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macfrog · 1 year ago

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rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

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When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

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(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 3 months ago

Note

if I remember right, a year or two ago you made a list of recommendations for the Edinburgh Fringe. Any recommendations for this year? Already got Steffan on the list, obviously

I did! Okay, okay, here's what I've got this year. Caveat: I personally have not been up there yet (I'm going in a few days), but these are things I saw in preview/have heard great things about.

Steffan Alun: Free Standup, but at What Cost

Venue 156: PBH's Free Fringe @ Banshee Labyrinth - Banquet Hall, 21.30-22.30

Back again! Eighth Fringe, this. The show is an hour, but that includes a 15 minute warm-up act, then Steff for 45 mins. He does this so that reviewers won't come and ruin the vibe.

Anyway this year he talks a bit about being Welsh and how he is therefore grumpy with Bristolian Tesco self-checkout machines

Jake Baker: Rule Breaker!

Venue 78: PBH's Free Fringe @ Canons' Gait - Lower, 16.30-17.30

I love Jake, he's lovely. He's a gentle soul and has an excellent delivery style; very warm and deceptively witty. Normally he goes with Just The Tonic and is given a searing hot basement in the sky that smells of mould for a room, but this year he's in Canons' Gait, which is much much nicer.

His blurb: A rule-breaker, a risk taker, a wave-maker and a convention-shaker – all phrases never before used to describe Jake Baker. But when a frustrating game of Alan Turing-themed Monopoly leaves him questioning the laws of the game, he finds himself turning that analytical impulse to bigger things.

Stephanie Laing: Rudder

Venue 300: Underbelly, George Square - The Wee Coo, 14.50-15.50

This show is particularly Tumblr-friendly, actually; it's described as 'neurodiversity-led'. However, it's a show with a content warning, although all the ticket page is saying is "themes" (insert Stephen Fry meme here); so, <SPOILER> she talks about withdrawing consent while sleeping with a FIB, and him continuing anyway. She talks about it in a very gentle way, avoiding Big Words, and it's very heavy on aftercare </SPOILER>

Her blurb: A comedy dance show about balance. Stephanie has a history of falling over a lot, accidentally kneeing herself in the face, and falling in love with total kn*bheads. In this show she uses a mixture of stand-up and dance to talk about bodies, sex, dancing, liking yourself, consent and healing. Also, there are cartoon bears and burlesque.

Erin McKinnie: The Faff Chronicles

Venue 108: Hoots @ The Apex - Hoot 4, 16.50-17.50

An Edinburgh local! Good solid standup for those who like such things. New-ish, but one to watch, she's very good. Don't be surprised to see her take off

Her blurb: What a faff! Erin McKinnie, a rising star on the Scottish comedy circuit, talks about faffing through early adulthood – from rogue adventures to living the "below-deck life" on cruise ships – she finds the funny in every bizarre encounter in this uplifting show that asks: Do we really need a life plan? Or... are we all just winging it? A brilliant, snort-worthy giggle-fest about exiting your 20s, facing life indecision and chasing answers for those big questions, all the while trying to convince your mother that this is a real job...

Alexander Bennett: Emotional Daredevil

Venue 24: Gilded Balloon Patter House - Coorie, 18.20-19.20

Dark feelings show with a really positive, optimistic message and a fun concept. It uses audience participation, but that's not compulsory, you're safe.

Blurb: I'm the emotional daredevil, and for my next feat, I need someone's help. A show about risk, for the unsatisfied and traumatised, from a Chortle Award nominee

Alex Franklin: Gurl Code

Venue 61: Underbelly, Cowgate - Delhi Belly, 20.25-21.25

Alex does a fun thing each year where she takes her publicity budget and rather than spending it on publicity, she hides it somewhere in Edinburgh and then reveals a clue to its location every day. This tells you something about her, I think

Her blurb: In 2024, trans girl Alex (me) started HRT. Now she (me) feels the most alive she's (me's) ever felt; and she wants to make you feel alive too, or die trying. A ludicrous, musical, chaotic, joyful show about the colours of the world becoming slowly brighter and giving people furniture via the tube. Also being trans.

Character Building Experience

Venue 49: Bedlam Theatre - Bedlam Theatre, 20.00-21.00

It's a D&D show - the MC Sasha Ellen makes a bunch of 40-minute simple campaigns and a selection of pre-rolled characters to do them, and then gets three comedians each time to play them. You know the drill. Good quality fun, and different each time, since you'll never see the same campaign/comedian mix.

2 Truths, 1 Lie

Multiple venues and times (search the EdFringe app or website to see them all), but I recommend catching the 3pm show on either the 25th or 26th August at Venue 108: Hoots @ The Apex - Hoot 1 for reasons I shall not share here (ooh, mysterious)

Fun panel-like show! Often MC'd by Steff, especially if you catch one of the 3pm shows. The format is:

Three comedians each declare a statement. Two are true, but one comedian is lying. The MC doesn't know the liar, nor does the audience. The audience gets to ask questions of the comedians; at the end, they vote on who they think the liar is.

(The prize for winning is a smug sense of satisfaction.)

Anyway, once I'm up there I will possibly have more, but currently, that's my list

#comedy #asks

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piracytheorist · 11 months ago

Text

The kindness surviving

As I can't stop saying, one of my favourite things about Spy x Family is how focused it is on humanity's innate kindness. Its premise is three lonely people finding a family (and themselves) with each other, the story's endgame is to secure peace, it's hopeful in the midst of its realism, and it allows characters to be vulnerable when it comes to family and connections.

And one more thing that is added to that, is how Yor and Twilight (to a less obvious degree) have retained their kindness and compassion through their violent lives and professions.

Yor started the assassin gig when she was just a teenager.

Adding to that how it was a choice she made out of despair and lack of any other choice, and how the Shopkeeper seems like a despicable person to work under (there's no moral merit to recruiting children for assassinations, let alone orphans with no other choices left), this could have easily made into a story of how Yor became cold and emotionless and cruel.

Instead, particularly thanks to having Yuri in her life, she's remained as kind as ever, even when she kills people. She doesn't torture her targets, would rather refrain spilling unnecessary blood, and she's careful and quick in her job.

And through all that, her priority has never been herself.

She's kind, almost to a fault. She's polite and when it comes to everyone else but her targets, she thinks they have the best interests at heart and can even be confused sometimes as to why some people behave in a rude or cruel way.

She's human. Her reason to start and continue being an assassin was to ensure her brother's carefree life, and now that she's bonded with the Forgers, they've joined Yuri in the way she wishes to protect their peaceful life.

It's showing that despite her violent work, her humanity has prevailed, making her selfless and nurturing. It's in our nature.

Twilight's case is handled differently, as he has denied himself any identity and attachments to ideals, aside from protecting the peace.

He's not supposed to "have" traits or a personality. He was trained to be able to adapt to any situation and become the role he's acting as. When he acts as a father, he can be kind and caring. When he acts as a terrorist, he can be cruel and violent. And when his job gives him no option but to kill people who stand in his way, he'll do it without remorse.

But again, like Yor, his reason to do everything he does is to ensure peace remains, so that no-one will have to suffer like he did. That's a very empathetic and compassionate motivation, and though the circumstances of his life made him bury it deep, the moment Anya cries and clutches onto him for comfort he's reminded securely of that.

As he is when he sees Anya smile.

He cares for the next generation and wants to provide it with a better future than he had. And while the previous season showed many moments of instinctual kindness (saving the kid from the charging cow, sparing the German shepherd, thanking Bond for saving Anya, encouraging Carroll Campbell to play fairly) and understanding of how humans can work together (his discussion with Desmond, talking about how despite different stances, people can still meet in the middle if they try), the cruise arc showed how he prioritized on making Anya happy. While at first he was confused by the concept of "having fun", he eventually ended up observing Anya and encouraging activities that would make her happy.

Again, after a certain point the "mission" is nowhere in his mind and he only worries how Anya's mood will affect her and the family. As he focuses on that, he turns compassionate, empathetic, and dare I say, sweet.

And I can't help thinking those are traits he doesn't have to pretend that much to show, if at all.

He's a master of manipulation and deception. He could act tooth-rottingly sweet to deceive his targets, but seeing how open and unprecedentedly honest he becomes with Yor, and how (even if he doesn't realize it) he actually learns to be a good father to help Anya with her mood, I don't think that's the case with those two (three, if you count Bond too!).

If nothing else, we (and Anya) have the advantage of hearing his thoughts, and while we joke about how "For The Mission" is his flimsy excuse to himself for the feelings he's developing for his family, it's truly important how he's started to not need the reminder; how he can instinctively care for them, because it's what his compassionate nature tells him to do.

And I think, just like Yor, it's very important and telling that through his life of violence and deception, his humanity has survived just under the surface and is starting to show more the longer he stays with the Forgers. He's not "learning" to be compassionate and caring; those are traits that already existed, but he had to cover with all his fake identities. However, since they were what led him to become a spy in the first place, the way didn't replace the motivation.

He's human, even though he willingly trained to suppress any such vulnerable spots, they could never be extinguished entirely.

This story is full of hope for humanity and how kindness can survive and prevail among anything else. Its characters would logically follow the example.

And I love them for it.

(Anime only here, don't spoil me for the manga)

#Spy x Family #sxf meta #Yor Forger #Loid Forger

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ohwaitimthewriter · 3 months ago

Text

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 6: Cruise

Pairing: Noa x human!reader

Warnings: None!

Summarize: A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words: 3k+

A/N: Hi there! After all this time, I've decided to post the first part of this chapter. So it's not complete in what I wanted to tell entirely about this chapter. However, I find myself with a rather significant lack of inspiration and motivation, which has been going on for over a month now. I hope that working in this way will enable me to start the rest of this chapter under better conditions.

In the meantime, I hope you'll like this first part!

Enjoy your reading 😊

The Memory Keeper Masterlist / Planet of the apes Masterlist

Gifs credit (1) & (2)

Your brain was about to collapse. Its cogs were running at full speed in an engine flooded by years of letting yourself sink. Reaching the bottom of the ocean and letting yourself be carried along by the sea currents, getting used to seeing nothing but the crushing blackness of the abyss. Getting the engine running again made the rusty nuts creak, and no matter how many times you jabbed the storm-shaken screws with a screwdriver, it felt as if every turn sheared through your temples.

And everything was suddenly too heavy. The weight of your head ended up in the palm of your hands as your fingers desperately tried to cling to the hairline that defined your forehead.

Your cogs floundered in the muddy sand of the seabed that had become your brain. A flooded, clogged and slimy wading pool that struggled to rid itself of the stagnant seaweed that had accumulated until it filtered out the slightest particle of emotion that dared to try and find its way back to the surface. Drowning in your own wading pool. In your own brain, so as not to see the immeasurable extent of the damage inflicted by the tidal wave that had left you shipwrecked.

Shipwrecked. Today, it was difficult to remember when the boat had capsized. Had it happened gradually? As each crew member fell overboard? One after the other. And despite the lifebuoys, despite the rafts, all you could do was watch them sink, helpless as the ocean slowly took what had always belonged to it.

Shipwrecked on a wandering ship, meant to stay afloat despite the shattered hull and torn sails. Sometimes you still wondered why the ocean had chosen never to come and get you. The one that decided to toss you around like a lost buoy in the middle of the blue vastness, the one that made you swallow water at will, knowing full well that salt water couldn't carry you off. The one that dragged you to the open sea with no promise of ever seeing the end of it. Now the ocean was offering you the chance to wash ashore on a white sandbank.

But how do you dock without a captain at the helm?

A broad hand came to rest on your shoulder, engulfing half your shoulder blade, and a few comforting taps pressed against your shoulder.

“How do you know his words?”

Raka. He seemed to have a better grasp of the concept of empathy than did his friend. But you couldn't blame Noa. Even you didn't know how to steer your boat. So to ask a near-stranger to trust you to navigate between waves and sea rocks and reach that sandbank…

And how could you dock without a captain at the helm?

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The world was changing.

And the more you watched it burn away, the more you realized there was no one left. There was no one to tell the story. Radio, TV news, newspapers, books… no one would run them or write them. The human ability to convey an event around the world as we would slip a letter into a mailbox had gone to ashes when the virus had set humanity ablaze.

You no longer knew what the world was becoming, and only its progress could be observed directly through the lens of the camera you'd found in the ruins of a crumbling city center.

There was no one left to hold on to a lost humanity… except you. These history books, these tales of the years that modern society had never had the pleasure of exploring in its own lifetime, but only through the remnants that others recounted - in those historic eras of the birth of societies - were going to be the last. And the world you knew would eventually die in the memories of the few humans who would in turn die out without being able to ensure an offspring.

Only you would be left to remember this humanity. And if you dared to hope that the memories of the apes around you would be passed down through the generations, there was little hope that humans would live on in their memories and the tales you imagined would come to life around the rise of simian societies.

Perhaps that's what prompted you to bring back that camera. A Polaroid you knew would only last a year, or as long as you could find enough to keep it going between the batteries and photo paper it consumed with every click to capture an event, a group of apes fishing, or the sometimes gigantic wooden constructions rising several meters above your head.

Those pictures that were instantly printed would stay. They would tell the story. They would remember the time when humanity had been turned upside down and could not turn back. They would remember the new world that was being built under your admiring gaze. And they wouldn't forget. They wouldn't forget what the world had been, what humans had done and what the world was about to become.

It was important. You couldn't fully imagine how significant it was, but you'd been steeped in history classes and there was something comforting about knowing about a past you'd never witnessed. Perhaps because it was proof… the only proof of the existence of the past.

And if you'd been willing to give up the humanity you'd lived in, you weren't yet ready to forget its existence.

Through the lens, you could see the symbol made from pieces of wood hanging at the entrance to the village. A circle containing the shape of a four-pointed star. The symbol of Caesar, his words and the ideology he embodied. It was the kind of memory one shouldn't forget.

“Why… symbol?”

A sudden jolt.

Your finger pressed the button, completely out of focus on the image you'd just tried to center, and the click was followed by the distinctive sound of a photo printing. Your eyes turned for a second to the owner of the baritone voice as an amused sigh escaped your lips when you saw the blurred picture emerge from the polaroid.

“Because it's important.” You answered casually, a small smile on your face.

Caesar puffed through his nostrils, lips pursed in a brief upward movement as he tried to grasp the interest you had behind every picture you took. He'd seen it all before, thanks to Will. He knew humans liked that sort of thing even if it made no sense to him.

“It's important to remember.”

You went on, again looking into the lens to adjust the image of the symbol. This time, the photo came out clearly and the four-pointed star stood proudly in the center, the angle of the picture making it even more imposing than it was.

Caesar remained silent, his face eternally scowling, but you had a well-trained eye, you spotted a certain curiosity well hidden in the corner of his solemn gaze and you handed him the picture with a big smile.

“Long from now, the apes will be able to remember, thanks to this photo.” You carried on, lowering the camera to observe with your own eyes the life of the apes displayed in front of you.

Caesar listened carefully, and the ridge of his eyes hardened, puzzled by your words.

“Why… keep… the past?”

A very human notion, certainly. What's the point of remembering what yesterday was when today brings everything you need? And you seemed to be asking yourself the same question. Caesar didn't often see you with your eyebrows furrowed, your facial features slightly tense as your eyes sought a suitable answer to give him. Your hand went to the back of your neck to try and soothe the tension in your muscles, and he knew from this simple gesture that you were going to need time to build up a thought that you probably hadn't even considered yet.

You kept this attitude only in those moments when a simple question made you question again everything you were sure of, and Caesar took a certain pride in it. An ape making a human doubt. There was something exhilarating behind this feat. Even if you'd never seemed narrow-minded in your ideas, it was pleasant to see you reflect on a notion that seemed so obvious to you.

Humans were always like that. Sure of themselves and their beliefs. Confident that their values were the best, without questioning for a second their credibility or the nuances that might exist.

Why remember the past? What was the point of knowing about the advent of human societies? The horrors and destructive wars? The great names of men and women who have left their mark on history in one way or another? The great dates, whether of atrocity or freedom?

And beyond human history, and in the more mundane events of everyday life, what was the point of remembering our childhood home? Or that old aunt telling of her travels to the other side of the world? Or that birthday when nobody came?

Your fingers traveled to your wristband, tracing the outlines of the polished bone pieces under Caesar's gaze. If not for this wristband, or this lame hip, what would drive you to remember why Caesar and his kind had taken you under their wings? There was nothing else. Your body had forgotten the torture and pain. There was nothing tangible to prove the existence of abuse apart from that wristband and that hip. The brain was quick enough to forget what was of no use to it or what was too painful to remain in living memory. And if the brain forgot, if there was nothing to remind it to remember, how could one prove the existence of what had been?

And… why should one prove it?

“Because it existed… and… if we forget, how could we do any better?”

Caesar snorted, and you watched his eyes widen dubiously. Had humans done better? He wasn't very knowledgeable about humanity's past, and on second thought, maybe he wasn't interested enough: whatever had been, good or bad today, that's what was important.

“Humans… have they done better?”

Caesar was skeptical, and had every reason to be. On second glance, perhaps humans were doing worse today. The lesson was never learned, and the human was diving headfirst back into his bad habits, making sure to choke on them. This made you smile. His skepticism was right in spite of you, and you even suspected that he knew more about the human species than you did.

“No,” you answered with a giggle. “But apes might.”

There was a glimmer of hope in your eyes. The human cause was lost, and had been for a long time. Even before the virus had spread, humanity had already begun to dig its own grave. Beyond the wars and hatred, the Earth itself was rotting from the inside out under the impact of the human hand. It had only ever been a matter of time before humanity came to the end of its reign.

You weren't even sorry to see your species die out. You were only sorry that it was taking everything else with it.

There was a form of supplication in your eyes. Let the apes do better. Better than wars, better than hatred, better than the destruction of nature, better than the aggressive ambition of some men, better than… the human species in all its consequences.

Caesar raised his head proudly. He was sure of one thing: apes were, in all their consequences, better than humans.

“Apes… don't need… to remember… to do better.”

His gruff voice was adamant, and despite his assurance, a twinge of anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach. How could one do better if no one remembered what had been? You looked up at him, and couldn't help admiring the self-assured features Caesar wore on his face. Broad-shouldered and imposing, his chest puffed out in defiance of anyone who wished to argue with him, what would become of simian society if he were no longer present in the minds of the apes?

You saw it every day. All you had to do was say his name and the apes would bend their backs without batting an eyelid. But none were afraid of him. Caesar had earned the respect of his people because they knew how, thanks to him, they had won their freedom. They respected him and his words, because they remembered.

“In 300 years, don't you want to become the legend of Grumpy Caesar?”

Your gently teasing laugh was greeted by a grumble, probably offended by the nickname you kept harping into his ears, but for the benevolent smile that followed every time, Caesar could never take it the wrong way. It was you, and he'd learned that your words of affection sometimes resembled those teasing words. Those words always followed by a slight, playful shove of the back of your hand against his biceps as your lips stretched happily. He'd also noticed that this was the only time you dared to touch him. And that made him smile.

To become a legend, there was no such thing in the minds of the apes. When his body had breathed the last breath of oxygen that life would grant him, and the sun had decided to stop shining on him, the apes would find another sturdy branch on which to stand. This was how it was meant to be, and his name would become nothing more than the caress of the wind, forgotten once it had gone by.

“Too faraway, apes will forget.”

Caesar preferred to sign these words. Sign language always seemed to have a deeper meaning. When audible words didn't speak loud enough to resonate emotions swallowed up far beneath the ribcage, signs spoke with more truth. A truth that seemed very heavy to you.

The apes will forget. Perhaps that was the truest and saddest thing of all. His name will crumble in the memory of the apes like wood devoured by growing flames. And once the wood has shattered, it will simply lie in a pile of ashes, waiting for the breeze to carry it away and scatter it as it pleases until there's nothing left.

It was his truth. At least, if there was nothing to remind them of him. Your eyes fell on the camera hanging around your neck before settling back on Caesar. He was looking at his people the way he looked at his sons, and if that's all it took to save his name, whether he understood it or not, you'd immortalize the little stones that were building his empire as many times as he'd let you.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

An empire shaped like a ship to endure the years, and when it was the captain's turn to walk the plank to fulfill the ocean's call, the rudder had slipped into your hands. And you accepted it. You knew that sailing against wind and tide would be an arduous task. You knew it. And it seemed to you that you had fought well. Sails wide open to catch as much wind as possible and the remaining crew paddling hard against the pull of fallen anchors. The endeavor had been going on for a long time.

For so long.

For too long.

Every crew member was an anchor desperately dragged along by the ship you were trying to keep afloat until the mainsail gave way. The increasing weight and the fading wind had worn away the fabric until only the tatters floated scattered in the wind. And the boat that had sailed at full speed for so long found itself slowing down… more and more, until the natural swell of the blue vastness became its only driving force.

No matter whether you wanted to go to port or starboard, the ocean pushed the boat in the direction it thought best without ever consulting you, sometimes leading it into storms where the sea grew high above the masts. You often watched helplessly as the huge waves crashed over the deck, washing away the rubble that an earlier storm had caused, and soon, shipwreck would be bound to occur.

How long had you been at the helm before you let go? A rudder that had let you down long before you gave up. And how long had you just watched that rudder go from left to right at the mercy of the ocean without doing anything about it?

You weren’t sure how to act upon it. As natural as it had been in the past, navigating Caesar’s memory again across this ocean had become a mystery.

If time hadn’t run its best sprint, perhaps there would have been a time when explaining would have been easy.

But today…

Today, the sand bank on the horizon might just become a mere illusion.

Your glassy gaze fell on Raka as he watched your fingers run over the frame and brush against Caesar's image. Such a simple question demanded an equally simple answer. But was it really? Telling them that you'd known him would most certainly trigger a cataclysm that would turn your dilapidated ship upside down, and you were already lacking strength at the mere thought of having to put it back afloat. Swimming to the end of an endless journey was not in your plans, even if the countdown to impact was already ticking away in front of your eyes.

Raka's green eyes eventually found yours, and a series of soft hootings encouraged you to speak as you could only swallow as you spoke anxiously.

“ What about you… how do you know them?”

You watched his gaze slide from your eyes to Noa's, who was listening to your conversation with great interest. His curious stare dropped like a domino to the gauntlet on his left hand, and with a precise gesture, Noa pulled out a pendant crafted from what looked like white wood.

A pendant in the shape of…

“The order of Caesar, naturally!” Raka exclaimed as if it was an obvious fact.

A four-pointed star.

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@koshi-sama

@violet-19999

@queen-luna-007

@sciencewithottsnpotts

@sparks0918

@moonlightnyx

@analuw

@night-shadowblood-writes2

#planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #kingdom of the planet of the apes #noa x human reader #noa x reader #caesar x reader #caesar pota #noa pota #kotpota #pota #the memory keeper

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saucyjothoughts · 12 days ago

Note

I know the headcanon is that Jan has been around, but what if he hasn't? What if he was the different one, the only gay in the village, who didn't know what to do with girls or how to ask a boy to kiss him. What if he fell in love with Bojan, but nothing ever happened, because Jan wasn't sure if he was just flirting (and even if he wasn't he still wouldn't know what to do with him)?

What if it was Nace who's been around? Travelling on cruise ships, playing with different musicians, open-minded and experienced, and most importantly accepted himself. What if Nace was the one who actually saw Jan? What if he was the one who taught Jan how it feels to be manhandled and how to touch a man, and that's why Jan has these huge heart eyes for him?

I'd love to know what their first time was like.

Darling, I'm in love with this concept.

Jan's decade-long unrequited thing for Bojan because his little singer symbolises everything he thinks he wants but will never be brave enough to ask for. Jan burying himself in his music because it's the closest thing he thinks he deserves to intimacy. Jan trying to find himself alone because there has never been anyone else like him to show him who he could be.

Meeting Nace.

Nace who is quiet and wild in equal measure, hypersexual but never without respect and fun. Nace who is unashamedly queer and makes a point of never letting young people feel how he felt as not a normal kid. Nace who recognises that it's exactly because of all the brutality in the world that it's a moral obligation to be hedonistic at any available opportunity. Nace who sees exactly who Jan is the first time they meet, but it takes until the second meeting for Jan to realise he's been seen.

Nace who opened up whole new worlds for Jan (and even made him tea and pet his cat afterwards).

Jan who finally realises what happiness is supposed to feel like.

#jan peteh #nace jordan #jance

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yan-maid-cafe · 4 months ago

Text

Yandere Birthday Scenerio

Julia and Thai (Yandere Couple)

It was late in the evening as you were currently sat at the table across from Thai, a soft smile on his face as he cupped his cheek in his palm. Dinner having just ended, leaving you sat here for whatever surprise the couple had planned.

Julia eventually returned from the kitchen, holding a tray carrying a large cake with the candles already lit. Placing the dessert in front of you as she sat herself on Thai's lap, that same soft smile on her lips. Did their expressions ever change? Julia clapped her hands as they both began to sing to you, it was awkward having to sit there with a forced smile on your face as if you weren't being held there against your will.

Eventually the song ended as they urged you to blow out the candles. Taking a shakey breath into your lungs, you let out the biggest breath you could. Hoping that despite how childish it was, that maybe that childhood belief was actually true.

The couple shared a look before thai reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box wrapped with a ribbon. Opening the top revealed a silver ring, one that matched the wedding bands on Thai and Julia's fingers, bright smiles on their faces.

"Happy Birthday!"

Lifting a shakey gaze at the cake in front of you, your eyes behold a single candle still alight. The flame flickering in the dimly lit room. Your wish wouldn't come true...

Edan (Yandere Imposter)

It was another late evening at home, sitting with your husband at home. Looking down at the wrapped box in your lap, the wrapping paper done elegantly with a ribbon tied around it. Since when did he remember your birthday? He never remembered it before.

Though seeing the happy smile on his face, you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he truly had changed for the better, or at least decided to put in the minimal effort into simply adding your birthday to his phone.

Opening the box, you were shocked to see various tropical clothes within. Ranging from floral shirts, to flip flops, to swimsuits. But sitting on top of everything were two cruise tickets. Swiftly turning your head in his directions, all he had was that same smile.

"Don't worry about the money, I took care of it. You just focus on getting everything in order. Happy Birthday Dear."

Of course, you didn't need to know that he had pulled the money out of his old bank account. After all, you deserved a vacation more then anybody. And if that vacation just so happened to involve fruity drinks and Edan getting to see you in a swimsuit. That just makes it even better. After all, you both deserve a treat after everything.

Lev (Yandere Scientist)

It was another night at the lab. Lev choosing to stay there longer than needed so that he could watch you. Healing was going fairly well, your swimming was getting better by the day. Though all it took was a look at the calender for Lev to see that it had officially been a whole year since you had entered his care.

He wasn't sure when your birthday was, or if merfolk even had a concept of birthdays. But he wanted to celebrate something with you, to celebrate having been with you for so long. Maybe this is less of a birthday and more of an anniversary.

Just the thought caused his face to flush. Would calling this your anniversary be weird, it's not like you could understand what he was saying. But refering to it as that just made his stomach get tied in knots. It's your birthday. He'll just say that.

Getting up from his desk, he grabbed a grocery bag from beside the desk. Approuching the large tank as you swam up to the top, looking up at him. Lev reached into the bag, pulling out the various gifts he had bought earlier that day. It was mainly just more water toys. Ranging from rings, to sinking toys, to ones that squirted water. But he eventually found what he was looking for, a ring of shrimp that resembled a cake. Meant to be given to fish if you were planning on leaving for a while so they could eat, but what were you if not just a large fish.

Placing the shrimp cake into the water, he watched it begin to sink before you quickly sunk your teeth into it. Happily eating the treat he had given you. Lev couldn't help but begin softly humming the birthday song, watching you eat with a pleased smile. He spoke softly under his breath, hard to tell if he was speaking more to himself or you.

"Happy Birthday, My Angel. I hope we can do this again next year."

Aod (Yandere Sorcerer)

It was another birthday alongside your fiance. Sitting in your home as he washed the dishes from dinner. Waiting for him to return with a soft smile on your face. Yet another day inside of the house, Aod deciding that it would be best to spend your birthday at home. It was odd to spend the day without your family and friends for once, but it was fine. You didn't want to spend the day with anyone but him.

Stepping back into the room was Aod, holding a cake in his hands. Placing it in front of you before sitting by your side, placing his hand on top of your own. His typical smile on his face as he looked at you.

"Happy Birthday Dear. This day has been perfect."

There were no candles on the cake. But that doesn't matter, what else could you ever wish for. You had everything you could ever need right here.

Aod cut into the cake, placing the slice onto your place. It was your favorite, but you couldn't help but notice that specks of pink sprinkled into the cake itself. Though Aod didn't seem to notice, or he didn't care, simply picking up the fork to pick up some of the cake. Holding the utensil up to your mouth, waiting for you to take a bite. Pushing the cake past your lips, it was sweeter than you remembered. Much sweeter. But you didn't mind, if anything it just made it taste better. Feeling yourself relax as you leaned your head against his shoulder, allowing him to continue hand feeding you.

What more could you ever want...

Elyse (Yandere Upperclassman) (Fem! Reader)

Yet another day in your dorm, flipping through channels on the TV. Your desk in the corner covered with various gifts and cards from classmates and your family, God you wished that you could have gone home for your birthday. But instead you had to stay here. Though it wasn't all that bad, you were currently waiting for the party that your friends were throwing in the library. Simply trying to kill time before they came to get you.

Your bedroom door eventually opened, revealing Elyse holding what looked to be a single large cupcake with a candle in it. She sat beside you putting the plate on your bed, a soft smile in her lips as she spoke to you.

"Happy Birthday. I baked you something."

She gave you a smile as she grabbed a lighter from her pocket, lighting the candle on the cupcake before holding it out for you. Without thinking much of it, you blew out the candle watching the smoke go into the air. Elyse took the candle out and sat the plate onto your lap. You decided to bring up the party and whether she would attend, all it took was a quick shake of her head for you to realize how dumb that question was. The student body was put on multiple parties ranging from holiday parties, to celebrations for getting through finals or winning a tournament. But she never went to a single one, so why would she go to your birthday party. She was probably just gonna stay in the dorm and study. Pulling off the wrapper of the cupcake, you took a bite into it. Eating as Elyse began to speak.

"And I don't think you should attend either. I know the kind of parties that my classmates put on. It'll be full of drugs and alchohol, and I wouldn't be surprised if they invited some guys from the boy's school. I think it's best you just stay here."

You couldn't help but look at her like she had grown a second head. Was she seriously asking you to skip on your own birthday party. That was absurd. You were fine with her being a homebody and not wanting to have fun with others but you weren't gonna let her ruin your day by making you stay here. You finished off the cupcake wiping the crumbs off your face before giving her a simple No, saying that you fully intended on going to your party.

Elyse let out a sigh before taking the plate and wrapper, leaving you alone in your room. You simply continued waiting for your friend to come and get you, but the longer it took the more it felt like your eyes were getting heavier. Until everything went dark, your head landing on your bed with a soft thud. Elyse eventually peeked through the door, seeing you asleep on your bed a smile tugging on her lips. Walking into your room, she picked up your phone from the nightstand. Putting in the code she had memorized by this point, she opened your best friend's contact, sending her a quick message. A simple "I'm not feeling well, let's take a rain check on the party".

This was perfect, placing the phone back down as she sat down beside you on the bed. Lifting your head to place it on her lap. Gently petting your head as she looked at your sleeping face.

"I wish we could have done this the easy way, but you're always so stubborn. At least we get to spend this day together..."

(A/N): I really need to stop setting deadlines for my works, it just makes me feel burnt out. But here's the stuff that I meant to post on my birthday. Some might be better then other's though. I'm thinking of doing stuff like this for each holiday, but I make no promises. This was just fun to think of.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #male yandere #female yandere #yandere oc #poly yandere #yandere couple #yandere imposter #yandere scientist #yandere sorcerer #yandere upperclassman

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a-aexotic · 2 years ago

Note

hi ren, biggg congratulation and the eras tour celebration is such a cool concept 🥳

🌙 please for Rafe and Paris!

pairing. rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings. literally nothing except fluff, and illusions to smut?

summary. rafe is in love with utterly and fully in love with y/n

➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. masterlist. taglist. ❫

Everything about You and Rafe had been unpredicted, no one in a million years that Rafe "Druggie" Cameron could pull someone like you. You guys getting together was definitely not on anyone's list of things that were going to happen that year, but it did.

And honestly neither of you couldn't care less. You and Rafe were completely and utterly in love with each other and nothing could get in the way.

Rumors, people, family, circumstances. None of that mattered in the case of you two. Especially Rafe. After everything with his sister, always being a second choice, when he finally was someone's first choice, someone's favorite person, none of that mattered. He was his absolute happiest when he was with you.

I'M SO IN LOVE THAT I MIGHT STOP BREATHING.

You and Rafe had been together for a year now and Rafe had done a complete 360 from where he was at before he met you. Last year, he was at the lowest of his life; completely high all the time, partying every night, new girl every week. Now, he was sober and with the love of his life.

It had been a year now and neither of you have had the urge to say the scariest three words in a relationship, especially a relatively new one.

Rafe had realized he loved you two weeks into dating you but of course he hadn't said it, he didn't want to scare you off. He was already crazy enough, imagine if he just told you he loved you two weeks into dating?

Rafe had just something so out of pocket that you let out a loud laughing, making Rafe stop and think for second before joining in your laughter. It was so bad that you genuinely had stopped breathing, hanging on to the counter to stop from falling over. Your eyes were tearing up and Rafe's stomach had begun to hurt.

"Oh my gosh, I love you." You accidentally blurted once you stopped laughing. You and Rafe both instantly jumped up, both staring at each other. Your heart jumped and you didn't know how Rafe was going to react, his face unreadable.

"Wait, what?"

You couldn't back out now. "I-I love you"

Rafe felt like he was going to pass out with excitement. "I love you too, Y/N."

ROMANCE IS NOT DEAD, IF YOU KEEP IT JUST YOURS.

If Rafe had a dime for every time someone had made a rumor about the two of you, he would be richer than his dad and that's saying something. You guys were OBX's favorite topic to gossip about.

Instead of getting offended, you and Rafe had made it into a fun game anytime Sarah had told you something you heard. You guys call it "Would this happen in an alternate universe?"

The game kind of says it all. You and Rafe would see how realistic the rumor was. It became such a fun game for you two that you guys started making up your own rumors as well.

You sat in the passenger seat of the car, listening to Rafe tell you the next rumor. "Y/N left Rafe... for Ward."

You gasped and then let out a giggle, "Ward?"

"Yup."

"That is the most outlandish shit I've ever heard, oh my gosh." You replied making Rafe hum in response, "Never. I would never leave you for Ward, my gosh. How do people come up with these?"

"Never?"

You felt Rafe's gaze on you as you furrowed your eyebrows, "Yes, Rafe. I would never leave you for Ward."

"What about JJ?"

"Maybe..."

Rafe scoffed as you let out another one of your exceptionally loud laughs.

NO, I DIDN'T SEE THE NEWS, CAUSE WE WERE SOMEWHERE ELSE.

For your third year anniversary, Rafe had taken you to a Hawaii Cruise. This was the first time both of you had gone on a trip by yourselves so it was way more fun for the both of you. You guys didn't have to sneak around anywhere, having a lot more alone time then before.

Rafe had gotten a buzzcut a few months ago and you've grown to absolutely adore it. At first, when you got the spontaneous text from Rafe telling you he was buzzing all his hair off, you were going to cry. But once you saw it, you fell in love all over again. It gave him a mature sugar daddy look and you loved it.

One of the reasons why you dreaded him buzzing his hair is that you wouldn't be able to run your finger through his hair but now that it's semi grown, you could kind of do that again.

You and Rafe laid on the pool chair, Rafe laying next to you with his head on your chest as you twisted his semi grown out buzzcut. You guys both watched the dark sky in comforting silence, enjoying each other's company.

You heard Rafe sigh. "I'm so grateful I met you, Y/N."

"Me too, Rafe. Me too."

"No, I mean like... like I seriously can't imagine my life without you in it." Rafe looked up to meet your eyes and you felt like you were going to cry of happiness. "You feel like home, baby. You always have."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Rafe. I'd be lost without you."

And suddenly everything to Rafe made sense. There was no more confusion on where he was going, what he was doing with his life because it was all clear to him in that moment. It was all you. As long as he was spending his life with you, he was happy.

"Let's get married."

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problemchildtm · 5 months ago

Text

Heartbreak

Derek Morgan x Reader

A/n: I'm no writer but I wanted to give it a try. I've also never really been in love so take the love analogies with a grain of rice. Hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: angst/fluff, mentions of grief and death, hardly proofread, I think that's it but let me know if I'm missing something

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You will never know true happiness until you have truly loved, and you will never understand what pain really is until you have lost it.” —Unknown

Derek Morgan was positive he knew what heartbreak felt like. Heartbreak and the BAU went together like the mood and the tides. He’s seen the effects firsthand. The anger, the depression, and everything else in between. Day after day, week after week he watches heartbreak and it never gets better.

He can still remember his first experience with the phenomenon. He was hit the day his dad died. People always describe the feeling being as simple as its name. A physical crack in the chest cavity that contains the heart. In his case, it was more like the entire muscle being forcefully ripped out. The pain was immeasurable and all-encompassing. Every inch of his body ached to the point of exhaustion. Absolutely nothing could compare.

Heartbreak is sourced in different ways: Breakups, deaths, rejections just to name a few. Derek never wanted to go through heartbreak in any capacity, so he’s cruised. There were no serious relationships or commitments outside the BAU, just to play it safe. Heartbreak can’t reach those who build extensive layers of armor around the vessel.

Everything was going well until he met you.

It was impossible for him to shut you out. Derek’s frequented the same gym for years. They had everything he needed and the change of scenery from the FBI was nice. He’s had the same routine for years yet the process abruptly stopped the second he laid eyes on you, sitting behind the front desk with the warmest smile he’s ever seen. From there he was a goner.

The occasional run-in turned into movie marathons on a rare off day before completely blossoming into a full-fledged romance. Derek’s never been one to believe in love at first sight. Hell, he hardly believed in love, so it was utterly confusing when the metaphorical hole in his heart started to swell at the thought of you. No matter what he did his mind always returned to you. The way you spoke to him, the way you cared for him after a rough case, the way you smelled, his thoughts were completely filled by you.

The days were longer, the nights were kinder, and the job was more bearable. Soon, the constant fear and anxiety that plagued him evolved into comfort. He no longer feared heartbreak. He didn’t wonder who would be the next person to destroy his happiness because he knew you would never even dream of it. You who held him after a nightmare. You who always understood his schedule. You who distracted him from the horrors of his profession. You who loved him, you who he fell in love with. Suddenly, warmth flooded his chest accompanied by a staggering realization. Love isn’t a concept you convince yourself is there out of fear of being alone. It’s not just a word. And it’s not some other-worldly experience that takes over a life. Love is feeling at ease with someone. Love is being able to rely on someone without worrying about ulterior motives. Love is what he felt for you.

Derek Morgan was positive he knew what love felt like and he felt it day after day by your side.

#derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan fic #derek morgan fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #emily prentiss #spencer reid #bau #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #i tried

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emphasisonthehomo · 1 month ago

Note

OOh, i like streamer au!

First question: how did Tommy begin to stream?

Second question: does tommy recognised Buck from the chat? Maybe he has an inkling given by an unique turn of phrase or a weird word he is the only one to use.

third question: how does Buck recognising him change their first meeting and their date?

Fourth question: which is your favourite part? What didnt make the cut but was an interesting concept?

Obviously, i love your writing, i'm always giddy when you post anew snippet and i don't even watch 911!

Omg thank you so much!!!

Twitch Streamer Tommy

ONE:

I think it started out as a joke tbh. Like one of his friends was visiting and saw Tommy's truly ridiculous set up for it, and was like "Dude you should stream this" and Tommy thought "Eh, fuck it" and did. And it picked up fast and does surprisingly well, so he just keeps doing it.

It's big enough that it's a little extra income, but not so huge that he's a Big Name re: gaming streamers or anything. He's got some friends in Europe or something that help him mod the chat. People keep telling him to make t shirts, but that sounds like too much work and he's already fucking busy, so he doesn't.

He does at one point get a 'remove before flight' t shirt at an air show, and wears it on a stream one time and takes it off before takeoff, and people go fucking nuts.

TWO:

I think Tommy would recognize Buck's handle as someone who is frequently in chat and is pretty active, but I don't know if he'd make the connection about the handle name actually being Evan, without Buck saying something. Tommy does interact with the chat a lot, but he is also actively flying while he streams. It's a lot of glancing over, seeing a question, and answering it. In Tommy's mind the chat is kind of it's own entity, instead of a bunch of individual people.

THREE:

Buck hasn't really conceptualized that what he has on Tommy is a crush. He just thinks Tommy's cool. And then he's suddenly being flown into a hurricane by the man, and it turns out Tommy actually flying is somehow hotter more interesting than Tommy playing a video game. Because this is real. This is actually life or death, and Tommy's a fucking excellent pilot and Buck is. He's just flustered. About it.

Buck's trying to find a delicate way to be like "ARE YOU REMOVEB4FLIGHT?" even though they're on the tail end of the cruise debacle, but Eddie beats him to it. Eddie just asks Tommy point blank "Do you play video games online? I think my son watches your show" and then Tommy gets flustered. Obviously pleased and surprised, because he's never been ~recognized IRL~ and the first time he has, it's by a peer because his kid watches. There's something really exciting about that.

I think it's Christopher that tells Tommy that Buck also watches the streams and how it's a Thing They Do Together. (Chris, of course, gets to learn how to play flight simulator on Tommy's ridiculous setup) And Tommy's like "huh" because Evan didn't say anything. Buck is stewing in jealousy because how come Eddie gets to hang out with the cool firefighter pilot and Chris, instead of him? Eddie doesn't even care about the streams >:(

I don't think Buck asks for a tour, he hears about the Vegas trip after the fact and is just green with envy. But I do think the basketball game still happens, and Tommy comes to Buck's apartment to clear the air. Because Tommy now knows that Buck is vaguely a fan, and Buck knows that Tommy knows, I don't think there'd be a smooch.

The added aspect of Entertainer and Fan would make it kind of weird, they're not necessarily on a level playing field (yet). Buck isn't starstruck per se, but he's also not just another firefighter Tommy met on a job. Tommy sticks to assuming that yes, Buck is jealous, but that it's a combination of Eddie being his bestie and Tommy having minor amounts of internet fame.

BUT THEN they do start hanging out, both with and without Eddie and/or Chris, and become friends. And Tommy starts to look at Evan and go "...is he?" and Buck is oblivious because he's hanging out with Tommy and Tommy's so cool and yeah he's got a good ass but it's not like Buck is staring at it a lot (he is) and Eddie is looking at the two of them dance around each other and going "HUH. INTERESTING."

FOUR:

I think it's just a fun concept in general, and I do love it when there's more of a slow burn when characters get together. Friends to lovers is *chef's kiss* and all that jazz.

I did think about including snippets of Tommy interacting w/ the chat, but ultimately scrapped those because it seemed like too much extra stuff. But I think at least once a stream, something like this happens:

Chat 1: so is there a Mrs. B4FLIGHT?

Tommy: *snorts and starts laughing*

Mod 1: no

Tommy: "I'm not interested in women."

Mod 2: dumb comments will result in getting blocked

Chat 2: you don't look gay

Mod 1: BLOCKED

Mod 2: BLOCKED

#aron's fic #911 #bucktommy #twitch streamer tommy #tommy's trans in this too shhhh

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yumeka-sxf · 1 year ago

Text

My thoughts on Spy x Family: EYES ONLY Guidebook (English ver) - part 3

Continuing from my previous two posts, this will be my last post discussing the English version of the SxF manga guidebook "EYES ONLY." I'll discuss some of Endo's and Lin's comments on specific chapters, some of the included concept art for the series, all the Twiyor tidbits the book has to offer, and conclude with a couple things the English version of the book omits.

Endo's and Lin's comments on specific chapters

There's at least one comment from Endo and/or Lin on every chapter of the manga from when the book was originally published (up to chapter 61). Unfortunately I can't cover every single comment, but I did want to highlight a few (more will be covered in the Twiyor tidbits later on).

So Bond wouldn't have actually died from Yor's cooking then? Good to know her cooking isn't that bad, lol. Also that's a good question, Lin, maybe you should ask Endo? 😅

Lots of great info about the cruise arc. Makes sense that they had to plan it out many months in advance and keep revising it to patch up plot holes. All that work definitely paid off! Interesting that they almost considered not having Loid on the ship at all. Glad they didn't because otherwise we wouldn't have gotten one of his best outfits! 🤣 (can't wait to see this piece of work in color in the anime!)

Incidentally, the scene Endo mentions where he "managed to make Yor look pretty cute" is this one (she does look pretty cute here).

My favorite comment of Endo's about any chapter has to be this one for chapter 56. Never change, Endo 😂

And lastly, some good comments about chapter 59 (Becky visits the Forgers).

This is one of my favorite stand-alone chapters so I'm glad it was well received. Funny how they kept going with the joke instead of ending it "normally"...but when you have such great characters and setups, good comedy writes itself!

Below is Endo's commentary about Henderson, not a specific chapter, but thought I'd point it out since he mentions Henderson is the only character he's done a shower scene for...not anymore!

Also, while not related to a specific chapter, I do like what Endo says below about Loid and Yor's "dark sides."

He enjoys drawing them this way, which is cool, but he's also cautious about not overdoing it and saving those expressions for important situations.

Concept art

Most of the pre-serialization character designs included in this book were also in the exhibition pamphlet, which I already discussed thoroughly here (wish I had remembered these were in the fanbook so I wouldn't have put so much effort into trying to read Endo's scribble notes). So I'll just mention a few of the most notable things.

As I discussed in my post about the pamphlet, Franky was at some point intended to be the uncle of the family. Though I do think it would have been fitting to make him the uncle, I also like the main focus being on just the "nuclear" family, with the uncle and other characters having supportive roles.

An interesting note about the beta version of Yor is that she seemed to be more like Fiona - she was in love with Loid right from the start, to the point of trying to eliminate Anya! I doubt this is something she would be doing all the time as it would have been difficult to make her a likable main character if she was always trying to kill her daughter...in all likelihood, she would have tried to kill Anya at first before eventually learning to love her as a daughter. While I see how this could work for an intriguing character arc, I'm glad Endo decided to make Yor a loving mother to Anya right away, and not make her feelings for Loid an obsessive "love at first sight" kind of thing.

Twiyor tidbits

Being the shipper that I am, I tried to see if I could pinpoint any Twiyor subtleties throughout the book, as vague as they may be! 😂

Below are excerpts from Loid and Yor's character pages where we're given info on their current stance about each other.

Love the emphasis on their bond of trust ❤️

Below are excerpts from chapters 14 and 35, probably the most Twiyor-heavy chapter pages in the book.

This confirms that Loid did indeed interpret Yor's kick as her not having any romantic feelings for him.

Below are comments by Endo and Lin for chapter 30, where Fiona is introduced.

Endo's line is a little ambiguous here, but I think he's saying how people sympathize with Fiona because she's "doomed to lose," which is...telling 😅 (does Fiona's loss automatically mean a Twiyor win?)

Endo says he likes the "You're strong, Yor" conversation, one of the most Twiyor-ish scenes in the series so far! 😊 Lin also mentioned how they got to use that theme again during the Becky chapter.

Weird that he chose to highlight this line of all things as Loid's "Family Comment" for chapter 10. Could this and chapter 79 be more foreshadowing for an eventual "Twilight vs Thorn Princess" showdown? 👀 Or maybe he just likes teasing fans because he knows it's something they fantasize about.

English version omissions

There's an additional Endo interview that's missing from the English version of the book: an interview with him and Kazumi Takayama, a former idol of the group Nogizaka46.

At first it seemed very odd that they would leave out just this interview, but after discussing it with others on Discord, I realized it's because it has to do with an idol. Apparently getting licensing rights for anything that has to do with a Japanese idol group is very difficult, which is further hindered by the fact that Takayama isn't even part of that idol group anymore, which makes getting the content green lit for official release overseas even more taxing. So probably Viz decided it wasn't worth the trouble and just left out that interview. But thankfully u/Nemshi on Reddit posted a fan translation of it, which you can read here. They talk a bit about SxF, but most of it is just general questions they ask each other.

And the other thing missing from the English version that I really can't understand is the inside cover! Another great 4th-wall breaking joke from Endo (I added a quick translation of the Japanese version below).

Unlike the Takayama interview, I have no idea why they didn't include this. They include the inside cover as an extra page in all the English volumes, so why not here? Very weird.

---

And that's all I'm going to share for the "EYES ONLY" fanbook! Honestly, there's so much great content in the book that I didn't touch on, like info about East/West relations, about Eden Academy, Endo's comments on all the designer chairs for the volume covers...and lots more. So definitely get a copy yourself if you can! It's a must-have for any SxF fan 😁 Books like this aren't officially released in English very often, so the fact that Viz thought it was worthwhile to make this proves how much of a hit SxF is!

<- Return to Part 2

#spy x family #spy family #sxf #spyxfamily #twiyor #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #bond forger #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #sxf spoilers #tatsuya endo

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strwbnnie · 2 years ago

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i am so upset. we’ve been moots for like a month now and i haven’t come to throw some filth in your ask box yet 😩 buT it’s not too late!

alsO hI miya it’s nice to officially greet you 👉🏾👈🏾 i’m glad you enjoyed reading warm bodies! how are ya?

clears throat this is so long and i’m sorry but i like to ramble when i have ideas

So, I was lowkey just scrolling through your blog (i need to read more of your tasty ass work fr fr) and I noticed you reblogged a short fic about villian Kiribaku… A concept that has been untouched by my brain and was probably for good reason because now all I can think about is Red Riot the hardening villain who uses unbreakable to strike fear into civilians, heroes, and villains who dare to threaten his authority. Red Riot the villain is fucking huge and bulky and still has a smile of sunshine but a heart darkened by a selfish society. He honestly gives me Pain vibes, and idk if you’ve ever watched The Boys but I think he’d fit in perfectly with them, he definitely wants to kill heroes who don’t deserve to be called heroes.

Red Riot is very meticulous about the crimes he commits but there is one thing for sure— he loves a good fight. Doesn’t matter where the fight is or when it is, if there’s a fight brewin’ he’ll be there to find it. Also, random fact, he likes rocks soooo… he robs a lot of jewelry stores when he wants to add to his collection or he goes “shopping” at museums.

For example, big boy Riot has left the headquarters in search of a way to get his knuckles bloody, cruising around, looking for a hero to pick a fight with. Listen, even he’s got standards. He’s murdered a couple of people but never innocent ones, only heroes that don’t deserve their titles. And for that, he’s wanted by the Japanese government… Why’s he still walkin’ around like he’s some regular civilian though? I don’t even know. But… oh! Look at that, a hero.

The name of this hero doesn’t matter, he’ll scrapbook it later. A grin spreads across the villains face, a set of razor sharp teeth reveal themselves as he begins to approach the unsuspecting hero, following them to a more secluded part of the city to minimize witnesses as well as collateral damage.

This particular hero has quite a destructive quirk, so it’s truly no surprise that as soon as Red Riot attacks him, the hero begins to lay in blows that aren’t held back in the least. Indiscriminate waves of the disastrous quirk, that Red Riot easily dodges or blocks, cause nearly irreversible damage to nearby buildings, which no-doubt is putting civilians in even more danger than Red Riot’s presence alone. This is exactly /why/ he does the things that he does. With just one stupid fucking test, anyone could become a hero, even psychopaths like this.

As the hero is attempting to knock Red Riot down, the redhead villian doesn’t halter in anyway, getting closer and closer to the hero that looks like their about to shit their pants right in the alley. He’s nearly a foot away from the hero when he hears a blood-curdling scream that appears to be coming from above. He takes a moment to glance up and sees a woman plummeting to her death from the destroyed building that was just beside the alley. Then he looked back at the hero to see if he would do anything.

No. He was far too busy trying to keep his own ass safe. And for some reason, that pissed him off beyond comparison. He’d been holding back since the fight began, giving the hero a chance to defend himself, but it appeared time was running out. Hardening his fist, he aimed a blow directly to the hero’s face, satisfied with the sickening sound of flesh and bone breaking from the heavy punch, and watched the hero fly back into a pile of garbage bags, deserved.

With the screaming come closer and closer to where he was, Red Riot used the debris of the crumbling building to propel himself upwards and easily captured the woman who’d been falling, only then taking note of the bundle of life that she had protectively curled over. As they approached the ground, he hardened his legs and landed with ease, causing quite an indent in the earth.

While she’d been falling, hero eyes remained shut the entire time, but when she stopped falling, suddenly becoming hyper aware of her surroundings and the big strong arms that were wrapped around her rather protectively, she slowly opened one eye to take a peek at her savior.

In all his glory stood the infamous new Hero Killer, staring down at her with an arched brow on his handsome yet rugged face. The childhood scar on his eyelid had somewhat faded but fresh scars had been added to his face, a few nicks on his chin, cheek, and forehead, but they didn’t take away from his handsome appearance. He’d been wearing a red sleeveless hoodie, that showed off his muscular arms and a sleeve of ink that started from his right wrist, up the entirety of his arm, and disappeared under the hoodie no-doubt covering his right pec with a decorative tattoo, along with some plain black cargo shorts. His hair was spiked in the front and the rest flowed down his back in a mullet of sorts. She hadn’t realized she bad been silently staring at him in awe until he cleared his throat, asking if she was alright. Weirdly enough, she felt comfortable enough to answer him honestly, along with thanking him for saving her life. Unexpectedly, a cocky grin spread across his face and an idea came to mind.

“I’ve got other ways you can thank me, lil’ diamond.”

Next thing she knows, Red Riot aka Hero Killer 2.0 is mumbling some name that starts with a ‘K’ and a portal of purple smoke suddenly forms beside them out of thin air. Poor girl is basically kidnapped right then and there, but who woulda thunk Red Riot wanted a reward for taking down another hero and that reward just happened to be the lil’ milf who’d just dropped from the sky (or destroyed apartment building more specifically).

Don’t worry though, he may be a villain but he’s sweet and kind when he wants to be. And that includes taking care of you and your kid. Just like any normal abductee you question this motives and why’s he suddenly taken you from your home. He easily corrects you, saying that your home no longer existed and it was the manly thing to do to offer his surface to provide for you until you were able to get back on your feet.

(insert that one Soulja Boy audio where he says ‘HUH?!’ hella loud)

Why in the flying fuck would this man offer to take care of you? He had to have some kind of objective. But… to your surprise, he didn’t. In fact, you were free to leave whenever you wanted, and he made that clear.

Much to your surprise, Red Riot didn’t live in the LoV headquarters, he lived by himself in his own lil’ cabin in the woods that could easily fit a family or two. It was strange. You were thankful that he saved you and your baby’s life, but he was still a villain. A really, really handsome one at that. After his oh-so-caring suggestion, he mentioned if you wanted him to he would drive you back to the city and drop you off wherever you wanted to go. You dunno how it happened exactly but he’d been holding your baby while he was speaking to you, rocking the sleeping infant in his arms like he was their biological father. How was this man so fucking charismatic and sweet to you? He HAD to have some kind of ulterior motive.

Spoiler alert: yes, yes he did, but not the one you would expect from him.

Y’see… he’s always wanted a family. And here you were, dropped right into arms for the taking, and you didn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon, so he was going to use this opportunity.

A day turned into a week, a week turned into a month. And just as he promised, he took you out the house whenever you wanted and asked you each and every time if you wanted to be left in the city after your daily adventures (shopping and shit y’know, yes this man goes grocery shopping). But you always went back to his cabin with him, each and every time. Was this Stockholm Syndrome? No… couldn’t be, he openly told you to leave if you wanted to, then did that mean you were falling for the rugged mass-murdering villian? Looks that way.

As expected, the developing relationship between the three of you was not normal in the least, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He’d even introduced you to some of his buddies from LoV, only the ones he trusted tbh, and after that— you now had some willing and ready babysitters on call whenever you two needed.

Who wouldn’t abuse this opportunity? After some time convincing you, Red Riot, who had disclosed to you his real name was Eijirou Kirishima, managed to get you to go on a real date with him with just the two of you. And soooooo, ya did.

Who knew a villain could be so romantic? Certainly not you. He’d wined and dined you like his life depended on it and you were now putty in his hands. Perfect. The real games could begin.

He’s called a driver to take you both home and before you know it, Eijirou’s carrying you over the threshold like the two of you had just said ‘I Do.’

cracks knuckles

Now, this is where the real fun begins.

Red Riot, the hero-killing, tall, muscular, BDE, long-haired, thick-thighed, scarred, tattooed, smiling, thieving, hardening villain… has a breeding kink. And not just that, he’s got a big fucking dick that’s usually impressively hidden behind his usual wardrobe of loose fitting pants. But, you’ve seen him adjust himself more than a few times when he thinks you’re not paying attention, but you’re sure he just does it subconsciously without even realizing.

So there’s no real surprise when he’s dropped you onto your shared bed after a date and you can see the imprint of it through the black slacks he chose to wear. You coulda swore you saw the fuckin’ thing throbbin’ through the fabric but maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

He’s now staring you down, noticing how your eyes have stayed glued to his crotch, with a timid look with some worry hidden behind your eyes. He grins and decides to have a little show for you. You’re struck back into reality when he suddenly grabs it, giving it a lil’ squeeze and a tug, causing your thighs to rub together in anticipation.

“No need to be nervous. It ain’t gonna hurt ya, baby. Promise.”

He purred, stroking his cock a few for times for you through his pants before moving his hands to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“Think you could strip for me, mamas? I like that dress on ya… Think I’d rip it to shreds if I tried to take it off.”

Sweet fuck, when’d you become so obedient???

Before you know it, you’re both naked and on top of the bed, not even bothering to get under the comforter or the sheets. Seems you two were impatient.

Eijirou was splayed out on his back, cock on fully display as it rested against his stomach that wasn’t exactly chiseled with abs, it was a lil’ squishy but the muscles in his arms and chest were hard to ignore. And would ya look at that, you were right, he did have a nagasode and hikae style tattoo with a dragon, flowers, and other symbols. His monstrous cock was almost teasing you with its ridiculous width and length, how was that going to fit in you? With its thick tanned shaft, and its fat brink pink circumcised tip that was dribbling precum despite being only half erect. The happy trail that led to a trimmed bush of onyx hair made you think about the hyped mane of hair on his head.

He’d decided to leave the gel out of his hair this evening so the bright crimson locks flowed in waves under his head… what kinda conditioner did this man use? Them locks shiny as a muhh’fucka- No, no, no, don’t get distracted.

Where were you?

He’d had you sitting on his chest, beckoning you to straddle his face with your thighs, and when you hesitated he took matters into his own hands and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you right onto his face.

Maybe I should have mentioned earlier that he’d got a forked tongue…? Y’know, the kinda tongue a snake has… He kinda got into a bit of body modification after dropping out of U.A.

And the way he uses his forked tongue on you is heavenly. So heavenly, that you nearly hunch over and run away from his skilled tongue, whining and whimpering his name, pathetically asking him to calm down and give you some time to adjust. The iron grip on your hips forces you stay right where he wants you, thick digits easily sinking themselves into your plush hips like memory foam. He’s absolutely ravishing you with the rapid fire motions of his tongue, writing out every Hiragana symbol in the charts, observing how you react to every trace of ever symbol. And when he draws out that one symbol, his tongue acting as a brush drenched in ink and your pussy acting as the paper, he notices the way you shudder and let out a guttural moan, clenching at his hair hard enough to make his scalp burn just a fraction— he smirks, abusing this new power.

ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki.

Ironically, the symbol that makes you shudder and silently scream sounds a bit like laughter, and laughter you shall receive. It is the best medicine after all.

Abusing this particular symbol, it is no surprise that the hardening villian soon rips an orgasm right out of your body, the searing heat that builds up inside you releasing into his mouth as you squeeze his head between your thick thighs.

Easily, Eijirou laps up your sweet nectar while groaning about how sweet and delectable you are, and gives you a moment to collect yourself, hearing the sweet pants and huffs that escape you as he rubs comforting circles onto your hips. That won’t last long, however.

“Think ya can cum on my tongue a few more times, lovely? Gotta make sure you’re slippery enough to bounce on my cock a lil’ later after all, hm? Be a good girl f’me, ya know ya can.”

my bad, my bad… went a lil’ crazy on this one 🧍 do with this as you please, aLsO i had an urge to draW hIm but i haven’t colored the lineart yet 😩 ill show ya when im doNe

You’ve been reduced to nothing but a whining, whimpering mess on the redhead’s tongue. He’s flipped and twisted your aching body so many times to get you in the perfect position, but nothing beats that good ole spread eagle.

Your hero turned villainous lover has both of those big hands holding you wide open for him, fingertips sunk into your plush flesh.

One knee is flush against the bed, the other is up against your chest, leaving nothing hidden from his fiery gaze. Your pretty pussy is his to abuse, at the mercy of that dexterous tongue and those razor sharp teeth.

Your moans and sounds are so cute to him, so pretty he wants nothing more than to keep fucking you on that long tongue.

You peer down at the beast between your thighs and the sight has you immediately tossing your head back, a breathy sigh passing through your lips.

Eijirou looks so precious—crimson eyes hooded and low, the thin sheen of your slick spread around his mouth while he licked and sucked you to another release.

‘Cu-cumming.’ Is how you’ll warn him before your pussy is creaming around that tongue again. You’re so sensitive, clit so swollen and red even the waft of his breath hurts.

But Eiji loves seeing you squirm, so much that he’s lathering your poor clit in spit, sucking the nub into his mouth just to hear you squeal as you claw at the sheets.

“Ei, p-please baby.” You’re begging, pleading for just an ounce of mercy from your lover’s tongue.

He raises his head to look up at you, or what’s left of you, granting a brief intermission as he flips you onto your belly.

He’s palming the fat of your ass, spreading you until he’s face to face with your delicious cunt and puckered asshole, his moistened lips curling up into a devilish smirk.

He loves this. He loves you and your perfect fucking pussy so much that tonight he plans on making you a mommy again. As soon as you cum for him one more time he plans to split you open and breed you.

“Just one more pretty girl, I promise.”

It’s nice to meet youuu, I love your work 🥺❤️Villian Kiri makes my pussy brain melt 🥹 I hate that it’s so short but I’m writing like 4 other one shots and my brain is a can of baked beans right now 😭

Hey bae, care to join us? @darkmajesty-xo

#kirishima smut #villain kirishima #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you

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