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cherubnthechaoschoir · 1 year ago

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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.

#pedro pascal #triple frontier #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #frankie triple frontier #frankie morales fanfic #bark!bite!bleed!

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sturn-wrld · 1 year ago

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🏮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

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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

#strniolosworld #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo

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just-prime · 2 years ago

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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!!!

#rambles #dave filoni critical #ahsoka critical #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers #star wars #prime responds #anti filoni

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buildingunderstanding · 2 months ago

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I think sometimes I struggle with the idea of "faith".

The thing about being raised in an independent, fundamental, baptist church like I was I was taught that the Christian God is real. No questions asked. He is real and no other gods actually exist at all. He is real and other people believed in other "so-called gods" because they were deceived by the devil or caught up in their own ignorance and arrogance that they just refused to accept "the one true god". I was basically taught that other gods were fairytales.

So now as I've broken away from the church and really contemplating what I was taught and feeling like I can think more critically about it, I find myself wanting things to be real more than I actually believe them, I think.

I feel like a good way to explain it is that when I discovered Percy Jackson, I sort of used it as a fanciful way to cope with my bio dad's abandonment of me. It is burned into my memory that the last thing he ever said to me was, "I love you, I'll see you later", so as a teenager with an interest in music, archery, and creative writing, who had just discovered a story about teenagers abandoned by their parents, I sort of playfully found my identity as a Cabin Seven kid.

It became a game of sorts to secretly pretend to be a child of Apollo, (of course it had to be a secret because otherwise my parents might think I was taking it all too seriously and ban me from the books) and I found so much comfort in pretending that it was all real, that Apollo might be proud of me for experimenting in music or practicing archery. That he'd be proud of me for who I already was.

And while I do know that the Apollo in the PJO series is not an accurate depiction of Apollon himself and all of it is indeed fictional, there is still a sense of whimsy in it all that I desperately want to hold onto.

I want the gods to all be real, but not necessarily ot strictly for matters of faith and religion (though I do recognize that as important for many people), but simply because I think it would be neat. Because I want there to be more to the world.

I wasn't really given a lot of choice in what I believed as a child. I was told that only the Christian God was real and that none of the fantastical creatures I wanted to learn about in folklore were real and neither were any of the other deities I found myself drawn to and fascinated by, and now as an adult, capable of choosing my own beliefs, I find myself wanting to believe all these things I told were fake and made up to be real just on principle. Because I think it's neat.

Did Loki actually steal the bloodstone crystals I dropped immediately after reading about someone talking about how he stole their bloodstone crystal? I don't know. But I want to believe it because it makes me happy. The crystal is still gone, so why not believe it? What harm is there in that?

Was Athena actually with me when I stood in front of the recreation of her statue in Tennessee? I don't know, but I felt more power standing alone there than I ever did in my church and choosing to believe she was there makes me happy.

I know Apollo doesn't literally drive the sun, but it brings me joy to tell him I need to see when the sun gets in my eyes while driving, or to say good morning in the winter when the sun is coming up on my drive to work.

The word "faith" to be just feels so...stiff to me these days. And sure, I was taught that "faith is the substance of things hope for, the evidence of things not seen" (Hebrews 11:1), but I was also taught that faith is reserved for only matters of the religion I was taught in, in a way. Or that faith is...some super serious thing. Not anything whimsical or to be given to anything that wasn't actual real (read: the god I was taught to believe in). So now I struggle a bit to say I have "faith" in other deities or in the existence of other folkloric beings, because...that's just not who faith is for or how it's used.

But I want so badly for these things to be real. And I think that's even part of my drawn to pop culture paganism. It's a chosen belief.

Even othe pantheons to some extent are still taught religions, even if they're not widespread or pervasive as the many flavors of Christianity.

But to just believe in something for the sake of it, because you want to, because it sounds neat or interesting, I really like that idea.

I was taught for so long that I had to have faith in one god, in one deity, that it's nice to just...casually think that maybe other ones are real too. Maybe that is faith and I'm just stuck on semantics, but it's nice to be able to be able to shrug and say "I don't know if this is real or not, but I want to be, so just for myself, I'm going to act as though it were."

#screaming into the void

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maochira · 2 years ago

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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!

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not-so-lost-after-all · 1 year ago

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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.

#astarion #astarion x tav #my writing #astarion fluff #angst with a happy ending

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dissociacrip · 1 year ago

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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.

#hypotonia #cripple punk #cpunk #physical disability #physically disabled #j

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kamsspice · 11 days ago

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note: i wrote this two years ago and it’s been collecting dust in my drafts since. thought to share it because why not. feel free to agree or disagree but i am fond of luke and his psyche

um, here's a little impromptu, mad informal analysis of luke skywalker and his motivations of building the jedi order , his flaws which we need to embrace and why yes, i kinda like his TLJ characterisation. This is kinda long so yeah

so first thing's first, using a bit of psychology, the enneagram personality theory is an interesting framework that divides people by their core motivation and helps understand behaviour as a result. in writing, it can be used as a helpful guide to understand the basic goals of characters and as such, how they may react in certain scenarios based off their broader personality.

As a disclaimer, I'm not one for these sort of frameworks normally when it's used as an astrology-adjacent explanation for everyone's every single action. That's not what this is for, at least that's not how I'm referring to it in this context. These frameworks exist as a guide to understand things already intrinsic to us, putting scientific evidence and theory to paper so we as humans can make sense of ourselves and use it in treatment. It's like a meta-analysis of the human behaviour.

That aside, lemme get into it.

So, Luke, to me, is a type 1 personality - the perfectionist.

Morgan Alexander and Brent Schnipke (2020) categorises this as:

Principled, conscientious, organized, responsible, and committed. Concerned with improvement, morality, desire to perfect themselves and their surroundings. Seen as detail oriented, hypercritical, and judgmental. Struggle with an "inner critic," repressed anger, impatience, and a sense that nothing is good enough.

I have bolded the ones that I think are quite relevant to Luke based off of what I remember from the OT and the ST, and it helps explain his behaviour and his actions.

An argument for the Perfectionist

Luke has always sought for better in everything. From the movies, Luke in ANH wanted to leave tatooine because he thought it to be limiting, he wanted to be in better places and he was determined to get out of Tatooine through any avenues he had available. In ESB, he is impatient with his Jedi training, he has a lot of anger towards Vader and the other Empire lot (understandably). Here's the important thing, though: in ROTJ, he actively seeks good in his father, Vader, even going so far to abandon his only means of defense and leave redemption into Vader's hands. This loveable protagonist always sought better in everything.

And this is because of his circumstances. Luke had no family beyond his aunt and uncle; he didn't know his parents, he was quite lonely. All his life he had shit. Luke's early life from childhood into early adulthood mirrored that of a typical working class, impoverished family, living on the fringes of society in a shitty neighbourhood. In The Relationship of Socio-Economic Status and Agression to the Competitive Behaviour of Children, it is concluded that children from a low socio-economic status were more competitive than their upper middle class counterparts (McKee & Leader, 1955).

So, you may be asking, "What's this with competition? I thought Luke was a perfectionist?" Well, you see, perfectionism is inherently competitive. You are competing with previous iterations of existing things and striving to improve. I don't have a reference for that but you get my point here.

So, our fave farmboy, we have established is living on the fringes - has been his whole life, he's strapped for options and his best bet is being a pilot because good for him he's good at that and the academy needs people to join.

The Original Trilogy

ANH establishes Luke's background and his sort of rags to riches growth, going from small town farm boy to hero of the Rebellion.

Let us not forget that his only family got torched, though, and that's hella important.

The perfectionist "seeks to perfect themselves and their surroundings". At their unhealthiest, they are impatient and hypercritical of themselves and others. This is where cunty Bespin fatigues ESB Luke enters.

Being unable to save his only known family, Luke has in some way failed his resonsibilty of looking out for them. And as such, that may be perceived as a flaw on his part. Therefore, Luke's perfectionism is what fuels his impatience to be a saviour in ESB. We've all seen that film - Luke is a bit of an arrogant twat (affectionate) and gets himself in tricky scenarios out of his depth, nearly dying a good few times. He's impatient with his training and that impatience drives him to try and rush the process of becoming a proper Jedi with his training with Yoda and for noble reasons, runs off to save his friends, in line with the morality, responsibility, and principled elements of this personality.

I'm not gonna list off every event in this movie and neatly match it up to the traits of a type 1 personality, but what I will highlight is how the Vader reveal re-emphasises his personality.

In a basic sense, type 1's main goal is to be as good as one can be and by extention so should the world around them. But what happens when you, the boy who's been trying to live the philosphy of a good Jedi and being a freedom fighter against the Empire find out your daddy is the second biggest bad of the entire galaxy? Crazy, innit?

The type 1's generalised biggest fear is "to be bad or corrupt" (Alexander & Schnipke, 2020). I don't know about you, but finding out your father is responsible for genocides upon genocides and public enemy number 1 in your militia's eyes must be a mad ting. So, how does Luke respond?

Luke sees this again as another problem to solve. He takes the pacifist route, not killing his dad but helping him get redeemed at least in Luke's eyes. That is to cut a long story short. Luke didn't abandon any of his core personality, but what did happen was he managed to be more patient, less judgemental and encouraging of others in a good way.

But how does that fair with Disney's sequel trilogy

The Sequel Trilogy

Right off the bat I'll say I am not a huge fan of these movies, but thankfully that has all to do with the backdrop of the First Order, Kylo Ren and the BTEC Rebellion, notsomuch Luke, hence why I'll be talking about TLJ only.

I also know folks don't like how Luke was a prick in this film but sorry, I somewhat disagree. Mind you, I have qualms with the ending but that's more of a personal bias. So, anyways:

Luke having that lapse of judgement and pulling his saber on his nephew was cringe but lowkey it makes sense if you consider everything about him. He has been through a shit ton of loss and is desperate to maintain the good that he and his friends have built for the galaxy. In that lapse of judgement, you can understand why he briefly considered it. He's getting older, he's not in his physical prime. Should a Darth Vader rip off come to exist again, could he have the ability to talk them out of it before shit gets bad? As such, he briefly considered killing off Ben, because that unhealthy part of his personality got the better of him.

And once again, just like back on Tatooine, Luke lost his home and his new family of young Jedi. Once again, he has failed people around him by not preventing their deaths. The good he managed to bring to the galaxy was temporary and soon, the galaxy was in yet another war.

Here's where things start to change though.

Perfectionist personalities may opine that nothing is adequate enough (Alexander & Schnipke, 2020). We certainly see Luke mirror those attitudes when Rey goes to him to train. Here, the perfectionist Luke has given up. Luke has reached his flop era and refuses to engage in any improvement because every attempt of doing good has led to worse outcomes. And this is where the mould of the enneagram model begins to crack.

You could argue that Luke would take an active role in trying to make things good again, but shit like ambition, trauma, relationships may take a part in shaping once's personality, in particular events that transition the individual into another status, known as "critical life events" (Vries, et. al, 2021). Luke is riddled with those - fatherless and motherless from birth, cooked up aunty and uncle so he's got no familiar family, Obi-Wan killed so no warm mentor, oopsie his Dad's a maniac so he's the son of the worst man in the galaxy, Yoda dies so he's now the last Jedi. And now, uh oh, his nephew of all people decides to play fascist because uncle happened to raise a lightsaber at him, so he's the world's worst uncle TM and he's no longer the leader of a new generation of Jedi cos they were all killed too.

Luke lives a life of L after Ls and with each event reaffirms this idea that Luke isn't good enough or he did something wrong. And these events impact one's perception of their mindset. The individual mindset is one's implicit belief about how changeable their personal qualities are, split into two categories: the growth mindset and the fixed mindset (Dweck, 1999). The fixed mindset is the idea that one can't change who they are (Dweck, 2012).

See, the interesting thing about personality is that it can take on many shapes while remaining largely the same. Luke was in his money baller growth mindset era during the OT, because a growth mindset perfectionist believes that there's more to be done and one's personal qualities can change. He believed he could be better so he acted accordingly.

n individual’s mindset refers to the implicit belief about the malleability of personal attributes.

#star wars #luke skywalker

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cerulean-renegade · 1 year ago

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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

#doctor who #doctor who meta #dw meta #doctor who spoilers #dw spoilers #73 yards #ask

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another-clive-blog · 2 years ago

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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

#clive dove #claire foley #hershel layton #(not that much and I am therefore not tagging the others)#professor layton and the unwound future #professor layton and the lost future #unwound future spoilers #lost future spoilers #my writing #<- Yeah woohooo !!#ask #TW : death #TW : implied death #TW : mention of death

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ooops-i-arted · 2 years ago

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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.

#asks #anti ahsoka tano #anti ahsoka show #anon

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soracities · 2 years ago

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Hello! I'm the person who wrote a while ago asking for some advice about my feelings for my best friend.

I chose not to tell her, thinking that it's best to have her as a friend than not having her at all. I made my peace with that decision.

The thing is, she wrote a letter to me saying that there's a question she's been dying to ask, something that she really wanted to know, but she's too afraid to actually ask the question. She says that she prefers to live forever with that question in mind than having to face the answer.

She's now in a relationship, she seems very happy and I am happy for her, but I really feel that this has to do with my feelings, if that makes sense.

I wanted to know your opinion about this, since you really helped me last time. Thank you, by the way! Hope you're having a wonderful day/night :)

Oh, dear anon.....I think the only thing I can say in this is that, at least from where I see it, you have two considerations: the first is that having made peace with not confessing your feelings, you have to ask yourself if you can make peace, now, with the contents of your friend's letter in the same way, or if this uncertainty changes how you feel about the decision you have made: you've made your peace with not confessing, but can you maintain that peace, or find a new peace, with the added "what if?" her letter has left you with? Does this change the conditions under which you made your decision? And if so, does it now change any of the reasons why you decided not to confess in the first place? And if you decide to not pursue this question of hers, would you regret that "what if"? And, crucially, could you live with that regret?

Secondly, and I'm not saying that this is what you have to do or should do--this is a very intimate and complex situation and only you can decide for yourself what is right for you here--but I think it's worth considering that, while you made the decision that you felt was right for you at the time, your friend, based on what she wrote to you, seems also to have come to a decision that she feels is best for her. I don't know what her intentions were in writing that letter to you--if it was a way for her to put whatever question she had to bed (and it could very well be about your feelings, your suspicions make sense there), or a roundabout way of approaching the question itself--in the end I do not know her and I don't want to make presumptions either. But it may be worth bearing this decision in mind when you make yours.

But on the whole I think it's a very difficult thing to approach without knowing exactly what this question your friend had is. And whether or not you wish to pursue that and find out is something that, ultimately, can only be decided by you, being aware of what she said in her letter but also weighing the consequence of that against how you feel having read it and how you think this will impact you from now on. I think fear is a natural response, but, as I said, I think you also have to measure it against the prospect of regret--and only you know what you could face regretting and what you couldn't.

One thing that I'm trying to do in my life, and maybe it will help you, is to ask myself "what is it that I want, and what is it that I'm getting? and how is this aligning with what I've wanted, or not aligning with it? and why?"--and if I'm being as clear-eyed as I can about the situations arising in my life, it helps me, in some small way, to have a more informed approach to those situations. I'm not saying to take everything as a Sign, but for me it's helpful sometimes because it lets me find the opportunity in whatever is happening that allows me to harvest something--anything--that will answer some question for myself, or resolve something I've been struggling to work through ot give me the opportunity to do so.

In all honesty, I do not think there is a right or a wrong way to approach this situation, and I empathise so much for what you've been trying to navigate and make peace with because I know it is far from easy or straightforward. All I can say, anon, is that I hope, no matter how you approach this new situation, that you are able to do so in a manner that is as true to yourself as possible, and I wish you so much courage whatever course you take. Sending an abundance of love to you 💗

#ask #anonymous #notes from elsewhere

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yoonjinsgirl · 2 years ago

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Hey guys!!! I'm new here I've been a reader all my life and something inside me wanted to try out writing fics and imagines and then no longer i could hold my wish so finally I've decided to hop on!! I'm gonna try my best!!! I'll be happy to take requests for hyungline (ot⁷ but my biasline is hyungline) and suggestions are welcomed!!!💜

*Also me being a hopeless romantic my choice of writing would mostly be fluff!!! I love reading fics/imagines which are warm, comforting with a lill bit angst so hell yeah will be including them!! About smut I'm not so sure rn!*

So now getting back to this fic or oneshot whatever you call it!! It's nothing much nor i think it makes any sense, It's just a tweet i came across on twitter and my comment gave me the idea to write this!!!💜

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You shutting me up like that is so sexy!

Yoongi x Reader

Summary : you and yoongi start bickering while watching iu palette when things start to turn up pretty serious!

Warnings : could be a lill bit of angst! And fluff ofcourse!

A/N : this is my first time writing, i apologize in advance for any mistakes. Please give your feedbacks to me! It would mean alot to me!!💜

Request are open & highly welcomed and appreciated!💕

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

After a long day at work you come home to be suprised to see your idol boyfriend who is already home, comfortably lying down on couch watching something on television! Suprised because his new album is releasing soon and he has been super busy with his work schedules, mostly spending days at his studio. You were so..so happy to see him home because you missed him being around you so much and now that he was home you felt so good, your body already relaxing after looking at him.

"Y/n i know I'm hot you don't have to stare me like that"

That's when you realize, while you were so lost in your thoughts and suprised to see him home, you had no idea you've been unintentionally staring at him from too long!

You mentally face palmed yourself and your cheeks turn red, and a silly smile on your smile appears as you say "aish aren't you being too much yoongs? I see you've lately been in company with jinnie isn't it! Also what's wrong in staring at the man whom I'm in love with and hell yeah he's hot so why not" you say trying to act cool and shrugging off.

He chuckles a little on how your face can never hide anything, beside your red cheeks all visible to him, he gets ups from the couch walking closer to you and handling you a glass of water, "I'm so satisfied, my intentions succeeded on surprising you tonight bby! Don't shy away i can clearly see it on your face, i know how much you've missed me! so have i love! I know i haven't been giving you enough time because of busy schedules, so i decided to come home early and order a take-out so need for any of us to cook, we both can relax, now go get freshen up quickly, I'm waiting for you hmnn" you immediately hugged him, "you know i love you yoonie" you were always so thankful for getting someone like him in your life who has always been so loving, caring and understanding!

He immediately hugged you back and placed a kiss on your forehead "hmnn i know that, i love you too, now go get changed and come quickly I'm waiting for you"

To which you happily nodded went to get freshen up and undoubtedly came out quickly, rushing out wanting to just be beside him. When you came out he was already serving food near the coffee table across television, you walked up and tried to help him to which he nodded into no and pulled you towards him and quickly gave you peck and made you sit down and later sat down next you.

"So what are we watching today yoon" you asked him, "umnn it's 10 (of april) today should we watch that new show we were talki.." "aaaahhhhhhhhh wtf" you screamed cutting him off before he could even complete his sentence. Making him blush a little as he knew what exactly made you scream like that, he loved how you were always so excited about his work, how you cared about slightest thing related to him, how you were still a part of his bts army and you were proud of being one. "omggggg how could i forget it's 10april today.. omgggg the episode of you on iu palette will be releasing today! How could i forget it omggg please play it! I'm already 3 hours late yoongs" you said practically pouting now, he laughed trying to hide his now flushed cheeks, "y/niee it's okay! you were at work anyways. You can watch it later on if you want." "Whattttt noooo, ofcourse not yoongs! pretty please i wanna watch it now, you've no idea how excited I'm" you said again pouting, yoongi knew how much things related to him mattered to you always, also there's no escaping you while you talk like that to him, pouting without your knowledge, and how soft he was for you. "Aishhh okay" he said and put up the show and you were enjoying the show already, it was so fun watching yoongi bicker with iu, he was practically being a brat to his friend of same age! You giggled and laughed wholeheartedly.

Only untill IU said how she loved the MV of Daechwita from his mixtape D-2 and your boyfriend being the pro at teasing and bickering asked her teasing back that if she meant she only liked MV and not his music and iu being totally taken back unable to come up with a comeback, tbh she didn't mean any of that, she respected and definitely appreciated yoongi's work alot. You gasped and hit your boyfriend playfully "yahhh you... you're being super annoyingly bratty! what's wrong with complimenting MV, you know how grand it was and how you acted so well, so well that you literally got offers to act yoongs?"

"wdym y/n what about my music, is it bad? Is that what you mean??" he looked pretty serious to what he looked questioning you "ofcourse not yoons what are you even saying! don't i always say your music has kept me going through in my life!!" "Be honest y/n i can take your criticism if there's something you don't like about my music" you could see how his smile had dropped from his face and how his eyes looked sad as if he was controlling his emotions. You felt awful, your heart breaked and you felt your body leaving your soul, you unintentionally hurt him, and now you were hurt coz' wtf how could you possibly make him feel so bad, the man who made you the happiest, whose music was all you had to get strength from during your worst day. His music which let you keep going in your past, how did you ended up hurting him you hated yourself right now for spoiling his mood, for spoiling the effort your boyfriend had made especially for you, so that you don't feel unloved, because he saw how lonely you felt without him around you. How you wanted his attention to you but you let it go and smiled everytime coz you knew how much he loved his work and it made him the happiest, and his happiness mattered you the most.

You immediately took his hands in your palm "Yoonieeeeee NO.. there's nothing that i not like about your music, how could you think like that yoongles when your music is all that i keep listening to all of time! Have i not told you, before we came together i always felt your presence through your music, i felt comforted through it, it felt like you were there with me the whole time just right beside me, there were days where i didn't knew where to go? Whom to talk about? Whom to cry out my pain..my hurting and i would switch to your music and it felt like a warm hug to me" tears starting to form in your eyes as you remembered those hard days. Since then what you felt for him and music was purely love.

You continued "Yoonieeeeeee never say or think i don't like your works, i love them, you know i survived because of it, i survived because of your music, bts's music, you and members, i..i..I'm so sorry yoons, what did i do to deserve you, trust me yoongs i didn't mean it that way, i was just being playful, but see I'm such a bad girlfriend yoon, i..i"

"y/nieeee..." yoongi cupped your face when he noticed how tears were rolling down your face and how it looked liked you are gonna break down any moment now. You looked down not knowing how to look into his eyes, afraid to look at him hurt and the worst reason behind that would be you, yoongi understanding it immediately, softy made you look up at him. Your eyes meet his eyes soft for your, showing how concerned he was, his love clearly visible, "yoons i know i suck, i suck at being funny atp, i should never said anything like that to you, not atleast when you're already so stressed about your new album, but trust me i was only trying to be playful, only if i could prove to you i would have done it, tell me how do you want me prove it, i swear i didn't mean to hurt you it pains me to watch you hurt and see what i.." "shushhhhhh bby don't cry hmnn.. I'm so sorry that i let out my stress overtake like this" he said while wiping off tears from your face, "I'm so so.." "shushhhhhhh no nahhhhh never uhmhmmn, it was my fault you don't have to be s..sorry yoonieee.. you know what I'm gonna prove it you" you said while suddenly getting up out of nowhere.

Yoongi getting visibly tensed on wdym you'll prove it to him and where the hell did you disappear? Before he could get up and check up on you, you came running up to him and making him sit back at his place as you sat across him in between his legs, he looked utterly confused and curiosity taking over him he looked at you holding your phone in your hand and giving it to him, "what bby? What shall i see or look, he chuckled a little, "i know its samsung, we bought it together silly" you chuckled slightly on how can he just randomly joke about his love for samsung during a situation like this, but then there he was, and that's exactly how he's, the most cutest, loving and understanding boyfriend that he has always been, he knows how to clear the tension in the air, "i told you right that if i could prove it to you i would have, so i thought why not i actually prove it yoons! Here you can check for yourself" you said handing him the phone "y/n you're joking right? How can your phone prove it bby! Also i know you didn't mean anything, it was my fault, i was stressed earlier that's why i couldn't give you enough of attention all this times, instead of that i choosed to ignore it and tried to act cool, only if i had shared with you, this wouldn't h..." before he could continue any further you immediately closed the distance between you and kissed him on his lips to shut him up and surely it worked, you giggled while kissing him and pulled out shortly.

"Yoonieee i told you to shushhhhhh didn't i? You aren't at fault okay! If you don't admit then we both are.. "but y/ni.." "sshushhhhhh MIN YOONGIIII! just look up here.. these are my Spotify stats you can see your stats for suga/agustd and how much i love your music, i listen to it all the time because my life depends on it, like it's air and if i don't take it i might not survive! And do you see this DAECHWITA, PEOPLE & AGUSTD my kings being top of all tracks? Hmmm you see right! Yoongsss you're my light in my darkness and i.." before you could say anything yoongi just pulled you into biggest and warmest hug ever, giving you tiny kisses all over your shoulder to neck and finally pulling you out and kissing you all over your face, where temporary marks of tears had formed and at last giving you a sweet peck on your lips.

You once again gave him a silly smile as you looked into his eyes staring with all the love you had within you for this man, the perfect one who completed you, no matter if you had silly fights or a misunderstanding like today, you always loved him truly with all your soul and heart and same goes for him, he loved you so deeply that you could never even imagine of. You had fell in love with him first but he surely felt harder in love with you.

"Yahhhhh hajimaaaa! Why are you looking at me like that! Aishhhhh!!! What's with that silly smile of yours uh-huhhh??"

Yoongi questioned to you as he suddenly felt all shy against you staring him like that, your boyfriend was indeed a softie at heart afterall, you smiled at him your cheeks being flushed too atp, with all the love and kisses yoongi showered you with just a min ago, nothing coming out of your mouth as you find yourself turn into puddle yourself, you shift closer to him closing the tiniest gap between you two, you finally replying him,

"YOU SHUTTING ME UP LIKE THAT IS SO SEXY!"

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