a writer is nearly anytime I decide to write, I can just sit down and do it. I'm also a fairly quick writer. When I'm really into a fic, I can easily write 2-5k a day and sometimes more. Other than that, I guess my writing is pretty readable (not necessarily something that I always like in my own work).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with writing dialogue, but my biggest weakness is my unwillingness to edit. It's not that I don't care or I'm not aware of what could be better, it's just that I'm lazy and I really enjoy being done, more than I enjoy putting forth more effort into a better work (that I know won't get any better if a response if I put that much more time in, but at the same time, I wasn't much of an editer on my college papers either).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

hmmmm... i do it sparingly. i think awareness of language is something I'd love to improve on in my work, especially writing in the pov of someone's second or third language. I've definitely read it effectively in fic (and far more effectively in like, novels or whatever. and I've seen it done very poorly in fic), but my own language skills are not terribly useful to the fic I've written and don't particularly add insight into how i might do it better. usually i just use dialogue tags to make clear what language is being spoken.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

in elementary school i submitted a story about darth Vader and princess leia to a school library contest and was rlly sad when it didn't do well :( i wrote self-insert about myself hanging out with the usmnt and uswnt circa 2011...if either of those count 😉

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I'm going to give you two, on different criteria, though the answer is probably the latter:

Charles and the Three Curses is the most FUN I've ever had writing a fic. It's a bit silly and the plot itself isn't the most unique but I loved coming up with all the details of the different characters lives and the magic they used and my little oc's and so on... I love writing fantasy fic :)

scenes from an american artist is, I think, the best fic I've ever written. in terms of writing quality, of storytelling, of prose, of structure, this is it. i had something I wanted to capture and I think i managed to do it, almost how I'd wanted to.

honorary mentions: as the sails burn down like paper, echo of the future, you whom i cannot betray. You can also check out my Tetrapod Sampler with some fics that I think are quality and representative of my own work.

you will notice these are all f1fic and there's no footiefic to speak of. I'm not going to say that I haven't written good work for footie thus far, but I will say most of it has been pwp which is never my favorite, results wise... but i promise i have something interesting and different in the works!

i have genuinely no idea who has done this... I tag...@wdcseb @gokartkid ummm and if anyone else who follows me wants to do it and tag me I'd be happy to see I have been loving reading these!!! some people think so wonderfully deeply about their work and I love to see it!

[ooops-i-arted]

I'll start by saying that I have a rather basic understanding of Ashoka as a character, the only think I know is that she was Anakin's padawan.

And like... Where did Ashoka come from? In the Prequel Trilogy The Jedi Order doesn't want to make Anakin a master, so why would they give him a padawan? It just doesn't make sense and makes me kinda frustrated because I love the film and the PT and the way it shows how Anakin falls into the darkness and how he feels rejected by the Jedi. I love how his relationship with Padme developed, the way Obi-Wan tried to teach him to the best of his abilities.

And being completely honest, there just isn't a place in Anakin's story for Ashoka or any other padawan. He wasn't ready and the Jedi master wouldn't give him a student.

I'm just frustrated because it feels like Disney is taking this wonderful story and spiting on it just to place a badass girl boss in it. And they don't even need to do that, because the PT has Padme! She is cool and smart even if she doesn't have Jedi powers.

Thank you for reading this rant, I hope you have a good day/night

You are absolutely right. The MCU-ification of Star Wars is fast reaching that ridiculous point where you need to watch ten other things to get one thing, and that's BAD. You want to include your deep lore audience AND your casual fans. My mom (who watches all the live action shows but not the cartoons) said the same thing - "Who are these people?"

And you're absolutely right that there is no room or narrative need for Ahsoka and never has been. Anakin's attachment and issues are perfectly demonstrated through the more fleshed out female characters Shmi and Padme, not to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi. We even see it in the OT with his actions toward Luke. Ahsoka is completely unnecessary. (Even more egregious because "show following Jedi Master and Padawan and their clones through the Clone Wars" is a great premise imo that didn't need Anakin in it either.)

I'd also like to once again bring up that at 12 years old I couldn't wait for Episode III so I wrote my own, and in my Very First Big Girl Story there was Lia Skye, a super badass Padawan who was super good at combat and had special Jedi skills and was a prodigy and sooooooo important to my favorite character (Obi-Wan, also even at 12 I knew Anakin had no business around children) who then died tragically and was still The Most Important even in death because she was Anakin's first victim and generally took over the whole story. Filoni is writing the same fanfiction as a 12-year-old girl. Disney start paying your writers fairly, you clearly need them.