#see? even my regular tag for own posts acknowledges it!

[almostempty]

too good to be true

(frankie morales x f!reader) | wc: 10k | other fics  | Ao3

summary: frankie, a regular at your coffee shop, is there for you when your boyfriend joel breaks up with you and disappears practically overnight. despite not knowing each other long, frankie just seems to be perfect for you and you fall hard and fast 

song inspo: can’t take my eyes off of you

warnings/tags: explicit smut, dark!frankie, stalker!frankie, dubcon, lies, deceit, coffee shop au gone wrong, bad bf Joel, abandonment issues, anxiety, breakup grief, sex to avoid processing emotions (yay!), face fucking, masturbation, crying, love bombing (aka emotional abuse), frankie doesn’t have a job bc he nefariously acquired a large cash settlement from his return trip to the jungle– or maybe he has a military pension idk don’t ask questions, revenge porn, jealousy, delusional reader, no y/n, unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction so it’s free to imagine it raw; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; likely many mistakes and i accept that 

update: i gave this a re-read bc i wanted it to be fresh before i carry on with part 2, and was paralyzed by the typos (kill me). the story hasn’t changed, but i’ve done some heavy editing to hopefully improve some of the flow and impact in certain scenes (there’s probably still mistakes) 

You don’t remember meeting Frankie for the first time—only the feeling. How he slipped into your mind before your alarm even rang. How you sprung out of bed in the dark, already thinking of him. You remember the heat that rushed to your cheeks when you caught yourself grinning and waving at him before he’d even made it across the cafe to the counter. 

Once he started visiting your coffee shop, he quickly became your favorite regular. He had an enticing mix of confidence and calm. Always polite. Always kind. Once you learned his order–dark roast in a for-here mug–you’d have it poured just as he approached the register. 

He’d thank you with his deep morning voice and a smile that made his eyes crinkle before he’d slink away to find a table. He came in at the same time every morning, a man of routine, right when your rush would hit. Everything demanded your immediate attention–the screaming steam wand, the line that formed at the register, the whirring coffee grinder. Frenzied as it was, you’d sink into your own routine. A flow state, slinging drinks and greeting regulars as they trickled in with their suits and shiny hair. 

It made the shift pass quickly, but you never had a quiet moment to start a conversation with the one man you looked forward to seeing. It wasn’t too busy to sneak glances at him though. Sometimes, he’d scroll through his phone, and you’d steal a moment to take in his features—wondering what, exactly, people read in a cafe before sunrise. Other times it was like he knew you were looking, his eyes would flit up, matching your gaze before you could play it off. 

You would’ve denied it at the time–but when he caught you watching, the way he smiled back, unafraid to hold eye contact–it gave you butterflies. You wouldn’t acknowledge the meaning in that or admit to the daydreams that he sparked. It wasn’t anything real! And besides, there was nothing to it. You weren’t single, or looking. He was just a good looking guy that seemed to have manners and a pleasant attitude. 

And, for some reason, that was refreshing. It wasn’t like you had time to get to know him anyway. There was never time for more than a quick good morning, or have a good day when he’d leave his empty mug at the end of the counter. 

Until it changed.  

He started slipping in the front door in the quiet dark of the morning, while the espresso machines were still warming up and you were stocking the display with fresh pastries. You’d slide the mug toward him and he’d stay at the counter while you finished setting up. His curls were still damp from his post-workout shower and you’d let your eyes linger on his neck, his shoulders, his arms between tasks or his eyes, his nose, and his lips between questions. 

The conversation between you flowed so easily you’d find yourself buzzing around the cafe before you’d even had a sip of your own coffee. He’d share as you worked, giving you plenty to absorb as you cleaned and prepped. You learned about when he moved to town, how he lives in another neighborhood but kept coming back for the coffee and the atmosphere. 

You learned that he’s single. Ex-military. 

You laughed, flashing him a grin. “That explains everything,” you quipped. 

“Everything?” he asked. 

“You know,” you waved your hand at him like it was obvious, but he waited patiently for an explanation. “The routine? Up to workout at the asscrack of dawn, getting your coffee before half the city gets up for work. The manners and the whole...” You trail off before completing the end of that sentence. 

Frankie tilted his head, something playful and knowing in his eyes. “I’ll concede to most of that, but my mamá raised me to have manners long before the military.” 

As the mornings passed you learned more. Not just from what he shared, but from your own observations. He remembers details. He asks follow-up questions on Monday mornings about the weekend plans you shared on Friday. 

Did you and your boyfriend see that movie you were thinking about? 

Did you get to sleep in like you’d hoped? 

Did he take you to the farmer’s market? 

Did he like the recipe you wanted to try out? 

It was sweet. 

And infuriating. 

Your stomach twisted. A man you barely knew remembered your plans, your throwaway comments, your interests. He saw you. He wanted to know you. The realization sank like lead, heavy in your chest, lingering long after he left.

In your heart, you knew it wasn’t intentional, but it stung when he’d ask about your plans. Every time you had to come up with an excuse for why they never happened. Poking holes in your relationship. And shining a spotlight on the disappointments that you’d been trying to sweep under the rug. 

You carried that discomfort around like a parasite. It ate at you while you poured lattes and cleaned the ice machine. It soured your mood as you ran errands and walked home. And finally, it spilled over into your relationship. 

As ugly as it was, you almost appreciated Frankie for picking at the wounds—forcing you to finally confront the truth with your boyfriend. Joel had been drifting away and you were afraid to acknowledge it. As if saying it outloud would make it true. But it already was real. The closer you tried to get, the farther Joel would run—emotionally. Well, maybe in other ways too. 

He was slowly disappearing. Staying late at work instead of coming to yours, cancelling on your weekend plans, always too tired to fuck, generally just a bad-tempered brick wall rather than a boyfriend. All things considered, you thought addressing him directly would be the final nail in the coffin—but it wasn’t. 

After some long and serious conversations that left you both exhausted at work the next few days, you’d come up with some strategies to reconnect. He’d agreed with you, acknowledging his own avoidance, and claiming he wanted to make changes. 

It was working, too. You scheduled date nights. You sent flirty texts during the day—even if neither of you had time to respond right away. You assured him you’d rather see him for only an hour between him getting home late and you having to go to bed early than not seeing him at all. 

On those nights, when he had long days that made his whole body ache, you’d give him a back massage. Straddling his ass, rubbing down his shoulder blades, kneading circles with your thumbs, and savoring the view of his broad back and the heat of his body beneath you. 

It was meditative. Your touch dissolved his tension and his presence soothed your anxieties. Sometimes the rhythm and pressure would elicit low groans of pleasure from Joel. Each time it would ladle heat in your core. You’d do everything to find out what sounds he’d make for you. 

Some nights, you’d keep going until you lulled him to sleep. But on your favorite nights, he’d roll onto his back, keeping you on top, watching you ride him until you were both slick with sweat and in need of a shower.

It’s those tender moments that make it hurt so deep now. Like the pain seeped all the way to your bones, threaded through all your muscles, and numbed your nervous system. 

It makes you nauseous. Cycling through rage, shame, and something bleak and endless. 

To know after everything that Joel could throw you away like this. That he didn’t even care enough to have a face-to-face conversation about it with you. He couldn’t give you closure. Just leaving you a note. A piece of paper. Here’s your memo letting you know he no longer requires your services. Barely longer than a postcard. He realized he can’t do it anymore. He can’t be a part of your life. He can’t do just friends. He’s sorry.

Fucking coward. 

The letter is flimsy in your hand as you scan the words for the thousandth time. You’ve got it down by heart at this point, you re-read it just to confirm that it’s real. That you aren’t insane–or at least that you didn’t make up the note—or the whole relationship. 

With a deep sigh, you slip the folded paper back into your apron pocket. It fits neatly. Your token. A reminder that this hell is your reality. 

The tiled floor is unforgiving as you trudge back toward the front counter, plastering on your best customer service smile. 

And of course. It’s fucking Frankie. 

The wrinkle between his brow deepens before he makes it to the register. Are you that easy to read? You’re never going to survive this shift. You turn away from him, pouring the coffee in a daze until it nearly overflows. You dump the mug out and get a whole new one, forcing yourself to stop the tap before it’s a burn hazard. With one more blink you pray you’ve mustered enough strength to survive this interaction without another breakdown. 

“Hey,” Frankie starts softly, as if he might spook you. “You doing okay?” Stupid big brown eyes. Just like Joel’s. They make you weak. You can’t be weak. Pulling your shoulders back you search for a defensive–no, confident–stance. 

“Why? Do I look like shit today?” 

“No, never,” he tries to reassure you. Unfazed by your prickly questions. 

You swallow down a grimace. He’s too kind to you. Too good. 

“Sorry,” you correct yourself, pushing the mug toward him. “I just mean, I would be surprised. I feel like shit.” The words come out grumbly and you drag a hand over your face annoyed with yourself. 

“I take it he’s still gone then?” 

Your head feels heavy as you nod back in agreement. It’s too much to see the concern in his round eyes; you linger on his mouth instead. It feels like a safer place to stare. Until it shifts into a frown. 

“You deserve better, you know.” His voice is quiet. A confession only meant for you and his coffee to hear. 

“Sure,” you sigh. Maybe he’s right. You deserve someone that could look you in the eye when they break up with you. Who could explain with more than a few scribbled sentences why they’d block you and disappear like a fucking ghost. Everytime you run through it, the details feel colder and colder. Harsher and crueler. Maybe you never really knew Joel at all. Not if he could do this to you. 

Your still swollen face burns when your eyes begin to well up again. Anger flashes in your eyes—you’re so sick of the emotional whiplash. The lights in the cafe blur. Your pulse pounds, erratic and sharp. Questions race through your mind. 

Were there signs the whole time that you missed? 

Was it something you did? 

Will you ever know? 

“Hey,” Frankie murmurs, “breathe.” 

It’s soft, but the timbre of his voice draws your attention. 

“Breathe,” you repeat. 

He places a hand on his stomach, modeling deep, slow breaths. Willing away the sobs, you copy him with only a few shudders interrupting the rhythm. The fresh coffee wafts into your nose, earthy and rich. Frankie’s broad chest looks solid, expanding steadily like he’s some kind of breathing guru robot. The thought makes you laugh, but the laugh almost cracks into another sob when everything rushes back in at once. 

“Fuck,” you curse at yourself. “I’m sorry, I must seem pathetic. Or crazy.” You suck in a shaky breath, trying not to have a complete breakdown in front of a customer. 

Frankie doesn’t waver. He assures you that he doesn’t think you’re losing it and you believe him. 

Somehow, you get through the rest of the morning. And the next. Day by day, you crawl through the week. Fighting everything inside of you that wants to scream and decay in bed for the rest of your life. By the end of the week, all you’ve got left to cling to is that it’s your last shift before the weekend. It’s all you’ve got to keep your feet moving and your fake chipper morning greetings. 

There’s no way you could do this another day. Dragging yourself through the motions like an undead barista. It’s survival. On edge, fragile and raw. You can finish this shift and then you’re free to spend the weekend indulging in your worst ideas. Wallowing, ugly crying, binge eating, anything. 

Everything nearly comes apart when Frankie shows up with flowers for you. 

It’s too much. Too sweet. Why does he care? 

Your brows furrow, unreasonably skeptical of a kind gesture. You start to process what he’s saying to you through the fog. He wanted you to have something to cheer you up over the weekend. 

It’s thoughtful. It’s an overwhelming gesture. 

He thinks of you? He worries about you? 

Then a sick voice slithers into your mind. Frankie makes it seem so easy. To notice you. To care. To make your life better. He makes you wonder if you aren’t hard to love. 

The realizations hit like falling dominos. Too fast to stop. Too late to change course.

Frankie notices the way your eyes shine, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. He apologizes, “If it’s too much, you don’t have to take them. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I definitely didn’t want to make you cry.” 

The fear dies in your throat.

“They’re lovely, really.” Your eyes are round and wet as you blink sweetly at him. “Thank you.” You give him your warmest smile through your misty eyes. 

You take the flowers home after your shift. They fit perfectly in the crystal vase that was collecting dust on your window sill. 

You move them to the kitchen table where you can see them from your living room too. 

And you stare at them all weekend. 

Your favorite flowers. How did he know? 

You stare and stare until they don’t look real anymore. And all you can think of is Frankie. 

His reliable nature. His thoughtfulness. His kindness. 

The qualities you thought you had found in Joel. 

You let yourself embrace your agony for the weekend. Determined to make it through at least the first stage of grief. As if you can allot a number of hours to it and just check it off your list. Brute forcing yourself through the wreckage trying to re-emerge unscathed. 

Your friends send texts checking in on you. Gratitude flickers in your chest but you don’t have the capacity to respond. To fake it or, worse, to be real. It feels wrong, but even though you can’t fathom the idea of talking to a friend, you’re drawn to the thought of Frankie. Knowing you’ll see him Monday morning. That he’ll check in, too. 

And he does. 

Dependable as ever, he shows up in the cover of darkness. You greet each other with raspy morning voices. The first words of the day, murmured just between you. It feels intimate. Special. Like something that belongs only to the two of you.

The thought sends warmth curling in your chest. You smile genuinely, for the first time in days.

You keep going to work. 

Frankie keeps showing up. 

The world keeps turning.

Soon you get to the point where you can fall asleep without having to exhaust yourself completely. Some mornings Frankie’s jokes make your ribs shake with laughter and some of the suffocating weight sloughs off of your chest. Rest begins to heal you. Frankie’s charm brightens your darkest days. 

One afternoon, you’re dropping an armful of grocery bags onto the counter and your heart squeezes with an ache. The flowers Frankie gave you are starting to wilt. With one twitch of your hand and a shake of your head, you hesitate. You aren’t ready to toss them out. Convinced they’ve got another day in them, at least. 

You sweep the fallen petals and pollen into your hand, then spin the vase to find the best angle left. The flowers may be fading, but Frankie’s presence has taken root in your mind and only grows stronger. 

You lay in bed making mental notes. A joke about a show you both watch. A story from your walk home. A question you meant to ask but forgot—because you got distracted.

By things that shouldn’t be distracting. But are. The shape of his bottom lip. The curve where his neck meets his shoulder. The way his hands look wrapped around his coffee mug, fingers slow and steady, like he’s holding something delicate.

The way he smiles—wide enough to show his dimples—when you bicker over movies or the best takeout spot in town. You replay it. Again. And again.

You smile at your ceiling, telling yourself it’s harmless appreciation. Lying to yourself when you hope he finds his way into your dreams.

The next morning, your jaw drops–stunned. Fresh flowers. Frankie stands on the other side of the counter, holding them out like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s as if he knew. Like he heard through the grapevine that you hesitated to throw the old ones out. That you weren’t ready to let them go. That you didn’t want to lose the evidence of what he gave you

You squint at him, making a playful accusation. “How did you know?” 

“It’s been a week,” he shrugs. “Figured it was time to refresh.” 

A week. It feels like it’s only been a day, and at the same time, it feels like a whole month has passed. 

It helps. 

The following week is much of the same. Morning chats with Frankie. Busy shifts with rushes and endless cleaning tasks. Running errands, trying to keep in touch with friends, trying to keep yourself too busy and distracted to fall back into the sharp pain of loss. Of coming home to an empty apartment. Of waking up alone. Of the way Joel erased himself so completely from your life, you have to find tangible reminders that he was ever real. 

You stop hoping Joel will show up with an apology. Stop waiting for a text. He won’t even hear you out—won’t answer a single question. You let go of the idea that any of this was a mistake.

There’s still a hole rotting in your heart, but if you stay busy enough, you can ignore it. Mostly. 

You stick to your plan, steadfast that time will heal your wounds. Days pass, and you find yourself once again asking Frankie what he has planned for the day. But this time, he hesitates. 

Frankie tells you he’ll be out of town for a few days. You aren’t sure why, but it feels like he jammed his fingers into that hole in your heart when he tells you. Don’t abandon me. Please. 

He must see right through you. 

“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. “I know it’s only a few days, but I was thinking I don’t want to miss out on your remarkably accurate reality TV predictions. You take the napkin with his number written on it. How old-fashioned. It makes your heart flutter. “Keep me updated.” 

You swallow the butterflies and turn the energy into a smirk. “You’re so going to regret this,” you tease. 

You feel lit from within, glowing and floaty for the rest of your shift. Getting the hot regular’s number gives you a rush. It’s not like he asked you on a date or anything, but still, it feels good to have someone want to keep talking to you. 

Until you clock out and immediately start spiraling. Should you text him now just to give him your number? Wish him a safe trip? Play it cool and wait until tomorrow morning? Or maybe he’s busy in the morning? Shit. You never even asked what his trip was for. 

……

It’s early afternoon when Frankie’s phone buzzes. He smirks. Your shift must have just ended.

You: it’s me! You: figured it’s only fair you get my number now, too

Frankie: Hey you :)

You: hey :) You: i hope the trip goes well

Frankie: Thanks, it’ll be better now.

You: how come?

He thought it would take longer. Thought you’d make him wait. You’re already reaching for him.

Frankie: Well, I just got this pretty girl’s number. Now I’ve got her updates to look forward to.

He exhales, stretching out on his couch. Maybe he didn’t need the ruse at all. You don’t need the absence to suck you in any deeper; you’re already moving on. Good.

He scans the apartment—bare walls, empty space. He needs to fix that. Needs to make it a place you’ll want to stay.

He checks the notes hidden in his phone of places you shop, your favorite color, the way your apartment is decorated. He already knows what you want. What you need. With that thought, he drifts off, satisfied, into a long nap. 

He doesn’t wake until his evening alarm goes off, checking his phone to see what reality show you’re going to be glued to tonight. MILF manor. Who comes up with these? He rolls his eyes, stretching, yawning, and traipsing across his apartment to find some cold pizza in the fridge. 

Holding one slice between his teeth and the other in one hand, he debates whether he should take a drive through your neighborhood or stay in for the night. His phone buzzes again, and he figures it’s a sign. He drops his pants near the hallway and scarfs his cold dinner as he settles back in the living room, unmuting the show and opening your messages. 

You’re funny. 

Sending quick-witted observations and callbacks. 

You force him to pay attention. You’re sharp. If he doesn’t watch, you’ll know. You always call him out for missing the nuance. You challenge that he could predict the next winner if he paid closer attention. 

When you get frustrated with him and huff about how he missed something completely obvious, he memorizes your expressions. The fire in your eyes when you’re passionate. You feel so deeply and express your emotions so freely. 

He likes that about you. Funny. Smart. Bold. Passionate. Sexy.

Perfect. 

He lets his mind wander as he leans back. The room glows from the light of the TV, flashing brighter and dimmer. The look on your face when he said he’d be gone for a few days pops into his mind, how your eyes flashed wide and the soft pout that tugged at your bottom lip. 

You need him. It’s so clear. And you’re so perfect. 

The show is just noise. Static. 

He closes out of your messages. Opening up his photos. Scrolling through pictures of you. Some from social media, and some taken while you were working and unaware. 

Perfect. 

His eyes fall shut as he tips his head back, relaxed and comfortable as he sinks deeper into the cushion. 

“Perfect lips, perfect mouth,” he mutters to himself as he sets the phone aside altogether. 

It’s a simple but effective scene that plays out in his mind. A go-to fantasy since the day he first laid eyes on you. 

He wedges his boxers down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. He tries to start slow, with languid strokes as he imagines the heat of your mouth sucking him deeper. The sight of you looking up at him with your lips stretched around him. 

“Just perfect,” he groans to himself. He can’t hold back his urgency at the thought of you, quickly amping up the speed of his wrist and the strength of his grip. It’s minutes, or maybe seconds before his muscles are tensing and jerking as he comes to the thought of you. 

It eases the tension, but he still needs you. Soon. 

……

The rest of your week passes quickly. 

Your head is in the clouds over your new texting buddy. You check your phone on all your breaks but send yourself into another spiral, trying to work out the balance between enthusiastic but not needy. Responding quickly, but not being too much. You don’t want to come off as crazy.

It fully absorbs your attention. The excitement and the anxiety. The rush when you get a new message and the anguish over every word you type. Rereading your messages until you get a response. Worrying yourself over your silly jokes and banter. But when he responds, it’s addictive. You’re smitten when he matches your energy or sends a flirty quip. 

It makes you smile so hard your cheeks burn. You get distracted taking orders. It’s all-consuming. 

………

Frankie keeps tabs on you the rest of the week. When you walk home from work, when you run errands, when you’re out with your friends. He picks up things for his apartment while you’re at work. At night, he drives down your block. He watches you watching TV. Until dark, then you diligently shut your curtains just as the last dregs of the sunset disappear. 

Tonight, he lingers, still parked across the street from your apartment building. He sends another text, and his eyes flick to your curtains like you might open them back up just for him. You’re such a good girl for that, though–not letting anyone else watch. 

Frankie: I’m back tomorrow. You have weekend plans? 

You: that’s great! no plans for me

Frankie: You want to watch tomorrow’s episode together? 

You: that would be fun! 

Frankie: Perfect :) 

………

You don’t know why you offered to host. Your place is a mess. Since Joel left, you’ve been letting your depression piles calcify. You shove your laundry into the washer, toss your unopened mail into a drawer, and do your best to make it look like you’re a fully functioning adult. 

Something about having Frankie over has you feeling pent up. 

You’re nervous. Excited. And you’re still unregulated and exhausted from the emotional devastation of Joel disappearing on you. You’ve been letting yourself sink into the distraction of making a new friend. A hot, new friend. But as helpful as the distraction is, you still haven’t really processed the pain. 

Maybe it’s too soon to let yourself think about Frankie all the time. Maybe you need to really feel your misery and figure out what you missed. What you did wrong. No, even your body rejects that idea, sending a shiver of anxiety through you. 

Fuck it. 

You’re both single adults. There’s no rulebook that says you can’t entertain a new crush. So what’s the harm? You’re hoping that seeing Frankie in person will help you get clarity on the flirty vibe of his texts. Are they truly flirty, or are you just delusional? 

You do your best to find a casual “just watching trash TV” type of outfit after your everything shower. You bought enough snacks to feed a high school football team, you know, just in case. You flutter around your space, hastily cleaning anything else you can think of, worried about details that only an evil in-law would scrutinize you for. 

Despite your frenzy and feeling on edge all afternoon, the concern all seems to vanish when Frankie shows up at your door. You welcome him in and swoon a little over the fresh flowers he brought you. You still have some nerves that don’t relent, but they’re the smiley, giggly, butterfly type of nerves now. 

As you get settled, it all feels surprisingly easy. 

You make each other laugh. You offer your insane spread of snacks, and he settles next to you on your sofa before the episode starts. He appreciates all of your commentary and banters with you over your strongest opinions. It feels surprisingly natural to be spending time together like this. Without an espresso machine between you. 

You’re taken with his presence. He balances you. Even when he debates your controversial takes and unpopular opinions, he doesn’t get worked up like you. 

His calm demeanor is grounding. His nearness and steadiness relaxes you.  

The stress let down makes your head feel heavy, and without thinking, you rest your temple against Frankie’s shoulder with a deep sigh. It feels comforting until you realize how forward you’re being and snap your head back up. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you blurt out, scooting away. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, voice soft and low. 

He’s staring at you so intently. You feel the heat in your face, embarrassed at acting so comfortable with him and self-conscious under his gaze. You still don’t really know what he wants. And you don’t want to fuck anything up. But he doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, you swear his eyes drop to your mouth before they flick back up. 

“More than okay,” he adds, and your stomach flips at his honesty. “Here,” he shifts and invites you to scoot under his arm. You get comfortable, resting your head on his chest. 

You try to watch the TV, but you can feel Frankie watching you. It makes you restless and unable to think clearly. You peer up at him. It’s a charged look—maybe it was obvious all along, but you hadn’t felt confident enough to put the pieces together until now.

“What?” You whisper, unable to fight the smile pulling at your mouth. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs. 

Uh oh. Your breath hitches, and something in you cracks. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you try to hide it, whispering thanks into his chest and looking down. 

“Hey,” he tilts your chin to look up at him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to will away the emotions that bubble up inside of you. “That’s really sweet of you.” You steady your breathing, slower and deeper. What is wrong with you? You expected something flirty. You didn’t expect something so.. heartfelt?

You slow your breathing. Frankie’s scent—clean, warm, steadying—grounds you.

But why? How does just breathing against him make you feel safe? 

You can’t even think about safety. You can’t count on anyone else. What if he leaves out of nowhere, too? Your thoughts pick up, racing. Falling deeper into your anxieties. You aren’t even on a date; you shouldn’t be worried about this guy abandoning you. 

Your fears eat at you, worsening your fragile state. Your body shakes gently as you try to breathe through the anxiety. 

Frankie runs his hand along your back. He’s so warm, solid, and strong. 

You must seem insane, your emotional flooding has you drowning now. He just keeps murmuring at you about how you’re okay, and he pulls you into his arms to give you a firm hug, regulating you. Fixing you. 

When you lean back to apologize for crying on him, he shakes his head in disagreement. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says it like he means it, like he won’t be taking questions or arguments. You sniffle as you do your best to accept that. “You still look beautiful,” he says, pulling you back towards him. 

It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Your face nestles against his neck, warmth pooling in your chest. You shouldn’t—should you?—but the way he breathes, slow and steady, so sure of you, makes you crave something grounding. Something solid. A shiver trails down your spine, and before you can second-guess, you press your lips to his neck. Frankie hums, deep and approving, fingers curling against your back. 

You do it again.

The exact spot you’ve been so distracted by on so many mornings. His skin is soft and warm; you can taste your tears, wet and salty on your lips. You do it again before you freeze. What are you doing? 

Frankie’s hand slips up the back of your neck, cradling your head in his warm palm. It feels like encouragement. You test your theory, pressing another gentle kiss to his jaw where his scruffy beard tickles your nose. 

The TV might still be on, but all you can hear is your breathing and his. The sound of your lips against his skin. And the low-pitched noise in Frankie’s throat that urges you on. Provoking a needful fire within you. Intense and frantic. You nip at his ear before stamping open-mouthed kisses back down his neck, pulling back only to breathe hot and humid against his skin. 

You hesitate, a frenzied desire has you wanting to straddle his lap and take more and more, but something makes you pause. Frankie knows. He feels your weight shifting and makes the move for you, pulling you onto his lap. 

“I know,” he says as his large hands wrap around both sides of your jaw. “Keep going.” The encouragement pours over you like warm honey. Face to face, you wrap your arms around his neck. The last thread of your doubt snaps and you close the gap. Pressing your lips together. Softly for a second, before your mouths are parting and your tongues and teeth work fervently to express your desire. 

Then it becomes a desperate blur, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging until he’s groaning into your mouth. His hands slipping under your shirt, hot against your skin, snaking back down to knead the curve of your ass while you roll your hips, grinding into his lap in search of friction. 

You feel him hardening beneath you and a molten hot thrill radiates between your legs. There’s a raw quality to your movements as you bite at his lip, scratch at his shoulders, and whine with a frustrated edge. 

You’re taking out all your emotional distress on him. Or, rather, you’re begging him to erase it all, to bite back harder, to use force, to dominate. You keep trying to use your body instead of words. Just teeth, nails, and needy writhing. Anything sharp, forceful, rough. An offering. 

Tears still roll down your cheeks, hot with anger, anguish, and everything you can’t name. You aren’t interested in exploring your emotions. You need something more visceral. 

You sit back, hands shooting towards Frankie’s belt, chasing more, when he stops you in your tracks. His hand possessively grips below your jaw, forcing you to look at him. 

Your cunt throbs at the look on his face. The soft, gentle Frankie is gone. His face is hard and dangerous as he studies you. For some reason that makes you want him even more. 

His fingers dig into your cheek eliciting a sharp inhale from you, parting your lips into a small “o” shape, before he releases you. You know you’re a mess. Teary, panting, wild-eyed–but his lips curl into a sinful grin. Reflexively you tilt your pelvis, drawing the heat of your core along the ridge of his erection. 

Your eyes flutter shut, chasing sensation—until Frankie’s chest shakes with a dark chuckle. Condescending. Your hips still. You blink at him. The air thickens. The rest of the room fades. Your thighs tense.

“Keep going.” 

It’s a demand this time, not an affirmation or encourager. His sinister smirk is gone, replaced by a frighteningly blank stare. His carnivorous eyes drop, watching your fingers as you work open his belt and jeans. 

Shit. You can tell he’s big as you trace your fingers along his cock, over his boxers, savoring the heat in your palm. The damp fabric at the tip pleases you, and you peel the waistband down to reveal the glorious vision that has you wetting your lips. 

“Shit,” you repeat out loud this time. A primal, hungry need possesses you as you admire his cock. The glistening head, thick shaft, and dark patch of curls at the base. Just the sight of him is intoxicatingly masculine and dominant. 

You need him in your mouth. 

You slink off his lap, sinking to your knees between his legs. Excitement flutters in your pussy and you feel like you’ve fallen into a trance. Your body moves faster than your mind, tugging at his jeans as he repositions at the edge of the couch. 

“I know,” he mutters under his breath as you wrap your hand around the smooth skin. “I know what you need,” he continues. You can only hum in response. Preoccupied by the slip of your thumb dragging a trail of precome down along the underside of his cock. 

He cups the back of your head, urging you to his tip with a commanding growl. You want to pout for not getting the chance to tease and savor the moment, but you don’t have the time when he slides past your lips and hits the back of your throat. 

You choke, sputtering around him and pulling back. His hand encourages you to try again and you’re eager to take it like he gives it. Refocusing on controlling your breath, you look up to see the fierceness in his eyes on his otherwise blank face. A confusing mix of warning and excitement stirs in your core, making you squirm on your knees. 

The discomfort makes something flicker across his face. 

You try again, determined, like you’ve got something to prove. You pull his other hand to your cheek. Please lead. You catch the start of a smirk on his face before he’s guiding you once again. It makes your mind blank; all you can do is breathe and focus on relaxing your muscles. It’s a welcome release from stress. Grounding you in the present. You can only think as fast as he can glide along your tongue. 

As you build a rhythm, he verges on brutal, but when you’re rewarded with the delicious sound of Frankie groaning because of you the intensity means nothing. Your eyes water as you refuse to gag out of sheer willpower. His thumb smears your tears across your cheekbone, and he pulls you off of his cock.

He takes in your swollen lips, ragged breathing, and wet lashes like he’s committing the details to memory as you catch your breath, before he’s tapping at your cheek. You open wide for him and he rests the head of his cock on your tongue, shallowly tipping you back and forth. 

Your jaw could be aching or your knees may be digging into the rug, but it doesn’t matter to you. It’s much easier to meditate on the weight of his length slipping along your wet tongue. Centering yourself on that thought, your eyes flutter shut. 

You wonder if this side of Frankie has always been lurking beneath the surface. Chillingly collected, but with something viscous bleeding into the edges. You wonder if maybe you’ve called to this part of him with the mayhem of your state of mind. 

“Yeah,” Frankie rasps in his gravelly tone causing you to blink back up at him. You wonder if he can read your mind; if he was answering you. The hint of a smile remains on the corner of his lips when you look up, “Making you feel better already.” He’s presumptive but accurate. 

You give a muffled affirmation that vibrates in your throat as he slides past your lips and you take him deep as he can be. All your senses are filled with Frankie when you inhale, when you swallow, when you blink. You give, pliant for him, trusting him with the control. You don’t care how obscene you look, tears rolling down your cheeks. You just want to hear what other sounds he might make for you. His thumb drags over your cheek again, wiping away the wet streaks. 

“This is the only reason you ever cry for me.” Frankie’s voice is dripping with affection. And possession. 

It makes everything foggy. The sentiment, the delivery, the authority. He doesn’t let you dwell on the unspoken commitment in his statement. Doesn’t give you the time to question him or spiral inward. 

Your head swims until he pulls you up, strips you, and settles you back onto his lap. Some action movie autoplayed after your episode ended. The crashing and explosions of the chase scene in the background don’t ruin the moment, in a twisted way it’s almost a fitting soundtrack for the two of you. 

You pull his shirt over his head, and time slows. The heat between you is nothing compared to his gaze. His grip on your hips is firm, guiding you closer. Dizzying.

You go entirely mindless when the head of his cock nudges your clit, gasping as it slides along your wet seam. It brings everything into focus. Greedily you reach between your bodies to guide him directly to your deplorably empty cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” your word turns to a groan as he breaches your entrance, and you tense at the stretch, holding still. 

“Keep going,” he orders lowly, and you inch down until he impatiently takes control, slamming you down until you meet his hips. Your mouth hangs open at his move and the immediate fullness. His hardened look softens as your walls ripple and flex, adjusting to his size. 

At least until you start moving, grinding against him, slowly at first. Then the sharp sternness returns. You’re unaware, chasing the friction as your clit rubs against the dark hair surrounding the base of his cock. 

“Knew you’d be perfect,” he says it more like an I told you so to himself than praise for you, but the words affect you just the same. Your chest rises, swelling with pride, and you chase his approval instead of your pleasure. 

You ride him until your thighs burn. His hands are everywhere. Rolling your nipples between his fingers, squeezing all of your soft curves, spreading your legs wider to watch where he disappears inside of you. You bounce eagerly for him, spine arching to draw his eyes to the way your tits ripple from the force of your body colliding into his. 

You whine in disapproval when he interrupts you, pulling you flush against his chest, grazing his teeth along your neck. “Give it to me,” Frankie demands, his voice rough and raw, breath hot along your sweat-damp skin. 

He runs his hand down your body, thumb circling your clit, adding the pressure you need. You edge closer and closer, body taut with anticipation. “Come for me,” he commands. It’s his authority, his gravelly voice rolling through you, that launches you into a shuddering release.

Frankie continues talking while you’re disoriented by the overwhelming pleasure. “For me,” he grunts through clenched teeth as your pussy contracts around him. “I know that’s what you need.” You can only moan as you cling to his broad shoulders. “Only me.” 

You figure he’s just rambling until he grabs you by the jaw again, demanding you respond. Demanding you repeat it for him. And you do. With glassy eyes and you mutter his words back to him. Declaring you only come for him. That you need him. 

Your words unlock something within Frankie. “Good,” he approves. “Good girl.” He praises you gruffly as he holds you steady, pounding into you with an untamed strength. You’re floating, starry-eyed and soft headed at his praise. Murmuring sentence fragments and his name, conjuring throaty grunts from Frankie until he stills, coming deep inside of you. “Only me,” he echoes and you confirm. 

“Only you.” 

In your unguarded state, it’s a welcome commitment. Maybe you haven’t had any real dates yet, but he knows you. He wants you. He tells you he wants to take care of you, and that feels fucking good. 

You collapse against his chest, matching his breathing. The movie playing behind you reaches a tragic twist, setting the third act in motion and solidifying the protagonist's dark path. You run your tongue along the column of Frankie’s throat as the score of the film hangs unresolved on a dissonant chord. He pulls you to his lips, kissing you possessively and captivating you. 

Your bodies flow, connected and attuned. In his lap, in his arms, with his tongue slipping between your lips, you feel wanted. Assured. Content to accept that he knows what you need. 

And he’s unrelenting. Determined to prove it to you. Again and again. 

All night. On the couch, in the shower, in your bed. 

Until the night bleeds into the morning and he doesn’t disappear. 

You take turns waking and watching one another sleep. Reassuring yourselves this is real. 

Until the sun heats your room and you find yourself curled into his broad frame. His chest to your back as he draws his fingers down the dip and swell of your waist and hip. 

“Did you mean it?” you ask, in a strikingly solemn tone for the soft setting. Breath shallow as you stare off toward the window. Not ready to turn and face him in the daylight. 

“Every word.” He punctuates his affirmation with a tender kiss behind your ear. His reassurance satisfies you; warmth blooms from your chest spreading to your fingers and toes. 

You spend a lazy Sunday together. Eating, laughing, fucking, and gazing at each other like lovesick teenagers. It’s too sweet to end. Instead, you become inseparable, taking turns staying at each other’s places until you have to go back. 

The world feels bright again. Lighter. 

He’s paid such close attention. Almost suspiciously perfect. Your favorite takeout. Your favorite movies. Fresh flowers, always.

Somehow, you can never get enough of him. You think about him all day at work, even though he still visits you every morning like clockwork. Your heart swells when he meets you at the end of your shift to walk you home. 

You find yourself canceling your happy hour dates with friends to stay in with Frankie instead. Postponing and rescheduling, you’ll see them soon. It’s like there aren’t enough minutes in the day to get your fill of Frankie. 

You need him constantly—his mouth, his hands, his cock, anywhere, everywhere. You’re never too much. He always wants more. It's a mutual obsession. The two of you feed off each other, dark and insatiable. He frees the parts of you you’ve never let loose. Takes what he wants. Gives you what you need.

With your head in the clouds, all you can see is how much he cares about you. He texts you whenever you’re apart, picks you up after your shifts, shows you off to his friends. 

You barely have to do anything for yourself. He’s always thinking of you, predicting your needs before know them yourself. He picks up your mail for you, runs errands before you get home, and stocks his apartment with all of the products you use and love so you don’t have to go home for days at a time. 

Things are so good that it’s rare when something goes wrong. 

But when it does, it really fucking hurts. 

When you get into an argument, a real one, he doesn’t fight with you. He leaves, swiftly and without another word. He doesn’t respond to your texts or calls. It feels like you’ve been torn in half; you sob and shake alone in your bed until your alarm blares and your headache throbs. 

He doesn’t respond the following day, doesn’t come in for coffee, and doesn’t show any signs of existing. You move through your shift like a hollow corpse haunting the cafe. Time drags agonizingly slowly. 

Every time the door opens your eyes snap towards the entrance, hoping to see the familiar curls and broad shoulders, but it’s not him. You restart your phone just on the odd chance there’s something wrong with it. He wouldn’t abandon you. He knows that would destroy you. 

The void in your chest is cold and dark. Anger simmers somewhere inside of it, but it’s not strong enough to set you off. When Frankie shows up at the end of your shift, the anger is snuffed out completely. His presence immediately erases your heartbreak, and suddenly you’re apologizing before he even gets a word out.

You have to. He has to know you wouldn’t do anything to make him leave. He can’t. He’s calm, accepting your apology and taking you home where he erases your pain. With his hands, and mouth, and cock. Until you forget what the argument was ever about, and what it felt like to watch him walk away. Until it’s back to normal. 

Every day you rely on him more and more; you can’t breathe without him. But when he’s with you, everything feels easy. Right. 

Not many things can throw the two of you off. Your friends seem happy enough for you, despite their questions and insistence that you come out with them more often. You get along well with Frankie’s friends. They’re quick witted and welcome you genuinely. 

They treat you like family, but it doesn’t stop Frankie’s jealousy from flaring up. If Benny smiles at you for too long or if you rest a hand on Will’s bicep when you laugh it only takes minutes before Frankie’s fingers dig into your arm and he whisks you away. 

It gives you a perverse thrill every time. 

When he folds you over the bathroom counter at his friend’s house. Demanding you watch in the mirror as he reminds you with a fierce snarl and devastating thrusts that you’re his. When you can still hear his friends horsing around outside, but he pounds into you with such force, you can’t quiet yourself. He slaps a hand around your mouth to silence you, growling into your ear that you’ll take it quietly, like a good girl. 

Sometimes you aren’t even sure what triggers him. 

Like when he fucks you against the side of his SUV in the parking lot of the trendy bar Benny had invited you both to. All you can piece together is Frankie muttering something about your dress as he yanks the top of it down letting your tits spill into the cool night air. He’s reckless and animalistic, claiming you roughly under the stars and streetlights before you can even get into the car let alone through your front door.

…..

Tonight, you both know exactly what got under his skin. Maybe not the why of it all, but he’s sure you know how he feels, and he wants to hear you say it. 

It started this afternoon. He picked you up from work, like usual, and you chatted in the car as he drove to the grocery store. You sighed, tiredly as you recounted an exchange with a rude customer. Frankie pulled your hand toward his mouth kissing the delicate skin on your inner wrist. 

Predictably, you light up. Like a flower turning toward the sun. Knowing your buttons doesn’t dull the intoxicating effect you have on him, though. He loves how easily you brighten for him, how it only deepens his conviction. That he is exactly where he should be. That everything he does for you is right. That he knows exactly what you need. 

You led him through the aisles, chatting, doubling back for something you forgot. You darted ahead, laughing—

Frankie stopped in his tracks.

Your laughter is cut off.

“What the fuck?” Your voice was quiet, disbelieving.

Joel. Walking past you, bouquet of flowers in hand. He didn’t even look at you.

You called his name, again. Louder. He didn’t even flinch. Didn’t turn. Just kept walking, bouquet in hand, like you never existed.

Frankie grips your wrist, watching your face as emotions flicker—shock, confusion, something darker. He doesn’t give you time to process.

“We’re going,” he says.

“I didn’t know he even lived here still,” you remarked. 

He doesn’t. The possessive fire tore through Frankie’s veins. “We’re. Leaving.” he commanded in a low tone that made your eyes flare wide. 

“What?”

“Now.”

“We can’t ditch our groceries.” 

“Nobody’s gonna stop us, baby.” He argued, as he all but carried you out the door, ushering you in a blur to his car and all the way home. 

Frankie moved swiftly and silently. Wholly consumed by the need to feel you writhing underneath him and crying out his name. He needed it so viscerally, he didn’t even have time to process how he was going to deal with Joel. 

Until you’re breathless and shuddering beneath him. Repeating everything he wants to hear. 

“Only for you,” you repeat as you rake your nails down his shoulder blades and the plane of his back. 

“Again,” he demands. You don’t know if he wants you to keep talking or to come again, but both are inevitable at this point. 

“I’m yours,” you pant, wrapping your legs around him as if you could pull him any deeper inside of you. He shifts slightly, angling your hips and your cunt clenches around him pulling him devastatingly close to the edge as you moan his name. 

He stills and you whine in protest as Frankie stretches past you to pick his phone up off the bedside table. “Keep going,” he orders as he points the lens at you. He needs you to say it again. He adjusts to resume his pace, snapping his hips into causing your lips to part with another moan. 

“I’m yours,” you repeat, “all yours.” He gives you a dark smile as he records you. Capturing all the lewd, wet sounds as he drives his cock into you, the euphoric smile that spreads on your face, and the words you know he always wants to hear. 

“Mine,” he agrees. 

……

You don’t see Joel again. And you don’t have time to dwell on the encounter anyway. Frankie keeps you busy and satisfied, and even surprises you by asking you to move in with him officially. Maybe it feels soon, but you spend nearly every day together anyway and the idea delights you. 

It’s an easy transition. You downsize some of your duplicate appliances, joking with him about how he must have great taste for having so many of the same products. He admits that you inspired a few of his purchases. 

You settle into a routine quickly, not much changes. 

Some mornings, before sunrise, as you slip out of bed for your shift, you wonder if any of this is real. If someone can really care about you this deeply. But by the time you’re showered and dressed, Frankie’s lips are on yours. Sleepy. Warm. Familiar. By the time you’re in the car, you forget the question entirely.

You let your gaze linger this morning. Trailing along his profile as he drives, admiring all the details that you used to wonder about from the other side of the counter. His neck, those arms, his hands, those lips. They’re illuminated in flashes as you pass under the streetlights. 

You catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He always knows when you’re looking. He rests a hand just above your knee. He always knows what you need. 

An idea takes root, and you do everything not to smile and give yourself away. It’ll take a few days to organize. He’s almost impossible to surprise. 

……

By the end of the week, Frankie’s on autopilot. Kicking off his shoes and pulling his sweaty shirt over his head before he lopes towards the ensuite for a shower. He only makes it a few strides before he’s on edge, noticing the lights he didn’t remember leaving on. He hears your voice. Relief and confusion twist together in his chest. How did you get back here before him? 

Walking into the bedroom you are a sexy surprise wrapped in red lingerie he’s never seen you wear before, but something is wrong. Your shoulders are curled inward, your cheeks are wet, and you’re hastily tying up your matching red satin robe. 

He scans the room, swallowing thickly when he notices the open closet door and the missing box on the shelf. 

He calls your name softly. 

“What the fuck is this, Frankie?” your voice shakes. Wavering between fear and anger. 

You hold up his phone. Well, his other phone. Shit. 

…..

“Answer me,” you beg. Desperate to understand how you went looking for the box with fuzzy handcuffs and instead found a phone with a new message from a number you still recognized. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest and when he takes you into his arms you flinch. You want to shove him off of you. Despite your hostility, your body is still drawn to his. He always knows what you need. In his arms your heart feels tethered to his, like they could merge through the proximity of your rib cages. Like they beat for each other. 

“You trust me, right?” he asks. 

“Explain, please,” is all you can whisper. 

“It was to keep you safe,” he starts. 

“From what?” 

“To protect you. Joel wasn’t good for you. He couldn’t take care of you. Not the way you deserve.” 

“How would you know?” it’s still not making sense to you. 

“You told me.” He’s so self-assured. Like, he’s always right. Like, he can’t even imagine why you’d be upset right now. “I did it for you,” he adds. 

“Did what?” you need him to say it out loud. You need him to fix this. 

“I know you thought Joel was trying, but he was only going to drag it out. Disappoint you over and over. Can you imagine what it would’ve been like for me? Having to watch you go through that?” 

You don’t answer. 

“I couldn’t watch. I made him an offer, but he’s a stubborn man.” 

You snort quietly at that understatement. Nobody tells Joel what to do. 

“I just had to find the right leverage.” 

Frankie holds you so tight, you can’t wriggle around to look him in the eyes. 

“He couldn’t give you what you need, not like I can. I know what you need. And, think of how fast you got over him anyway. You were mine all along.” 

You’re lightheaded. From the shock of finding the evidence. From his words. From the way you believe him. You want to sit down. You tap at his arms insistently, begging against his chest, but he keeps talking. His deep voice rumbling in your ears. 

“You wouldn’t have understood it then. I had to keep it from you to protect you. So we could have this. What we have now.” 

He’s not listening to you. Not letting you go. You snap. 

“Let go of me!” 

“You have to understand first.” 

“I’ll listen,” you plead. “Just let me breathe.” He lets you step back, but doesn’t release you from his grip. His hands are glued to your arms. He waits, steady and chillingly calm.

The pieces slam into place. The unanswered questions. The way Joel vanished. Oh, God.

“I thought he just left,” you whisper to yourself. 

“He did,” Frankie argues. 

“I thought he didn’t want me,” you continue. 

“He didn’t. Not the way that I want you.” 

Something cold trickles down your spine and you look at Frankie. For a moment he’s a complete stranger. Your stomach sinks and your vision spins. Slamming your eyes shut, you filter through your racing thoughts. 

It wasn’t fate that led you into Frankie’s arms. 

You wound up crying on his cock by design, trying to fuck away the pain of a heartbreak that wasn’t even real. You’ve fallen into a whole new life, while the man you had loved may have never stopped loving you back? 

“You blackmailed Joel Miller?” 

“Technically, it’s extortion.” 

Your hands tremble as you grip the phone. The air feels thinner, your chest too tight. The numbers on the screen blur, but you still recognize them.

The texts. The sent video.

The video.

Your stomach lurches. Your mouth opens, but no words come out. Frankie watches you, patient, expectant. Like he’s just waiting for you to catch up.

It’s all there on the surface. Exposed between the two of you. Who Frankie really is. Cunning and competent. Devoted and dangerous. Possessive and powerful. 

“It worked, until he came to town for someone’s engagement party.” 

“When we saw him at the store?” 

Frankie nods. 

“And then you sent him the video we made that day.” The words fall from your lips as the reality sinks in. 

“Hearing it from you seemed to do the trick. He knows you’re mine and you only want me.” 

Frankie gives you time to study him. Absorbing the information. The gleam in his dark eyes. The same eyes from when he would visit you at work. Just as fierce and just as earnest. 

You’ve always known him for his true self. He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you. And he knew you needed him. 

“And you did it… for us.” 

“For you.” 

You can see it plainly on his face. He’d do it again and again to have you. Because you’re his. It’s all you ever wanted. It has to be wrong, but it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done for you. 

You push him onto the bed, straddling him without a second thought. Instinct. Need. He’s already hard beneath you.

"You’re sick," you whisper, breath hot against his skin.

Frankie grins. "You make me fucking crazy."

Your mouths collide, hungry, desperate, perfect.

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

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@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40 tags for folks who seemed interested when i shared a lil wip about it (aka no worries tags)

@hoelaris @punkseyes @ace-turned-confused @magneticecstasy @lotusbxtch

@bitchesuntitled

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@thundermartini @milla-frenchy

[rudemaidenswrite]

Don't Belong Here

Part 5

part 4

By: @pusantheamazonian

Tag list: @rosecat5 @athenaricham-loves-orcs  @pandainfinitely @rivalriotrenegade @rouge-fire175 @happymoonangel @the-witchs-posts

You don't know why but it's time. There's just something gnawing in your brain that Ronnie needs to meet them. Now that you two are officially dating. Because if they don't approve of him you're going to cut your own heart out. And you'll never be happy again.

Anxiety ridden. Biting the bullet, you give them a call. And it's picked up on the first ring.

"Y/N! I hope you're not calling to cancel tomorrow." Immediately the motherly scolding begins, somehow she knows something is going on.

"Actually quite the opposite."

"What's wrong?" Worry fills her voice.

"I was hoping I could bring someone with me. There's someone I'd like you to meet." Biting your lip, you know she's going to say yes. But you don't want to risk the chance that the answer will be no.

"Of course dear. You can bring whoever you need to." You can hear the relief in her voice.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

One phone call down, now the other. But there's no telling what he's up to today so quick text will do.

Ronnie, would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? They're some people I want you to meet.

God. Why is this so hard to ask? You've rewritten the question three times. Nervously you push send. It's not like you're inviting him to have lunch with your parents and meet them for the first time. No it's just Tog and Dura. The ones who have looked after you and babied you since you moved here.

Damn it. They are your parents. As much as you hate saying it out loud to anyone. They are. Besides Charlie and Olivia already call them that.

*Ding*

Sure.

Great! Meet at my place at 11am.

Breathing a sigh of relief. Now here's to hoping everything goes well.

~

These people must be important to you. You have refused to say anything else about this lunch or even acknowledge that it's happening. He's got to step it up today, he definitely needs to look like a regular person.

The importance of this lunch is killing you. You already sorta know how Tog feels about this but Dura will likely kill Ronnie if she disapproves.

"Where is that dress?" Grumbling while sorting through the closet. You know that dress Dura bought you is in here and for extra bonus points you have got to wear it. Ronnie will be here any minute and you're still in your underwear. Not that he wouldn't mind but now is not the time.

"Ah ha!" Finding the dress, somehow you tucked it into a garment bag and shoved it all the way in the back of the closet.

Slipping the dress on you barely have enough time to finish getting dressed when there is a knock on the door.

Opening the door you can't believe it's him. He's in crisp new jeans and a button up shirt. There's no way he can clean up this good.

"H-hi." Stumbling over your words you have to force yourself to focus.

Damn she's gorgeous. Hair and makeup done. Smelling like blackberries again. The soft blue dress has matching beading around the neckline and belt. He's never seen you in a dress before. He'll never say it out loud but you usually dress like you're homeless or just rolled out of bed. You oddly feel like home.

"You didn't say what to wear. Hope I chose right." Shrugging you see his ears twitching awkwardly.

"Yes." Actually you couldn't care less about what he wore. They'll find out he's part of the Fogteeth sooner or later.

"We are meeting some important people of mine for lunch. Just let me get my purse." Staying positive is the only way to make it through the day.

Important people? Worried who's so important that you won't say who it is? He picked up on the fake smile just now. You now have him worried about this meeting.

~

He's been driving for about twenty minutes towards the outskirts of the city with you giving directions. The neighborhood seems decent enough. A bunch of smaller homes and it seems strangely quiet for the most part.

"This one here. With the iron fence." Quickly pointing at the house a few yards down.

He pulls into a blacktop driveway beside a white brick bungalow. Getting out of the truck he's hit with a variety of strong smells. Vegetables and flowers but the most noticeable one is Orc.

Making your way around the truck, you grab his hand firmly and lead the way.

"Are you feeling okay? You keep biting your lips." Asking he knows the answer. You're not and it's worrisome. Nervousness and fear keep wafting off of you, getting stronger with every step.

"Just a little nervous." Shrugging you try not to give away how terrified you actually are.

"You're nervous?"

"Well, you're the first person I've brought home." Fidgeting you quickly push the doorbell.

“Brought home?” Confused, he couldn't have heard you right.

The door swings open before you can answer him. An old orc woman answers. Excitement covers her face.

"Y/N! My darling daughter, it's so good to see you." She's loud and excited. He's never smelt such happiness from an orc about a human.

"You saw me a few days ago." Smiling, you give her a quick hug.

"So? If I had it my way you wouldn't be able to leave the house." Teasing she pinches your cheeks.

"Mam!" Embarrassed, you shoo her hand away.

"Oh hush. I don't want any sass from you. Your sister has enough of it. Now who is this?"

"Mam this is Ronnie. He's the one I talked to you about. Ronnie, this is my mother Dura." You calmly gesture between the two.

It doesn't go unnoticed that you introduced her as your mother and the happy gasp that came from her. She knows you're not very public with telling people who they are.

"Come in! Come in! Lunch is almost ready. Your father is setting the table now." Grinning Dura nods inside.

Holding Ronnie's hand tightly you head to the dining room. Pausing slightly you see him finish setting the table.

"Pap this is Ronnie. Ronnie, this is my father Tog."

He instantly recognizes the old orc you call father. He was working that day, he caused a scene.

He's stunned. The ones you call mother and father are orcs. In a moment time feels frozen but moving at hyper speed. The realization hits him hard. You have brought him to meet your parents. That's a serious commitment step especially in Orc culture. You're basically presenting him to the chieftain; the leader; your father that he is your chosen mate.

"Y/N, come help." Dura asks from the kitchen.

"Coming!" Giving Ronnie a smile you quickly pat his arm before disappearing into the next room.

"When we are together as a family for meals. We speak in our mother tongue. It helps keep the language alive." Tog explains in Bodzvokhan, with a stern face gesturing for Ronnie to take a seat.

"It’s so that we don't forget how to speak it." You lean over to whisper as you put some food on the table.

"Charlie speaks it too?" Surprised that thought never occurred to him.

"Yeah and so does Olivia but she's still learning." Trying not to smile at Ronnie's confused face you sit down beside him.

"How did you two meet?" Dura questions, passing bowls of food around. Not giving Ronnie a chance to process anything.

"Ah um at a Fogteeth block party." You don't necessarily know how to explain it.

"Y/N! Since when do you party?" Shocked, Dura's disbelief is evident.

"Because your daughter signed me up for a fight club. So they all know me now." Huffy you make it known what her sassy daughter has been up to.

"Y/N! What have I said about fighting?" Frowning, Dura tsk's you.

"To knock them out in one punch." You pretend to punch someone.

"Dura's father was a boxer. That's how we met. I worked as an errand boy when I was a child at the gym where her father trained." Tog interjects.

Now it clicks in his mind about why you can fight. My God you're from a family of Orc boxers.

"Could be worse, you forget that Charlie and Olivia met at a strip club." Sighing the way you and Ronnie met wasn't entirely a bad way, just very unconventional.

"Why do I believe that?" Ronnie laughs.

“They were both waitresses. Cause Charlie can't dance and Olivia is accident prone.”

The rest of the lunch visit goes well. No red flags popped up. And watching Ronnie interact with them is nice. It's not often you or Charlie bring someone here. Only after two years of dating was Olivia introduced and Ryan was only after graduation.

Gathering the leftovers for Charlie and Olivia. You see Pap and Ronnie walk outside.

"Y/N."

"Yes Mam?" Turning you see how worried she is.

"Are you sure? This will affect your reputation." Dura nods at him.

"I know Mam."

"As long as you're sure. I worry about you the most." Sighing she knows that once you've decided something, that's all that matters.

"I know."

Cupping your face with both hands, she gives you a soft forehead kiss.

Waiting on the porch Tog finds now is the time to personally talk to Ronnie

Outside he can feel and smell the anger and suspicion from Tog. The air seems to be electrified.

"I say this once. Harm Y/N in any way and you will not get off so easily as before. I am from the old country. I know how to get things done."

Astonished he never thought he would be threatened like this. But it doesn't come as a complete surprise since he has been a jerk before because of stupidity.

"I don't plan on that happening again."

“Good. She's the most stubborn and sensitive of two. As you are well aware by now.”

~

Back at your apartment you quickly set the food on the counter and properly face Ronnie. You could tell he was thinking about stuff from how silent in the truck he was.

"Sorry I sprung this on you like this. I didn't know exactly how to say ‘come meet my parents who happen to be Orcs’.” Apologizing, you don't want him to be mad about today.

"Daughter?" Questioning he tugs on the shirt of your dress.

"Yeah. Basically adopted us. Me first, then when I said I had a sister they were ecstatic."

"They're never letting you go." He gently grabs your hand intertwining the fingers.

"Good cause I'm not letting them go." Smiling, you know it's the truth. If anything were to happen to them. You'd probably go crazy. "The first few years I lived here were harsh. I survived on my savings and their generosity. At one point I was living with them. After scrimping and saving. I had enough money to buy a decent house or a really good apartment. But then Pap lost his job at the factory. So in secret I bought that house for them. With the money I had left over, my sister moved in with me into an apartment."

Besides the fact that you were only eighteen when you moved here with everything you owned stuffed into your car. Thinking you were a badass with no definite plan. You skipped graduation as payback for your parents kicking you out on your eighteenth birthday and living with a friend for the last four months. That they took pity on your stupid self. Working two jobs and going to school full time. You had lost all control of time and self preservation. They made it their mission to make sure someone was taking care of you since you dropped the ball on it. Before deciding that it would be best if you were to move in, to pool resources. And them giving you courage to fully do what you want with support.

"What do their children think of this?"

"Their son Mek died as a child and never had any more." Shaking your head sadly. "Charlie and I joke that Mek is our guardian angel."

Smelling the sadness he changes the topic.

"So how is it with work then?" That's always been a question burning in his head. He's never heard of an orc to have an actual decent job.

"Manny is my full time assistant. Pap works as my part time assistant."

"How do you have orcs as assistants?" There's no way you have that many Orcs actually working with you.

"The loophole is that I'm allowed to have two assistants of my choosing. They have to pass a background check and be personally trained by me." Giggling you boop his nose at your secret.

"Damn. That's a good loophole."

"Manny already knows us, he used to work at the same factory. So why not? I choose my father and a family friend that acts like my big brother." You start to fidget with his buttons.

"You've never said your parents are orcs. Why?" Taking a risk, the question makes you ooze out sadness and loneliness.

"Granted they've probably already had their share of hate. It throws everyone off at first but they taught me how real parents should act. I love them so much I just want to freeze time and wrap them up in bubble wrap." Sighing there's just an unexplainable love for Dura and Tog. "I don't want anything to happen to them. And just shouting to the world that my parents are Orcs will cause unnecessary hate."

Pausing he lets everything sink in. Everything he knows and what he found out today. “Sprinkles, you are the most complicated person I have ever met. With an immensely kind heart."

"Thanks." A defeated chuckle escapes. "Besides, you have no idea how restricted and complicated the adoption process is. But to adopt from another race is nearly impossible. The only successful cases were those involving half breeds but then they were only allowed to be adopted by whatever races they were a part of."

"How do you know this?"

"When I was nineteen I wanted them to adopt me. So I went and got the paperwork and researched everything. But I wasn't able to do anything about it, besides this country doesn't recognize adult adoption as being legal."

"That's bullshit!" Scoffing that's ridiculous.

"I know!"

[ilikekidsshows]

hey I figure that you’re probably tired of talking about the Sentimonster nonsense but I genuinely still can’t stand that it’s an actual thing. The wildest thing about it is that I JOINED the fandom because of the Sentimonster theory, actually got excited for it and looked forward to hints, not believing the skeptics or the salters bc it didn’t seem like such a big deal—that is until I saw with my own eyes how SO MANY FANS said with their whole chest that, in “Ephemeral” Adrien HAD to be a Sentimonster or there was no other “sympathetic explanation” for why he didn’t de-akumatize himself or fight off Gabriel.

Seeing the victim blaming in real time was such a punch in the gut—and then they just kept on coming!! It finally hit me how damaging the entire thing because for the show as a whole. If even regular fans that weren’t even known for salting could so willingly disregard and ignore genuine abuse coping mechanisms in favor of magical BS… it was such a dark time. Abuse Apologism and victim blaming in a whole package

Sometimes, when I write about Miraculous, I pretend I'm writing about a show that only had three seasons. That's what the "zagulous fandom" tag is for; it's for posts that are about the parts of Miraculous that had Zag's executive control keeping Astruc in check. I also kinda accepted long ago that my blog's kind of a support blog for people who are against the Sentihuman concept.

When I first heard of the expanded Sentimonster theory, the one that went "all the rich kids are Sentimonsters", I instantly went: "You do realize how making victims of child abuse nonhumans with questionable rights minimizes their victimhood and excuses their abusers, right?" people told me I was making stuff up and whoopsie doo, the writers did exactly that.

Neither Gabriel nor Tomoe faced any consequences for abusing Adrien and Kagami because, after all, since they're Sentimonsters, the real abuse was that they didn't have their Amoks so giving them their Amoks resolves all their problems. The only abusive parent who gets acknowledged as such is Félix's dad, who is dead by the time we hear about any of this, because we can't have abusive parents face consequences for their actions because that might upset people or whatever excuses Astruc's giving for Gabriel's vindication now.

This also minimises all the affects of the abuse on the kids, since they can be handwaved away with: "They were just programmed that way." Kagami's bad social skills aren't because her mother isolated her, it's because she forgot to program Kagami with those skills. Félix's villainous behavior isn't because his mother is overly permissive with him, he was just programmed that way (by the eeeeevil Colt). Adrien isn't a people pleaser because he's repeating his abuse coping mechanisms with his overly controlling girlfriend to keep her happy the same way he did to his overly controlling father, he was just programmed to be the perfect doting son and boyfriend.

You'll notice how neatly this ties into the crew denying that Chloé was abused in any way ever by her clearly abusive mother. Chloé wasn't made into a Sentimonster, so we can't have her bad coping with her abuse be excused by "Sentimonster programming", so now the writers are just gaslighting the audience and saying: "Chloé wasn't mistreated by her parents which caused her to act to out to get attention (which she literally stated to be her motive in season 3), in fact, she's the one who's been terrorizing her poor, innocent father and he needs to be protected from this naturally occuring evil hellspawn."

All child abuse in this show gets excused.

Of course, now the writers have an added reason to make sure Adrien's abuse gets excused in particular: because they made Marinette benefit from it. As I said, Adrien is repeating abuse coping mechanisms learned from dealing with his father to keep Marinette happy. He's always prioritizing her feelings and never brings up his own problems, and this is good for Marinette, because she can just enjoy having a perfect boyfriend who caters to her every need and doesn't have problems of his own or with the ways she treats him (for all she knows). She's even maintaining this status quo by lying about Gabriel to Adrien, so Adrien won't get upset (and have emotional needs that she would need to help him with). Either we have to excuse Adrien's abuse, or we have to admit Marinette is benefitting from the fact that Adrien was abused, and even taking advantage with the way she makes no effort to improve their communication on her end, preferring to spy on Adrien and lie to him instead of just talking to him like an equal.

The show writers are also allergic to following through on their creative decisions, is what I think. They put all these different victims of child abuse and neglect in the show, and then dehumanized these children in different ways so that they wouldn't actually need to say anything about that abuse they wrote in and they can instead pretend it was never there. This is why I also think that, no matter how much the show's defenders insist the story isn't over yet, we will never be getting a proper resolution to the Sentinonsense.

[not-poignant]

Just saw your post about Ghibli + elements of grotesque with the Nausicaa gifset and how you wrote an essay comparing it to Shinto philosophy and I had to ask - you didn't happen to write that for an IB film class did you?? Cause that would be a WILD coincidence if so, bc I'm doing IB film rn and one of our extended essay examples was literally exactly that; an analysis/comparison of Ghibli movies and Shinto philosophy/religion and it was really really good.

Even if not, that's so cool!! I adore Ghibli and totally agree with the points you left in the tags of that post. Ghibli is about confronting the uncomfortable and ugly and grotesque and scary and acknowledging it as a valid and necessary part of life. Everything in balance!! Sure there are some more cutesy kiddy films which I feel have become more mainstream but especially films like Nausicaa have very real and important messages that often get overlooked :( I was really scared of Nausicaa when I was a child and now it's one of my favourite films!!

Anyway, you're awesome, I agree with your takes and Ghibli rocks 💪

Hi anon!

So this is going to be a wild journey, strap in.

I don't know what IB Film is. I did my thesis in a final year university unit specifically where we all developed our own thesis subject, had a supervisor, and it was basically a test run to do first class Honours (which lets you bypass a Masters degree and go straight to the PhD, which I then intended to do). It was a limited class that only had about 10 people in it, I believe. My supervisor was the head of the film department.

Now, this was back in about 2004. Shit I'm old. Ghibli wasn't a household name. It wasn't streaming anywhere. You couldn't get DVDs easily, and if you wanted them you had to make sure you had a region unlocked DVD player to deal with the DRM and then buy them from overseas. Most people were only getting exposed to these films if they were regular cinema-goers, or if they were an aggressive pirate via downloading torrents (which I was). The only place you could get Ghibli merch pretty much was Japan. It absolutely did not have the kind of traction it has now, no one could do a class on it outside of Japan because the majority of students would have no idea what you were talking about.

I think Disney/Lasseter had picked up the option to do dubs, but for the most part, if we were seeing these at the cinema, they were subbed.

So that's the context! That was in an era where I was the one directly getting all of my friends on Livejournal and in person, into Studio Ghibli. I went to the Ghibli film festival back before Spirited Away came out, and that got me hooked years previous.

In 2004 I did my thesis. At the time I was the only person in the English speaking world to do a thesis specifically on my thesis subject. It had been covered briefly in sentences like 'Miyazaki practices Shinto' etc. and there was one other unpublished thesis I was able to find that talked about concepts of Shinto and some of Miyazaki's films which helped me a lot with my thesis.

I went on a deep dive into Shinto. Because it was a thesis, I had to research a lot into the difference between folk and shrine Shinto (Ghibli films lean very 'folk' but there are moments of shrine Shinto), and ended up with a pretty baller reference list. But many, many, many more resources online and off have come out since. I'd find the thesis very easy to do if I was doing it now.

Because I was the first to kind of present my findings in a thesis like this, the thesis ended up getting published in a book on animism and then journeyed further on because it was of interest to people who are interested in representations of animism in mass media, especially popular mass media.

The specific focus of my thesis statement was the difference between the black and white puritanical morality of Disney, the most popular animation studio for children and adults at the time, versus Miyazaki's mixed morality and more nuanced explorations of good and evil, villains, heroes and antiheroes in Ghibli animations, and how that was at least partly founded in the difference between a more Christianised versus Shinto mindset in relation to nature and intersections with humanity.

Idk, something like that.

The thesis did well! I got my high distinction, got my invitation into first class Honours, and then was too sick to go on and get the PhD and teach about these things, which was what I fully intended to do!

My thesis got some traction over the years, published in a few places both online and in at least two books (one that I own, the other I forget because it's been oh my god like 20 years), so the idea got around!

Anon, there is actually a chance - a small chance - that the only reason you're getting this essay subject in a more standardised curriculum is because my thesis made its way into the public eye 20 years ago and got quite popular. It was never peer reviewed or anything, it wasn't a PhD thesis and didn't need to be, it was mostly just a very well-researched (if I do say so myself) collation of thoughts on the subject as someone is also a practicing animist. In retrospect I really wish I'd incorporated more of Zipe's teachings but he was in a completely different field to media studies and my supervisor didn't know about him to suggest him.

Discussions of Ghibli, Miyazaki and Shinto became a lot more popularised as Ghibli got more popular and people in the western world discovered that there were already a published essay (at the time people could read it without paying for it as I'd put it up online for folks to access) that linked to other sources and the unpublished essay I'd found. So...

Um, yeah, that's wild, because I know that this wasn't a thing in universities 20 years ago, because I was so desperate for resources I was emailing around and asking universities so I didn't have to figure so much out myself. 😅

[anghraine]

Tumblr posting isn't the hallmark of activism and no one is obligated to talk about Palestine on here. That being said, it sure is interesting that you never mentioned Israel's ongoing genocide until you decided to make a post about how antisemitic people who do talk about it can be (and provided no example, so it's vague enough it serves no purpose whatsoever, can't be argued with of learnt from).

I did wonder if that would be someone's takeaway (and even that it would likely be on anon), so this response was already largely prepared.

In any case, my fandom account is not the totality of my existence, even online, and particularly not at the moment (I used to talk about politics more here, but don't tend to use this account for that kind of thing these days; I've also barely acknowledged the Trump/Harris election that will directly and drastically impact my own life and which I'm following closely). I mentioned the grotesque antisemitism directed at Jewish people regardless of whether they're Israeli or not, mainly coming from people who have no more stake in what happens in I/P than I do, because it's become so common over the last year in fandom spaces and conversations, and is therefore relevant to this account. There are no genocides happening specifically on Tumblr, but there are people here using Israel to present their pre-existing antisemitic ideas as leftist praxis and to air them more openly.

In addition to that, I don't generally feel the need to Be Seen Having a Take on matters I'm not especially familiar with—particularly as a US American, since we tend to be too quick to share our super important center of the world opinions on other countries' geopolitics regardless of how much we know or understand about them—until I've had time to think, research, and phrase what I want to say. Once I was more familiar, I wanted to be clear that I consider Israel's actions horrific and that, simultaneously, I find the increasingly regular fandom antisemitism I've seen intolerable and unjustified (and I did feel these needed to be in the same post to avoid being misunderstood even in good faith). I kicked my post out of drafts because at that point I'd seen enough to feel equipped to do so and felt it was sufficiently clear about where I stand, and because (as I said in my tags) of a specific and particularly abhorrent display of antisemitism I saw on Tumblr yesterday.

I also did not feel the need to duplicate and broadcast specific instances of antisemitism (much less that one) in order to dunk on it or whatever. Broadly though not universally, I prefer talking about overall patterns that bother me more than litigating isolated instances, even when it's ... like, annoying trends in Pride and Prejudice fanfic or something, but all the more when it's a systemic social problem. And given that I have a number of active Jewish mutuals who would see my post, I didn't want to inflict it on them all over again. If you think I would find something grotesquely antisemitic that's actually totally fine, then you're free to find someone else to follow.

[ahsokathegray]

Rain Over Me

Pairing: Rexsoka

Prompt: Rexsoka Monthly Dec. ‘23 - Unexpected Encounters

Summary: When it rains, it pours. At least, that’s how Rex had always heard it. But he soon finds even the most dreadful of rains give life back to that which lacks it.

Tags: angst, bittersweet, rainy confessions, lost without each other, established relationship, post bad batch

Word Count: 3,426

A/N: this was just an excuse to write sad, lonely Rex with a reunion in the rain and I’m only somewhat sorry (@rexsoka-monthly)

read on ao3! / masterlist

The wood on the dusty, old shack was darker now with the onslaught of rain. Its months dry boards drank in the water and was hydrated once more, appearing to be in its prime again if only until the rain cleared. In more ways than one, it had been a dreary summer and the rain was much needed.

Rex had grown fond of the little restaurant — if one could call it that.

It wasn’t kept up to standards, he was most certain. He’d only seen someone sweep the place once. It was a sad little place, but comforting in its own right. The only faces that were constant here were those of the owner or the employees. Rex never saw anyone else twice.

Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the old shack — weary, unkempt, a stranger to itself, lacking energy.

He wasn’t an old man, no, the cure had stopped all that. But he did feel like it, and he’d always look older than his true age. Seventeen years of life didn’t reflect what he felt in his joints, what he recalled in his mind, what was on his false chain code, and what he saw when he looked back at himself in the mirror.

Yeah. Like the shack in the rain, he felt he was falsely young in appearance. It felt wrong not to age so quickly anymore, even though it was the most normal part of human life.

Rex carded a few fingers through his short, blonde curls, wicked the rain off his coat, and ascended the creaky steps. He took a menu, even though he knew he’d order the same thing as always, and seated himself at his usual booth.

The owner, who was old, wordlessly brought him a steaming cup of caf.

“I see we are past the point of asking now,” Rex observed, a corner of his mouth turning up.

A raspy laugh filled the stale, humid air, “What can I say? You’re my favorite regular, Rex!”

The other corner of Rex’s mouth raised, “I’m your only regular, Mr. Kip.”

“And a damn good tipper too,” the Ithorian man smiled, winking before walking back into the kitchen.

Well, he had nothing else to spend his credits on.

Rex scanned the menu items as if he didn’t already have the selections memorized. Even the daily special was the same every single day. Nothing changed and he found he had no qualms about that. After years of unpredictability and pushing his body, mind, and heart to their limits of strain, he found peace in the monotony of routine.

After much deliberation, Rex settled on the Single Sun Breakfast to no surprise. He half expected his meal to be brought out without confirmation, but old Kip stopped back by to make sure anyway.

He could get used to it — the not talking. It was rare he did much of it anyway these days, what with living alone. And, truly, he did enjoy the company of the staff, but the more minimal the interactions the better. Getting attached to people was a flaw he would never risk again. Losing so many loved ones in such a small frame of time would prompt anyone to make such vows.

Rex very much hoped there was a version of himself out there that hadn’t sworn it off, that he was happy and surrounded by those he held dear.

His fork was turned around in his fingers as he tried to ignore the fact he’d finally acknowledged that he was unhappy. It had been that way for years now and it was difficult to revisit the last time the opposite had been true.

It had been warm on Mandalore, when rumors of the war ending sparked hope rather than memories of almost; when battle felt good and he felt invincible and life had been first punctuated by something like love and a woman like her.

Squeezing the cutlery, he set it back down and threaded his fingers together, glancing out the condensating window instead.

Rain came down violently onto the flora just outside the establishment, but pattered softly on the windowsill. Every now and then, a drop found its way inside, or perhaps it was the water droplets still clinging to his hair. Oh, if that illustrious Captain could see him now. That version of himself would disapprove immensely of so many things — but his hair would be at the top of the list.

He did not wish to remind himself of what came second and was thankful when he spotted his plate emerging from the kitchen. His breakfast was brought out with little fanfare and looked as if always did. This pleased him.

As he ate, he thought of what he needed to get done in the upcoming week. He needed to give the old Y-wing a fresh coat of paint; the Republic and medic insignias were becoming visible again, as well as a damning shade of blue. The hole in the roof of his tiny home needed to be patched still. He kicked himself for not doing it sooner and added purchasing a bucket to his growing list.

Something like a laugh escaped him around a bite of rolled omelette, thinking about his helmet being used to collect water from a roof leak. It was when his head lifted up to do this that he saw a pair on montrals facing away from him, seated at a booth closer to the door.

There was a tightening in his lungs and the gaping hole in his heart was reopened; discarded of anything he’d ever used to cover it with. Rex swallowed hard and placed his head in his hands, counting as he regulated his breathing.

This happened every time he thought he saw her.

And, without fail, it was never her.

He ought to have internalized that by now. It had just been so long since the last time he mistook someone else for her. Lone Togrutas were not a sight seen often; they didn’t tend to stray very far from Kiros or Shili.

Rex wished that wasn't the case.

Seeing them more often might’ve kicked this fool’s hope earlier — the one that bubbled up violently inside him whenever he caught a glimpse of three lekku rather than the usual two or, like today, a set of montrals.

They were femininely shaped and blue, just like he knew hers to be, which didn’t help matters.

Getting up from the table to visit the refresher solely to see if it was her was something he was not going to let himself do. He had to get over this. He couldn’t let it control the trajectory of his day each time it happened.

Exhaling and centering himself, Rex finished his meal with a difficulty that hadn’t been present before and told himself his appetite was still there even though that was far from the case. Memories of similar breakfasts in similar restaurants with her bullied their way to the forefront of his mind. Small bouquets of freshly plucked flowers, dirt still clinging to them, being given to her and then placed in a cup of water from wherever they’d been eating.

Rex couldn’t help himself.

Once his plate was clear, he looked across the six booths that separated them. But the woman’s montrals were nowhere to be seen. Rex waited a little longer to see if she was just leaning down looking over a menu or taking a bite of food, but the montrals did not reappear.

Panic swept through him, his veins turning into hot plasma underneath his skin.

He rose promptly from his booth, eyes glued to the one she’d been at. Only a half finished mug of tea sat on the table. She never did like caf. His heart rate shifted into high gear and he made a beeline for the register, already fishing around in his pocket for credits, his fingers shaking.

“Oh, there’ll be no need today,” Kip said with a particularly pleased smile.

The hand in Rex’s pocket stilled and his heart leapt into his throat. “What do you mean?” His voice rattled as he spoke.

“Why, the young lady who just left covered your meal. Said to thank you for your service,” The Ithorian pointed to the entrance as the door slid closed.

For the first time in a long time, the world around Rex melted away and began to slow. Everything became muffled. The credit chits he had in his hand were placed onto the counter despite what the owner had just told him and before he could even tell them to do so, his feet were carrying him to the exit.

“Rex, what do you want me to do with this?”

“I don’t care,” he answered without looking back. “Pay it forward.”

Thick sheets of rain now came from the sky, pouring down so heavily that the world around him had turned white. The clouds flickered and thunder sounded, accompanied by angry strikes of lightning. Any footprints that might’ve been left behind in the mud had been washed away as quickly as they were made.

Whoever she was… she was gone.

A hand was clapped to his shoulder but Rex didn’t look down.

Kip sounded confused yet sympathetic. “She’s not gettin’ away in that, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The old man paused. “If you’re after her, I reckon’ she’ll be back again tomorrow.”

The hand was removed and Kip walked away, but Rex stayed frozen in the doorway. If it was her, he was doubtful she’d be back for breakfast the following morning. She could get away even in the most hopeless conditions.

Rex clenched his teeth, pulled his raincoat tighter and set out anyway.

It was like he hadn’t been living on Dantooine for the past year and a half. He was directionless, as if all the memorized paths, landmarks, and shops had been washed away with the rain. There was no departing vehicle, no lights, and no indicator of where the woman had gone.

Defeated, Rex looked up into the sky with his eyes closed, letting the rain fall over his face and streak through his hair. His chest had knotted itself and his knees threatened to buckle under the torrential downpour.

But Rex stood firmly, shoved his hands into his pockets, and let the rain soak him to the bone as he walked towards the small town.

He spent the remainder of his morning stopping by every establishment there was until the shopkeepers started closing up due to weather. The folks he did manage to speak with hadn’t seen her and each tried to hand him an umbrella or invite him inside until the storm passed.

He declined.

Straggling passersby still caught in the rain gave him funny looks as they ran to get to cover. Rex was in no such hurry.

The overgrown road that led to his tiny home was taken in the shortest possible strides. He did not wish to return there, especially not to a datapad he knew would have no messages on it. He had half a mind to turn back to the restaurant if he didn’t think they’d already closed up like everyone else.

Rex stepped into his home and was greeted by the sound of dripping water. He sighed deeply, unmoving in the doorway until he could suppress the viscous tears that taunted him behind closed lids. Once they were managed, his boots and raincoat were discarded, the mess from the leak was mopped, and his helmet was removed from its place under the bed to sit and collect the intruding water.

He watched the rain fill his bucket until it went past the visor before he fell into the awaiting embrace of sleep that was always there to help temporarily subside the pain.

More than anything, Rex wished he could say that he hadn’t woken up early, that he hadn’t gotten up before the neighbor’s nunas began to stir. He wished he could say it wasn’t in his plans to go sit up at the restaurant and wait all day to see if the woman turned up.

Really, he should be using his time to buy paint for his ship as well as a proper bucket for the leak, but neither of those things seemed to matter much at the prospect of running into her.

It was pathetic. He knew that.

He could’ve just saved himself all this trouble if he’d gotten up and used something as an excuse to see her face. But no, Rex chose to be strong when it mattered the absolute least.

His thin blanket felt as though it weighed ten tons when he rose out of bed, dreading vehemently the idea of waiting around all day for nothing — dreading the pit in his stomach he knew all too well when it wasn’t her after all and just some stranger. Rex’s feet hit the worn wooden floor and he rubbed his bleary eyes, aiming first for the refresher and then for his helmet.

A considerable amount of rainwater had been collected in the makeshift-not-makeshift bucket and more was being added still. The rain had yet to cease but it had slowed a great deal. He picked it up carefully and walked it to the door, yawning as he did so. Soft sheets of rain greeted his bare feet as the door slid aside, coming down now in a gentle shower-like way as opposed to yesterday’s storm.

Rex decided that when the rain stopped, he’d call it. He’d tie his mood to it, give himself an allotted period of time to feel this incessant pain before forcing it down again.

He swung his helmet to the left and watched as the water landed on his long-dead flowers, before looking out at the state of the rest of his yard.

The helmet nearly fell from his hands.

A hooded figure was inspecting his ship, an orange hand running across a partially revealed red sigil and skirting across blue paint. Any fleeting thoughts of making a grab for his blasters vanished. Rex knew that hand better than either of his own.

She turned and lifted slightly the hood of her cloak to get a better look at him.

There she was. Then she was as if no time at all had passed. As if she’d been down the road all along.

Ahsoka was dressed in that gray cloak he knew well, with lekku he used to know but that were now nearing her waist. Her montrals were taller than they were last time. He wondered if they’d be eye to eye this time, and if looking her in the eyes would still feel the same as it always did, as he wanted it to — needed it to.

Even from this distance, he could see her bottom lip quiver.

“I had to be sure,” she called out over the rain.

Rex struggled to speak, suffering from having too many words in his mouth and yet not at all.

She glanced back at the Y-wing behind her and ran a hand over the chipped paint job, revealing a bit more of that 501st blue.

“I knew your face as soon as I walked into the restaurant yesterday, but I wasn’t certain that it was the one… that it was the one I had loved,” she continued.

He joined her in the rain now. It was cold on his bare shoulders and worse as it streaked down his torso, but he didn’t shiver, nor did he care he’d be tracking yet more water inside. Rex’s chest tightened and his mouth dried. “Loved? As in the past tense?” he called, water beading on his hair and lashes. Not all of it was from the rain.

Ahsoka shook her head, droplets running off her lekku.

The pause between them was occupied by the steady fall of rain.

“You know the worst thing about love?” he asked.

She nodded, looking briefly at her feet, “That you remember it.”

Rex’s tongue pressed into his cheek and he nodded with her, “I knew from the moment we parted the first time that I’d spend a lifetime missing you.” He waited a bit. “It’s proved true so far. Each time it gets worse.”

He couldn’t tell her tears from the rain, but knew that she was crying. Rex was always aware that it hadn’t ever hurt any less for her. “I never intended it to be that way,” she called.

“I know.”

She stepped closer, weighing her words. “Rex, the hardest thing I’ve ever done is walk away still madly in love with you. There’s not a minute that goes by that I don’t regret it — that I don’t sit and wonder about what you do each day.”

“Well currently, it’s wishing I’d gotten up as soon as I saw you sitting at that booth. I’d know your montrals anywhere. Convinced myself it wasn’t you.”

“And before that?”

“Wishing I never let you say goodbye.”

She swallowed hard. “I have a lot to make up for. I know that. And I know this doesn’t begin to cover it, but do you think I could start with breakfast?” she asked, holding up the takeaway box that was under her cloak. “Mr. Kip told me where I could find you, said you ran out after me.”

Rex couldn’t suppress his smile. “No. Breakfast was covered yesterday. I think you’ll have to get more creative than that today.”

Ahsoka laughed and bit her lip, her eyes overcome with emotion. Shaking his head, Rex dropped his helmet into the flowerbed and all but ran to her, holding her trembling frame to him with possibly too much strength. The box fell. Her arms wrapped under his and he found that she fit better than she ever used to. He removed her hood with desperation and his chin fell into place between her montrals, still having at least one head in height over her. Rex kissed repeatedly the space between her uppermost chevrons as the sobs took control of her body.

The rain slowed to a drizzle and, as he’d vowed earlier, his mood lifted with it. Morning rays peeked out at them from behind the trees, warming their skin.

Being with Ahsoka was like walking into the sun, like walking directly into sunlight after the longest winter.

She pulled away first, though by the look on her face, it seemed to be the last thing she wanted to do. Her eyes were glued to the mangled scar on his chest, momentarily ashamed of looking him in the face.

But Rex’s hand slid under her jaw and moved her to look up at him. “I can’t think of anything better than breakfast with you. We’ve suffered enough, Ahsoka. Come inside. Stay with me until we have no choice but to leave; and even then, stay with me until there are no more planets left to run to. Let’s have breakfast together for as long as this life allows us because life without you is no way to live.”

“I haven’t had breakfast in a year and a half,” she said, tears streaking her cheeks.

Rex wiped them away. “You’re not missing out. It doesn’t taste the same when we aren’t together.”

Ahsoka eyed the slightly crumpled box of food on the ground and Rex picked it up, popping it back into its correct shape and wicking the water from it.

Apologies tumbled from her lips, but Rex wouldn’t hear any of it. She’d fought and offered her aid to the Rebellion until she couldn’t any more; until she was sure they could manage without her and that Rex wouldn’t die if she came home. It was the type of thing he had long since accepted — back when it had been cold on that moon, when rumors of another war began, and battle no longer felt good and he no longer felt invincible unless he was with her. Only one thing stayed the same. Life had still been punctuated with something far greater than love and a woman named Ahsoka.

His eyes did all the asking as he leaned in close. Ahsoka gave the faintest of nods, allowing him to kiss away her apologies; first slowly and then with an energized passion only she could provoke.

And just as he hoped they would, Ahsoka’s fingers found his curls, and he carried her and their very cold breakfast inside, leaving his helmet to become the home for several long years of blossoming flowers.

[meowdei]

option 2 u know the details

# FAILBOY DAZAI OSAMU

Okay so I haven’t watched bsd since the pandemic and I didn’t even make it that far in the first place so there’s not too much for me to go off here besides what I know from you LOL so bear with me:

As far as writers go I think dazai is pretty into dark content especially yandere and maybe pseudocest. He writes a lot of au’s and comes up with a lot creative lore of his own but he’s pretty fond of just sticking to regular good old canon compliant fics too. He’s pretty versatile like that. But I think the best part is that he is insanely good at writing long, and very chilling dark content fics and it’s excellently planned out and paced and he knows it, too, so he’s insanely cocky about his writing 💀 and I also feel like he’s the type of guy who reads a lot of novels and is low key pretentious about it like “that fic was such a wannabe [ insert book ] but obviously they missed the main focal point that the author was trying to make, which is why their fic is so stale and….” And anyone who dm’s him on discord is like bruh . Be quiet you freak LOL. The only thing is that his smut is not bad at all, but not his strongest suit so that’s the only thing he’s a bit self conscious of as a writer.

But he has EXCELLENT characterization of you. He makes banger hc’s and posts them and reblogs them with a drabble underneath and they do numbers without making it to the main tags bc he just says the juiciest and also objectively correct stuff and it makes everyone feral. But he also reads the tags and clenches his fist like “yeah you guys can agree bc I’m always right but . Don’t agree too hard that’s MY girlfriend” LOLLLL. His masterlist isn’t even “[ Fandom ] Masterlist” it’s “Carina Masterlist” and it’s his only masterlist atm because he only fixates on one character at a time per fandom if he’s a fanfic writer and you’re the only one for god knows how long it’s been so he’s never even made a general fandom masterlist. It’s just you LMAO.

He’s vehemently no sharing. Absolutely doesn’t follow any blogs that are Carina selfshippers, absolutely does not let them follow him either LOL he softblocks or hardblocks depending on his mood. He has mad beef with Fyodor LMAO HE VAGUES HIM ALL THE TIME and the best part is Fyodor is maybe the second most, if not just as popular Carina blog, too, but Fyodor writes the actual smut a bit better and makes BANGER FUNNY SHIT-POSTS and it makes Dazai soooo mad bc I don’t see him as being quiet as funny as Fyodor HAHA. And even better is Fyodor hardly ever acknowledges his vague posts but on a rare occasion he makes one that absolutely GAGS Dazai so he has a full blown meltdown on discord to whoever will listen. It’s so funny.

I think he’s always answering hate asks too. He finds them mainly amusing I don’t think he’s the type to really care that much about what ppl say bc again . He’s objectively very very very talented at writing and he knows it—to an infuriating extent, in fact. He knows that his worldbuilding and prose are very impressive and that even the areas he’s weaker in than others, are better than most fics in the tags so in terms of writers, he’s kind of the fandom’s gold mine. The hate asks mainly come for his personality but he just responds like “yeah? And this personality is exactly her type so go cry about it” and he’s borderline delusional 💀

He gets a decent amount of comms, I think. I think he’s a little less creative about the aesthetical visions of the comms and they’re very pretty bc he comms very expensive and talented artists, but his poses and ideas for any backgrounds and props aren’t the most creative—and then someone reblogs Fyodor’s very clever and creative comm with well thought out outfits, scenery, and poses and it makes him SO MAD™️ lollll. His theme is hideous, too. It’s not even simple or lacking, it’s just straight up bad . He clearly tries to make a good theme because you can tell the attempt was there but …… his eye for aesthetics is just so bad like SO SO SO BAD his pictures are old and outdated and low key cringe and they don’t even rly match in color schemes and his ability to organize things and make them pretty and orderly and also just easy to navigate is terrible. So his blog is hideous. But luckily his layout for fics is just title, warnings, and authors note with a divider so it’s simple and basic enough that it’s not an ugly fic that people swipe past LOL. He doesn’t even bother with making a fic header but occasionally if it’s a super long fic that’s near and dear to his heart he will just get a manga panel of you and crop it and add it 💀 he gets hate asks from Fyodor about his boring comms and ugly aesthetics and then he sends Fyodor hate asks about terrible characterization and “it’s so clear you get your opinions from minors on tik tok and reddit” LOLLLLL. He’s pretty unproblematic for the most part like he makes some highly opinionated posts here and there but he doesn’t lurk other blogs nor does he send anon hate out of pettiness but he does send to Fyodor. That’s his exception. He sends Fyodor so much hate and vice versa but they both know it’s each other so if they answer the asks it’s always them passively aggressively just communicating with each other and low key the whole fandom knows it too HAHA

ANYWAY that’s all I have for now if I think of any random extra tidbits will just message you with them bc blogger dazai actually makes me snort so much he’s soooo chronically online it hurts

TY FOR JOINING MY EVENT and for helping my plan it you are my soulmate 🤞

[auberge13]

These two moments are taken from the conversations Jon has with each of his parents before joining the Legion of Superheroes. There is one particularly interesting difference between how Lois and Clark each view the decision.

(Lois Lane 2019 issue #4 and Superman 2018 issue #16)

"doesn't leave you much of a choice, does it?" vs. "I am jealous of... the choices in front of you"

Now, if you're like me, this is the kind of thing that makes you very excited about characterization and storytelling so let's get into it.

Clark is a character who never really felt like being good was a choice that needed to be made. He was raised to be good by Ma and Pa and he is so inherently good that he can't imagine being anything else, let alone choosing to be anything else. Meanwhile, Lois intimately understands that being good is a choice that you have to make over and over again, even when it's hard. Doing good the way she does is constantly challenged, particularly by her father. Her choice to do good costs her that relationship with him, and she isn't able to fully reconcile with him before his death, which is explored intimately in this book (read Lois Lane).

As my friend @fae-morrigan put it while we were discussing this, "I feel you could easily read it in a way where Clark is jealous that Jon's been shown he could be Other Than Good and make an informed choice about Being Good. Where Lois knows that choosing to be good often comes at the expense of other good things (in her case, her relationship with her father)"

There's a key moment in the issue after the above screenshot that really showcases this.

(Lois Lane 2019 issue #5)

It's important to acknowledge that there is no part of Clark that would choose not to be Superman. They're the same guy. Clark would do good anyway in whatever capacity he could, he just happens to have a really large capacity. When he says he is jealous of the choices in front of Jon, it is less about doing or not doing good, but rather about how he's going to do it.

(Superman 2024 issue #1)

My friend @ultfreakme explained this really well. "comparing LOSH to college works like that because Jon's going to college (learning to be a hero), but he gets to pick from a million different majors and fuck around for a bit with a support system to fall back on if he fails. Clark went from high school (regular dude) and straight into a job (being a hero) with no ability to like....try something different."

So that's what we can learn about Lois and Clark from this, but what about Jon? The comics do a really cool thing where they break up Jon's complex thoughts about this choice into multiple conversations with different people. With Lois, Jon expresses the sense of obligation he feels. With Damian, he's able to share his hesitance, even telling him that he doesn't think he wants to accept the invitation at first. Finally, with Clark and Imra, he's able to feel his excitement about this new step in his life. It is all very college! I felt all of these things before I left too! But beyond that, this is also a great example of the way Jon will compartmentalize his issues and limit his vulnerability depending on who he's talking to. He has a tendency to minimize his own feelings in order to make other people more comfortable, which you can really see in the different things he's willing to express with each person.

Anyway, I think there's more to be said here and I'd love to hear what other people think about these moments, but I'll call it here. Moral of the story, read Lois Lane 2019 and then create something for the Jon Kent Week Mama's boy prompt- the Jon and Lois in that book are top tier. Also, if you've gotten this far you clearly like this kind of analysis so here's my post about why they aged up Jon. When I posted it Tumblr had put me in jail and turned me into a robot (wow Absolute Power is so immersive!) so it didn't show up in the tag. Sorry for the plug but I'm a little bitter about it lol.

[simp4konig]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞!! 🎄🎁

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️

It's Christmas! I myself am celebrating for a three-day period with my family 😊, and I wanted to celebrate it with everyone here, too! ☺️🫶❤️

Was wary that I wouldn't write this in time, but, thankfully, I wrote it *just* in time! 🙇🏼‍♀️

I want to take the time to thank everyone for this amazing year I've had! 💫🚀✨🌠 I created this account around mid-August, with my first post being on the 17th/19th (if you can count an anonymous reblog as a post 🤭), and in less than half a year, I've made so many memories and had so many memorable interactions that I cherish and will cherish from here onwards.

Thank you to all my followers (all 412 of you!!!! 😭😭😭😭💕💕💕💕💞💞💕) for deciding to follow this profile of mine.

I acknowledge updates haven't always been regular, and I know that I have not posted a fanfiction in nearly two months, but I want you all to know that with the new year, I will best this year's best and do even more of my hardest to give you regular updates. No official promises, though. I don't make promises, but I *do* give my own devotion. 🤧💔

I honestly feel so horrible for having an inactive account, and from the bottom of my heart, please accept my apology. I promise to do better, and do more for you all. 😓

Still, thank you to all of my followers that like my posts on a regular basis! I see you, and appreciate you. 👀💞

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️

And, I would like to devote an entire section to all of my mutuals. You people all mean a *lot* to me, and I thank you all for just being here 🥹🥹❤️🙏❤️❤️✨:

Thank you, @puff0o0🎅.

You were the inspiration for this account.

Had you not inspired me with your Self-aware AU series, and your COD works, I doubt I would have written anything. But it was you, your character, and your writing, that inspired me to write my own works, and I'm so happy to have you here, eventhough, I'll admit, I'm a total POS at times and tell you to kill yourself every day <33

I genuinely appreciate you so much, and I'm glad that you're not only a mutual, but someone that I can call a friend. I still remember how excited I got when you followed me back! 🥹🥹🥹🥹💓💓💕💞💞💞💞💓💓🤧🤧💕💕💕💕💕

It's an honour for me, really, and, although I'm not the best at words sometimes, please, I want you know that you've made a meaningful impact on my life.

Thank you, @simpforkonig🎄.

You were one of my earliest mutuals and I had really enjoyed talking to you.

I see you 👀, liking my fanfictions and posts eventhough some of my posts are downright unhinged. 🤗💫

I'm thankful to have you as a mutual, a silent presence that makes me smile. 🥰❤️

Thank you, @abysslovesyou🦌.

It is *ME* that loves *YOU*, btw!! 😽💓💕🙈💖✨💞💕💕

I will forever remain your No.1 Appreciator™. 🦸🏼‍♀️🦸🏼‍♀️🌠

My interactions with you always brought a smile to my face, and I will always dedicate my works to you even if you are not tagged anymore.

Thank you so much for your kind words, and your encouragement. It all has meant, and still means, a lot to me. I hope that I can get around to finish all your RQs before I am rotting on my deathbed LMAOO 💔💔⚰️🥀🧟‍♀️🪦

Thank you, @aethelwyneleigh27🍪🥛 (thank GOD🙏 even tho im atheist 🛐, that my phone had your user saved. With my dinosaur arms🦖, it'd have taken me YEARS to type your name out ☠️☠️💀).

You are genuinely one of the loveliest people I've ever met. 🥹🥹💓 You are so kind to me, so genuine, and it's not often that one meets someone like you.

I still remember how I had short circuited when, when I went to follow you, it displayed that we were mutuals and you had been following me all along, like??? 😭😭😭 What an honour????? 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓 AND THEN YOU ADDED ME TO YOUR TAGLIST AND I WAS LIKE AAAAAAAAAAAAADJDJSJSJA😭😭😭😭💘💘💘💘💘💘

Somehow, it's due to your amazing writing that I have fallen HARD for Ghost. 😓 The Dad! Simon series is one that I have been reading lurking from the shadows reading, can't believe I blew my cover my liking your post LOL 🤡. Anyways, thank you for honouring me with your follow. 🥹💓🙏✨

Thank you, @nevadancitizen🎁.

I STILL can't get over that it was ME that inspired someone to write something 💔😭😭✋💗💗💘💘💘💘.

Your fanfictions were and are great! It's an honour to have you as mutual, given your writing is a pleasure to read. ☺️☺️🫶✨

Thank you, @trepaika (no Christmas emoji because you don't celebrate it, so have a cookie 😘🍪).

You're a good friend of mine, and I appreciate you beyond words, even when you say nothing in the group chat aside from sending that GODforsaken gif of Tom Hutcherson 😘😘 LMAO 😭❌

Okay, but in all honesty, you're so lovely to talk to, and I'm glad to have you as a mutual, and friend. 🥹💖✨✨💓💕💕

Thank you, @skeletalgoats☃️, for... erhmmm?... being SO unhinged that you aren't even connected to the door frame, I guess? 💀☠️☠️

OKAY, but seriously, you're hilarious. I find your energy infectious, and even thought I do a double take when I see the stuff your little noodle has boiled, I like it this way. 🤧🤧💖

Thank you, @nightlyvoidz🍻.

I may not know you well, and you may not know me well, either, but you're genuinely the most sweet person I've met.

To me, you're wholesome, and I think you're really lovely. 😇💓

Thank you, @dobaddo🐻‍❄️.

Please forgive how tumblr wants to cockblock our conversations by refusing to send me notifications 💔💔😔🙏 That aside, I think you're really funny, and I love how we have loads in common (ehhh, stuff I won't list for obvious reasons 🥶🥶). It's a great day when we actually have the occasion to talk a little, about everything and nothing HAHA 😝🩷🩷💓💞

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️

And, finally, I would like to thank for a final time all of my followers: the oldest, the most recent, the ones that check in on me, the ones that lurk from the shadows, the ones that like my posts, the ones that reblog, and especially the ones that leave comments. I appreciate each and every one of you. Thank *YOU*! for blessing me with my own little corner of the internet. 🥰🫶❤️❤️❤️🙌✨✨❤️

Have a wonderful Christmas (or, a wonderful time if you don't celebrate it💪💪😎😎💯🙌)

Until next year! 🚀

[pangolin-404]

Im honestly really worried for ranboo. Most people that get this big on the internet either get desensitized to stuff and become a bit of an asshole (or a full asshole) or get destroyed because of how much they care. Ranboo seems to be heading towards the second category and I wish for them to be okay

[post]

I really have no idea where I see Ranboo going from here. There are plenty of big creators who do good (Jacksepticeye's Thankmas, MCC charity events) and to me, the Particles for Palestine event was like that. A big creator utilizing their platform to raise awareness and charity. I... genuinely I don't see how people are so upset with Ranboo over . what? Not doing more? Not coming out with in-depth, nuanced reactions to global events? When they probably knew as much as you or I did.

Yes he broke promises, he is not a guiltless victim; he kept playing TLOU2 even after told of its inspiration, he didn't do as much charity as he said he would, and it's good he's acknowledging that, but this visceral reaction to him runs deeper than that, it looks like? I feel like he should stop raising peoples' expectations and over-promising; he's one guy, he's young.

I know it's probably mostly in Twitter--in the Tumblr tags, the worst I saw was a couple people calling them spineless (sorry Ranboo, but good lird, he is a little bit spineless for not telling people to stop idolizing him). But I can't wrap my head around the logic behind people going after his ankles.

Now, I personally can't think of anyone fitting the "get destroyed" option you claim has happened, Anon. So I'll be honest I think it's a little bit overdramatic, but I agree with you in that I'm also worried for Ranboo.

I worry that a whole nonprofit will be too much for them. That is a whole organization, and even if they have others working with them, that is a lifelong commitment. This is something he cannot back out of (or he will be making another empty promise) or give to someone else to handle (he said he would be active in it).

Ranboo has Generation Loss/Chronicle 0, White Noise, The Sorry Boys (if that still exists. please it's been months,), his usual streams and YouTube videos, and his own personal life and self to tend to. Genuinely, I worry a whole entire nonprofit organization that intends to address very heavy topics will break the camel's back. I don't know what that will look like, but I doubt it'd be great for his mental health and anxiety (and I worry talking too much about that, lest I get parasocial, if I haven't already!).

(I'll be honest, I don't expect the organization to go anywhere past its first few months of existence; if it does, it will be without their major role in it, or they'd be stretched too thin. I feel bad for saying that.)

All due respect to him, of course, but he is a variety gamer on twitch dot teevee, and I do not understand why people demand more and more charity and apology from him when his job is to play video games and make people laugh.

I get why people want him to state his stances, to be assured he supports Palestine. To be vocal about a tragedy happening. I get why people expect a charity stream during pride month, or an eventual donation to somewhere to help during a disaster. What I do not understand is how this isn't enough for some people.

to quote something I said when talking to a friend about this: I think he should tweet "yall need to respect me as a regular everyday person and stop seeing me as a paragon" and delete twitter and turn off the internet in his house

[halorocks1214]

okay so i just steamrolled thru detective pikachu returns over the past 2 days because i was sick and had nothing else better to do and right after finishing it i went into the tags and WOWIE the negative reception is very large!! i do understand and even agree with some of it but i just felt the need to get my own thoughts down (again. sick with nothing better to do) so take a peek under readmore for very typical elongated halo ramblings about his fave video game series

for the record i never played the first game (only watched a few clips of it on youtube even) but i did go see the movie in theaters. just figured i'd mention this ahead of time so my favoritism is known and to prevent myself from coming off as a perfectly unbiased reviewer

BEWARE THE SPOILERS BTW

(post-editing note: it be long under here, you have been warned)

to start off YEAG this game is not worth 50 bucks! the story's pacing is all over the place and is very basic, the graphics are not particularly well refined, the characters' expressions do not fluctuate as much as they should (professor gordon in particular ;-; i felt so bad for him), and the voice acting outside of merloch and detective pikachu himself are kinda phoned in! it felt like an early 2000s 4kids dub for real. even the gameplay aspects themselves were rather meh in presentation; the button hitboxes were annoying to deal with and as cool as i thought the "main" mechanics were they were incredibly clunky and the tension they tried to build up in the "solving the case" climaxes was just Not It. there was absolutely no reason for the loading/pauses to take that long

(the pokemon gimmicks were okay tho. i would die for growlithe)

however, this isn't a problem specific to this game. while i enjoyed scarlet it was definitely not 60 bucks material (and when i went back to it for the teal mask i even went "good lord, did it always run this badly?"). i gotta give credit to detective pikachu, at least this game ran properly for the most part and never crashed on me lmao

while that doesn't negate the criticisms i previously mentioned i simply wanted to say that this is going to be a problem for as long as pokemon keeps making money. this isn't me finger-wagging at anyone in particular (i certainly have no room to talk, i did say i liked scarlet), i just wanted to say: yeah, pokemon has been A Mess

"but halo!" you cry. "you talked like the negative reception was overblown! what gives the giant negative paragraph??"

because much like scarlet, i still really enjoyed this game sdfjnsdk. how can i say that with confidence, though, when i largely agree that there were many, many issues to be had with its performance?

the word of the day: expectations

and perhaps this is where my bias comes into it. whenever i play a spinoff game (like snap or pokepark for instance), i don't really go into it for mindblowing gameplay and stories, i do it for the same reason this series has kept me enraptured for over a decade of my life:

the pokemon themselves!!

there are SO MANY little things that the regular games don't go into, and while i have my own headcanons and OCs i can play off of, it is so much fun to see actual canon material acknowledge certain things you've only ever theorized about!!

the whimsicott were so fun to watch float around, the article asking where a furret's tail began and ended made me laugh out loud, the fact that they went hard into the "slowpoke tails are eaten as food" thing, and the "let's not get into that right now" jokes about venonat hunting other pokemon and dusknoir eating souls LIKE. i LOVE when pokemon goes into its more "serious" aspects. i know main series games do it too occasionally but outside of offhanded mentions or pokedex entries, do they go this hard into them? if they do and i'm just stupid pls tell me about it i'll eat that shit up

being reminded of less-talked-about pokemon is always a plus and how can you not pop off when you see one of your faves included in the story? (INTELEON AND WOOPER I'LL KICK THEIR ASSES 4 U) it's simply fun immersing yourself into the world of pokemon and getting a glimpse of what it would be like to have pokemon walking down the street and how that affects everyday life! maybe the story is basic, but it served its purpose and i had fun going along with it!

perhaps it's just my mental illness talking, but walking around and seeing all the pokemon and THEN doing the quiz girl's quizzes was actually kinda nice! even if the puzzles weren't that hard, i can't lie and say i didn't pump my fist when i guessed where the mystery was going like with cramorant swallowing the jewel or how the passimian statues needed to hold different berries. overall, i just enjoyed being reminded of how much i know and what i love about this series

also, the ways they incorporated the movie were pretty baller. i liked how they didn't just do a repeat of the mewtwo plot from the movie and let me tell you, even tho i called it early on, i liked that my suspicions about the aurora drop being deoxys were confirmed!! (i suppose it's not that hard to guess bcs what other pokemon comes from space, but i just recently finished playing omega ruby again and i normally don't think about deoxys a lot so LET ME HAVE THIS)

plus "i heard they made a movie about the R case" MADE ME SCREAM. i thought they were just going to ignore the movie and do their own thing but then they DID THAT. incredible. you can call my expectations low (which is valid) but holy fuck

so the TLDR for those who want this: if you want a sweet but cliche game exploring the world of pokemon with a lot of funny moments + worldbuilding, then this game is perfect for you. if you want a game with a groundbreaking story with graphics to boot, then yeah, you're not gonna find it here. i've even seen people say their own nostalgia of the original spinoff wasn't enough to get them to enjoy this game, so take my words with a grain of salt

i would say just watch compilations of the game on youtube, but not every youtuber is gonna go fully exploring the game for all of its little details, so if you care about that kind of stuff, buying the game is your best bet. also if you don't care about that kind of stuff then you should just ignore the game altogether etc etc anYwAY

as for a TLDR for the TLDR: new pokemon snap is goated and i would say a more enjoyable experience than this game esp if you didn't like it so PLEASE buy it the game's only 30 bucks and you can throw treats at pokemon PLEASE it has so many sidequests and interactions you can partake in PLEASE i prommy i won't bite PLEASE stick your fingers in my enclosure PLEASE PLEASE PLE

[these-emo-thoughts]

Two if you don't mind! Jeff 5+1 & Owned

First off, thank you again for the tag!! I was going through my WIP's and really was enjoying it 🥹 sometimes we just need little reminders haha

To answer!!

5 + 1 (Jeff centred, Pit Babe)

Originally this was going to be a bit of an angst piece (because let's face it, this is my hell and I've made a home in that genre 🥲) but of course with a happy ending

The main idea was Jeff being acknowledged as the pack omega but feeling conflicted about it since he didn't feel good enough for that role

And ofc the + 1 time was when he realises just how much he's needed and happily accepts that he's home klasdklfjlaks

The 5 scenario ideas included: taking care of a sick character (either Alan or Charlie), wound-tending (Kim after he's been training), advice giving (to Babe or to Sonic/North), nesting (to comfort Kenta / OR Way - I always write Way in these and change his narrative LOL sorry I'm Way/Supanut trash), and being a helpful little angel (just having everything anyone needs at any given moment, eg, food, medicine, a shoulder to cry on, etc)

The title I'm not happy with - I basically put it down so that I wouldn't lose the idea, but I'll post it here anyway! It was: "5 times Jeff was the pack omega + the 1 time it mattered most"

Owned (King/Uea, Bed Friend)

This started after I received this message from my friend/co-worker about the latest episode we had watched for Bed Friend: “If I were King I would make Uea wear that collar all day just so that Krit knows who he belongs to.”

That line did things to me so :""")

The outline is that when the new manager Mr Krit comes onto Uea at work for the nth time, he freaks out so bad that he starts thinking it would be better if he could definitively say he has a boyfriend - except, that's not what Uea and King decided on and he's conflicted about even bringing it up because that would mean accepting that he was getting feelings for King and ofc Uea can't be doing a silly little thing like that. But the harassment gets worse and King notices and proposes a way to shake Mr Krit off Uea's back - by having him wear his collar at work, so that the creep sees that Uea's taken. While it complicates their 'friends with benefit' agreement, they're both way too into it and collar-wearing starts becoming a more regular things for Uea.

Some lines I really liked when working on this!! In their few weeks of sleeping together, Uea had come to realise that King didn’t want him to be an unwilling participant in his fantasies, didn’t want him to be forced into an unpleasant and unenjoyable situation; it was just a proposal, an idea, and the ball was in Uea’s court to either accept or decline. And Uea knew that King would understand if he declined. It was dangerous, feeling happy. Bad things happened to Uea so frequently that happiness always came with conditions. It made Uea’s heart swell with the feelings for King that he was desperately trying to ignore. Agreeing to King’s request came very easily after that, and Uea had experienced a night unlike any other. He may have been the one wearing the collar, but he was definitely the one in control. King was utterly enamoured by him, and Uea had never felt so valued.

Hope you enjoyed that!!

[omegaremix]

25 Vinyl Records That Influenced My Vinyl Collecting Habits.

‘Top ten’ lists - they were so commonplace on social media before the pandemic that half of the people you knew participated in them. Your friends involuntarily posted lists of their top ten favorite albums, songs, movies, sports moments, video games, books, or whatever came to mind. Then they’d nominate you to do the same if you even cared. All of a sudden they stopped and for a few months everyone did tournament brackets. These days no one does either. Now, tag a band and see if they acknowledge you exist, solve a simple math problem where everyone with a Facebook diploma in mathematics are out to prove you wrong, or answer some useless questions to find out what your new gang initiation name is by removing your first and last letter and any surviving vowels.

But I don’t care about childish entry-level entertainment that everyone will forget about five minutes later. I’d watch Fox News for that. Longtime Ω+ followers know our ‘top tens’ are much more than that: they are playlists, mixtapes, end-of-year finds, and best-of decade results. That’s what I’m into. I’m into what’s important and that’s identifying with people. It’s not a contest or a be-all-end-all game of right-or-wrong. It’s all fully subjective. Without personal results, how special or unique would these lists be?

The last survey I was nominated to do was from WUSB’s Mister Edison, the station’s only cylinder aficionado in its’ 45-year history: top ten vinyl records that influenced your collecting habits. I did volunteer to do it and I was halfway there, then somehow along the way I deleted it. Now, here it is. But, instead of a top ten, we’ll do a top twenty-five because I’m compulsive and 10 is not a square number. All records shown here regardless of size, speed, color, or print run are those that have changed not only my record-collecting habits but also have shaped my musical tastes to an extent.

The record that started it all? KMFDM’s “Power” 12”. It was the very first vinyl record I bought with my own money, just mere months after purchasing most of its discography in one shot at my local record store. I ordered it from the TVT / Wax Trax mail order - my very first mail-order to be exact - numbered to 3,000 copies as a single-sided etched vinyl record in a clear plastic silk-screened jacket. That also came with Underworld’s “Rowla”. Shizuo’s High On Emotion e.p. was my third. Found at what was Port Jefferson’s Music Den, that’s a record I had to have at first sight because I knew it was extremely rare. Glad I made the right call because I never saw it again. Even though I didn’t have a turntable, I bought them anyway thinking I could hold on to them until I finally got my hands on one. Turned out my ma’ and dad had one: a wooden box smaller than the records it played. It literally had no sound and was deemed almost unplayable, so a close “friend” of mine gave me his father’s 1972 Panasonic and a copy of Autechre’s We Are R Y 12”. I was now in business.

From there, another one-time pressing of theirs, the “Keynell” e.p., introduced me to the panic of now-or-never buying. Booth & Brown collectors know how insanely rare their limited edition e.p.’s are and also how they and Warp divided up their Cichlisuite and Envane e.p.’s in two parts. And that was nothing to when Aphex Twin released not one, not two, but eleven e.p.’s as the Analord series through his Rephlex label. Ten regular platters and two versions of Analord 10: either you got the Aphex logo picture disc or, if you were really lucky (we mean that in a literal sense), one that came with the Analord binder which is fetching impossible prices right now. Some of them even came with the mythical Analogue Bubblebath 5. We’re just happy to have purchased all eleven editions for regular price when they first came out. Amazingly in that same year, I did my first-ever label run and purchased $300.00 worth of vinyl and disc releases from DHR.

The first hardcore record I got my hands on - Kill Your Idols’ This Is Just The Beginning - was also the very first music purchase I made at any show. Three years after one of my close friends introduced me to Sick Of It All and hardcore / punk in general, This Is Just The Beginning flung the doors wide open for crushing similar-styled tough-guy finds. Most Long Island record stores sold them when they came in, and places like Hicksville and Centereach’s Utopia (when they did sell them) offered many easy one / two / three-dollar bargain bin purchases of many 7” records, 45’s, and 12” LPS. The Howards & Checkerboard Charlie split is one example of that and one of many local acts I possess. Jemini The Gifted One’s “Funk Soul Sensation” is the only hip-hop record on the list. Ten years ago I re-discovered golden-era hip-hop and realized there was a treasure trove of white-label and 12” singles I never heard of from that time. Those hip-hop / rap singles can be found on the cheap in the same manner as those discount hardcore records. I’ll be on a life-time hunt for them as at this point I don’t have enough of them.

It’s no surprise to see that more than half of this list is made up of Seventies’ jazz / fusion records. If not for Lonnie Liston Smith & The Cosmic Echoes Astral Traveling, I would not have the size of vinyl library I have now. One of our former hip-hop dee-jays at the station played “Expansions”, “Aspirations”, and “Colors Of The Rainbow” and those three cuts literally changed my life. It opened up an avenue for me to re-discover who I was and revisit a certain era of time I missed out on. From that point on, it was all about that era’s sounds, sampling, and personal favorites. John Tropea’s A Short Trip To Space, Les McCann’s Music Lets Me Be, and Roy Ayers’ A Tear To A Smile - those three records define my final years at Stony Brook. Phil Upchurch’s 1979 solo outing, Stuff’s self-titled debut, Emily Remler’s Firefly, Steve Khan’s The Blue Man, Ramsey Lewis’ Tequila Mockingbird, Eric Gale’s Multiplication, and Ronnie Laws’ Pressure Sensitive tie me in and keep me connected to those years.

Karla Bonoff’s Restless Nights and Urbie Green’s The Fox influenced my collection in an amusing way. I had no idea who both artists were until I pulled them out of the bins. What had me purchase them? I bought Restless Nights and The Fox solely based on the year of release (1979 and 1976 respectively). One listen of each and I knew I made two right calls.

Remember when we posted our entry about our close friend Syke who rescued a pile of old records from being thrown out to the curb? Of the 500+ he found, he gave us 50 and we still have most of them. We selected Pete Shelley’s “Telephone Operator” as a reminder of that free giveaway.

I could list both volumes of the original Dirty Dancing motion picture soundtrack which my ma’ had, her only surviving childhood vinyl record of Disney’s Cinderella, or The Pac-Man Album 12″ picture disc written by Patrick McBride and Dana Walden. But those three mentions aren’t influential; just early Atari-youth memories. My first-ever childhood memories I still remember (not photographed) are also vinyl-related: J. Geils Band’s “Centerfold” and The Cars’ “Shake It Up”; the latter which I have in my possession and are the markers of all classic rock records I own around that era. (Think Dire Straits and Donald Fagan’s The Nightfly to name a few.)

Another Atari-youth moment I remember is The Chambers Brothers’ A New Time, A New Day. My dad cut out the album sleeve and used it as a paper holder in our garage. That very record made me think of whatever few platters I remember him having before he sold his entire vinyl library and our library of Atari 2600 games…for a paltry $50.00. “He needed the money” he told me; which is always a pathetic man’s answer to everything. Had he’d seen how enthusiastic I was into music collecting, he would’ve handed his entire collection to me. Roberta Flack’s Quiet Fire, Kiss’ Rock & Roll Over, and The Rolling Stones Sticky Fingers and Their Satanic Majesties Request were the four in his collection he parted with and I have three of them, not including The Chambers Brothers release. He tried to make it up to me, however, by bringing home two separate piles of records he rescued from the curb. One heap was full of polka records which I donated to WUSB’s resident polka lady before she died the same year. The other heap? Since you didn’t ask: loads of classic hippie rock records, showtunes, and celebrity albums. Jim Nabors on wax? Stop before I deactivate this account.

Finally, Boulders’ Rock & Roll Will Never Die. Look it up and you’ll see it’s a near total obscurity only confined to hipster circles who know what’s up. A five-track Wharf Records release picked up for less than $3.00 is the one 12" that may as well get me into the Discogs purchasing game for all rare releases (not found in stores) I’ve been looking for in the past seven years. I’ve played many of them on Omega WUSBand soon after bought a substantial chunk of their discographies in one shot (three Happy Meals / Free Love LP’s and three Black Marble discs, for example). As a nice side effect, it’ll be the the same for cassettes as well such as Believer/Law’s Matters Of Life And Death and JS Aurelius’ Machines Water The Plants Now - if the seller’s price is right, that is.

Notice how we went from KMFDM to Boulders? You can’t get any more disparate in styles and worlds between the two. The first purchases, public library finds, donations, record fairs, mail orders, samples, jazz-fusion and soul, hardcore and hip-hop buy-outs, record-store victory tours, and many other moments I might have missed…that’s 25 years of buying vinyl records spanning many different collecting eras and genres for me. That’s only one format, and also not counting acquiring music by other means such as radio and downloads which also shaped my collection. The bingo board jumble you see is only a tiny pinch of my musical tastes and not the whole story of my listening habits that’s usually broadcast on Omega WUSB or always posted here on Ω+.

After making this list, I’m reminded that I’m the most diverse person I know. I’m proud that my low-lying threshold for accepting and liking sound and concept allowed me to make that diversity into a science and have that mind-blowing knowledge I have of it. I’m as consistent, thorough, and far-reaching as I possibly can while hitting as many targets as possible. Would there be more bingo boards like this? Only if I make sure of it.

Phil Upchurch: self-titled

Lonnie Liston Smith: Astral Traveling

Karla Bonoff: Restless Nights

Steve Khan: The Blue Man

Chambers Brothers: A New Time, A New Day

Emily Remler: Firefly

Boulders: Rock And Roll Will Never Die

KMFDM: “Power”

John Tropea: A Short Trip To Space

Les McCann: Music Let’s Me Be

Shizuo: High On Emotion

J. Geils Band: “Centerfold”

Aphex Twin: Analord 10 picture disc

Jemini The Gifted One: “Funk Soul Sensation”

Roy Ayers: A Tear To A Smile

Ramsey Lewis: Tequila Mockingbird

Pete Shelley: “Telephone Operator”

Autechre: “Keynell”

Kill Your Idols: This Is Just The Beginning

The Cars: Shake It Up

Ronnie Laws: Pressure Sensitive

Stuff: Stuff

Eric Gale: Multiplication

Urbie Green: The Fox

Checkerboard Charlie b/w The Howards split

[jaderimehardt]

👋🏻 So, I ended up not drawing anything for that character's birthday.

I did think of a pose about a day and a half ago but that isn't enough time for me to actually get anything drawn out and colored. I'm too slow and I set myself to too high of standards. Plus factor in irl things and my lack of motivation... 🫠 *shakes head*

If I feel bad about it, it's for a couple of mutuals who like him as much as I do, or more- even. I've kind of grown super attached to a certain B🔹L🔹E🔹A🔹C🔹H boi, to be completely honest with you (I'm bypassing the tagging system with the 🔹's).

They still draw him every year on his birthday, and one even bi-weekly almost. She has supported me every time I draw him by re-tweeting my artwork on Twitter. Probably the only person who acknowledges me like this on a regular basis. The other person supports me also on a bit of a lesser scale, and she draws him often too, but I think she struggles with confidence in her art like I do.

It's not an easy thing... "having confidence" in one's own art. And when you don't see likes or favorites on your art, that confidence drops tremendously. You feel like you've done something wrong. You try to figure out 'what' you did wrong, and when you can't find it- you just want to give up. It's a sinking feeling.

But inevitably most artists pick up the pen or pencil again and draw once more because it's something we love to do. The thing is, this time we're less likely to share it because of that lack of confidence. This is what has been happening to me slowly over the past couple of years (and to a couple friends of mine as well).

People don't seem to realize this.

"Where did all the fanart go?"

Well, you all got so picky with favoriting things, they lost motivation and stopped posting. What did you expect?

If and when I post things, I have a fear of tagging it. 💠 Well if you don't tag it, no one is going to see it- and then you really won't get likes/faves. ⚜️ Yeah no kidding. but then I have a logical reason for WHY no one likes it. Like Twitter, I get under 10-30 impressions on most my posts even with tags. At the very least if it's posted, it's on record/in my portfolio of sorts. It exists in my history somewhere.

I removed all of my stuff off of my DeviantArt a couple years ago. Now I'm sure when I post things people question if I'm genuine or not because they have no history to look at- no 'portfolio'. Though if they went to my Wordpress Blog, they'd see that I've been drawing and posting my stuff for a long time. But no one is going to go and look into me that far in-depth. "Guilty until proven innocent" means nothing when all they want to do is prove you guilty.

That makes me even more hesitant to post things- but I do have all my PSDs with individual layers, so I can always provide proof whenever necessary. And I know where my posts are, with timestamps and dates. I can defend myself. That's all that matters to me.

I made this blog to "be more creatively unhinged" and to "be ramble-y". That includes putting my thoughts out into the open, "having proof on paper", so to speak.

I also want to show people the path that I'm taking, so if they're interested in taking it- they can. But everyone learns differently. Everyone has a different style. I may absorb information one way and apply it in this manner, while someone else may learn it in a completely different way and apply it in a polar opposite format. It's all a matter of who you are, perspective and variables.

So... one day (or a string of days), I'll post a bunch of videos. I did this a few days ago actually, lol. These are learning tools. Other days I may make tutorials (I used to make a lot of these but then I deleted that blog). Some days I'll promote my Etsy shop (this might happen the most, tbh)- featuring a lot of my Resin things, and graphics I'm working on. And on rare occasion some fanart because I'm at the lowest of low with that atm.

If I do anything fanart I'm thinking my OC's... 🤷🏻‍♀️. People dislike OCs, I'm aware of that but it's not like many people (if any) like my stuff anyways. They say to draw for self-satisfaction. I think it's time to follow that.

And I 💓 H🔹I🔹T🔹S🔹U to death, but his hecking fluffy hair man 🫠. I did my best with his hair in my last fanart- spent hours perfecting the lineart... honestly I was so proud of it. But apparently it wasn't everyone's cup of tea 🤷🏻‍♀️. It is what it is. (I'm still happy with it. I love his hair, please never change it Kubo-san 💝)

I might doodle a lot of the Loomis Method heads cause I like drawing faces. Poses/bodies not so much. In time I'll work my way to the poses but I just want to mindlessly doodle. (I hate drawing hands 😒)

Btw here's another vid on that, and I like this one so much better.

I also want & need to do a full graphic image for a puzzle. My Mom and my Step Dad are really big into puzzles right now and they're just passing them around with all their friends. Like some puzzle group, lol 😅

I think it'd be cool to actually design one myself, buy it from my Partner- Printful, gift it to them, they can complete it and then they can pass it around.

Mother's Day and Father's Day isn't that far away. I just have no clue what to make the graphic, lol. All the things they like are copyright and I'm not crossing into those waters.

I need to find something generic 🤔💭

[prismatoxic]

so, back in, like... january? i was between fandoms. my most recent interest hadn't panned out in a way i found satisfying--i liked the media fine enough, but attempts to engage with the fandom largely went nowhere, and the only person i was really sharing the space with (my partner) was falling out of being super focused on it, so i ended up following suit. we both kind of just returned to being into our own OCs for a while.

there's this post i saw recently--something about how the act of your art being perceived is, for many of us, part of the process of making art. the work isn't complete until it's been acknowledged. you have worth, anon, and your work matters, but i fully understand how empty it feels to go unnoticed, to be unseen.

in february i became aware of something newer: an anime adaption for a long-running manga that wrapped up last year. (yes, it's obvious what i mean, but that's not what this post is about.) i told my partner it looked interesting, and by the end of the month we finally watched it. we'd both fallen into a creative slump post-last fandom, even with our OCs to play with; within days of starting this anime, we wanted to do things with it.

the sting of being kind of a nobody in the last space made me feel like maybe i'd be better off staying away from fandoms. it wasn't anybody's fault, after all; it just made me sad, and i was better off avoiding situations where i'd feel that way. (and obviously, in worse states of self image, such a thing can make you feel quite worthless.) i didn't intend to try and get into this fandom. the ship i liked had 11 fics on ao3, and i only ended up checking the tumblr tag because i wanted to see what fanart there was.

it was... more than i was expecting! i'd been distancing myself from tumblr, but i was captivated by all the art and posts for what seemed like a rarepair, and everyone was actually interacting with each other. i wasn't hopeful, though. i told myself i would still go unnoticed, and it would hurt all the more for glimpsing this shimmer of a community i'd love to be in. i started reblogging fanart of the ship--i went all the way back in the tag, there still wasn't that much--and followed a few people who posted about it, but i intended to sit on my hands, do my own thing and try not to expect much.

it started with one person. i'd been having some really surface level interactions with reblogs and meta posts, but i got to talking with someone about the ship, someone who was also relatively new to the fandom but already seemed to know people. i was terrified of the possibility of rejection but excited anyway; we got to talking on discord, and i even shared some of my fears, concerns that i would be a ghost in this fandom too, that my presence wouldn't matter. but talking with them gave me a little bit of hope. i started reaching out to some other regulars in the tag, and people i'd become mutuals with over the aforementioned meta posts and my own nonstop reblogging of ship content.

season one of this anime just ended. there will likely be only two of them; the second one is in production. our ship tag hit 100 fics not too long ago. people love the fic i started writing before i even finished the manga, and i have dozens of people i consider friends, several even close friends, who i met through this fandom. my partner is also in that mix, making his own work and being recognized for it, a welcome member of this community that's built up and solidified around this ship.

i understand how it feels to feel worthless. like a nobody. i have my partner, yes, and the loneliness stings less with someone at your side, but i was still lonely. i'm someone who thrives on validation and community. i wanted a space where people would value what i had to say, and the things i posted, and i had no idea how to make that happen.

it started with one person. ao3cotd is right about that. they're also right about how you should treat yourself--you have to be more gentle, and understand that you're not flawed for not being seen. fandoms are big places. sometimes people fall through the cracks, and it hurts and it sucks, but it's not because there's something wrong with you. you're not a loser; you're a fan, same as everyone else, and you belong in these spaces as much as anyone else does.

you can find your people. i turned 29 this year and this is the first time i've ever felt this involved in a fandom space that made me feel this valued. i've been in other good ones, though, and even there, it started with one person, one hesitantly posted fic, one enthusiastic meta post. you have to exist before people can find you. and they will find you, rarepair or unpopular character or otherwise. but you have to take a step out into that direction first.

don't give up. you have value, as a person and a writer and a fan, and you can do this.

do you have any advice on what to do when you know your writing issues are connected to wanting a community, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t find a community? or you know that if you go ahead and write for the rarepair/fandom/character of your heart, you’ll have no one to write for and look like a total loser? there are some fandoms i want to write for so bad, but i know no one would ever read anything i write, and i can’t find a point in writing when that’s the case.

I really want to give you a hug, anon 💗 You're being so mean to yourself, and you really don't deserve it.

Why are you so sure that no one will read anything that you write? And why do you think you'd be a loser if that were the case?

Community is a really important part of creating for a lot of people. They draw energy and motivation from sharing ideas and getting excited about each other's art. They get inspired by talking to other people about their projects or about the source material or about a shared love of a trope.

But from what you wrote here (and I could be wrong, this is just one paragraph), it sounds like you need a community in order to find your self-worth. You are describing your success or failure, your value or lack thereof in terms of what other people think about you and whether they react to your work.

You are good and important and worth knowing whether other people read your fic or not ❤️❤️

When it comes to finding a community, I recommend starting with just one person. Find someone who's blog you like or whose writing or art you enjoy and reach out to them. Send an ask. Drop a comment. Try a DM. Whatever you're comfortable with, get to know them a little and see if you want to be friends. Once you've got one person, it's easier to find more.

But at the same time that you do that, try to change the way you talk to and about yourself. I know it's hard and it might even feel awkward, but it makes a difference if you can keep it up. It even stops being hard after a while.

Remember that no other person's opinion is more important than your own. You created your work and you understand it best. Your first audience is yourself, after all.

You'll never be able to control what other people do - whether they read your fic or comment on it, whether they like it or hate it or leave a kudos.

Instead of thinking about those things, think about what you can control. Choose what stories you write. Do the things you're passionate about. Celebrate goals like word count or completing a fic or writing a really great line. Those are all achievements too, and none of them depend on the opinions of others.

It is really hard to separate your desire for attention or approval from your desire to participate in a fandom, and it's going to take time to untangle them from each other. But we're all here cheering you on, anon, and we'd love to help you on your way.

[enruiinas]

MOBILE RULES:

GENERAL/IMPORTANT RULES:

This blog is independent, private, semi-selective, and medium to low activity. IC interactions are limited to mutuals only. I will not follow back if there are no easily accessible rules on your blog or I can't see our muses interacting. AU, OC, and crossover friendly but I'm fairly selective with both.

NSFW material will be present on this blog. The mun is 25+ and a fan of angst, dark themes, spicy/smut scenarios, and more. Smut will be tagged nsfw and hidden beneath a banner and a read more; other common triggering themes will be tagged appropriately. Minors MAY interact at their own risk, but note that I WILL NOT write any spicy/nsfw material with a mun under the age of 18 and would prefer not to write ships with anyone under the age of 20 at all. Any minors attempting to engage in nsfw material or caught lying about their age will be blocked on sight.

EXTREMELY IMPORTANT PSA: My muse and overall activity are sporadic. Sometimes I reply to things as soon as they come in; other times it may take me weeks. I go wherever the muse takes me, am prone to hyperfixating on threads, and I openly favor interactions with my affiliates (people I frequently chat with OOC!) I rarely respond to my drafts, asks, etc. in the order they came in. I might like or post meme calls even if I owe things. I might send you memes or unprompted things even if I already owe you things. None of this is meant to be hurtful; it's just how my brain works. For the sake of my mental health and your time, please do not interact if any of these things are a deal-breaker for you.

That said, I like to think I'm a really laid-back RP partner. I'll never rush you for replies, I'm okay with dropped threads, I'm totally fine with (and encourage) you sending me memes or unprompted starters if even if you already "owe" me things... At the end of the day I'm here to have a good time and hope you are as well. Nobody should feel guilt or make others feel guilt over a hobby. If you're feeling it, DO IT - if you're not, you're not. Full stop, no explanation needed.

November 28 2023: This blog’s URL was formerly misfitsandmusings-x, a temporary blog I resorted to when my main (misfitsandmusings) was shadowbanned and subsequently terminated without explanation back in October. I did put in a ticket and am still hoping Tumblr support will eventually come through so I can recover missing tags, asks, HCs, etc. - but seeing as it’s been a full calendar month with no acknowledgement, I’m not holding my breath! Most people have been understanding about this but I wanted to put this in here so those I’m refollowing know what happened. Though the sideblogs underneath it still seem to exist and I get ghost notifications from the main one on Webhooks, I DO NOT have access to anything that was on misfitsandmusings, thebutterflymansion (my KNY multimuse) or scribbleswithsaro (my short lived meme blog; trying to recreate this at @memesbyme).

HOW TO INTERACT:

If we're mutuals, feel free to send me memes, IC asks, headcanon prompts/requests, like my starter or meme calls, etc.

I'm also really interested in chatting with my mutuals ooc as well! I know this isn't everyone's favorite, but for me I find it easier to write with people I chat with on a regular basis. I'm generally very shy, but I value this so much I am 100% willing to reach out and be the outgoing one if you're shy or don't know how. You can literally just IM me like "Hi I want to talk but I'm shy!" and I will be like -cracks knuckles- "I GOT THIS." Mutuals can add me on discord if they prefer to chat there (@ misfitsandmusings). Please just send me an IM to let me know who you are if you add me!

A note about memes and inbox spam: When I say I welcome inbox spam, I freaking mean it. You can literally send me every prompt on a meme and I will not bat an eye. You can continue sending me memes even if you owe me things or I already owe you things - if the ask box is open and you want to send a thing, do it. As long as you've read "EXTREMELY IMPORTANT PSA" in the section above and are okay with me responding to things in random order or it taking me a while to get to everything, I generally encourage and even dare you to send whatever you feel like sending. If you're a new follower I honestly prefer to receive a few memes at a time. That way if the muse doesn't come right away for one you're not waiting for me as long!

My memes don’t expire. I scroll back through them regularly, so if it’s something I no longer feel like answering I’ll delete it. If it shows up under the meme tag, ifs fair game (though I would appreciate it if you could mention what meme it’s from when you send in an ask! I like to link back to them.)

SHIPPING STUFF - some of this needs to be updated following my shift to a single muse.

The mun of this blog is shipping trash. I'm not only here for ships, but I'm not going to lie, I'm like... 75% here for ships. It's my RP experience and I make no apologies.

Ships are chemistry based and must be discussed beforehand. I will never force a ship or assume you're interested in one even if A ) our muses are together canonically or B ) I have our muses listed as a fave ship. Please don't assume or force a ship on me, either.

As a general rule of thumb, my muses are portrayed as demisexual and demiromantic. They’re way more adventure-driven than pleasure-driven and in most cases I’m going to assume they’re fairly if not completely inexperienced until proven otherwise. (But I’m also self-indulgent trash and will 100% lean into “Law’s a surgeon who’s very good with his hands/anatomy in general okay.) I'm pretty openminded with my ships. I enjoy some toxic dynamics, I'm pretty lenient on age gaps as long as both muses are 18+... I'll add more to this as I think of them but yeah. If you're shy about pitching a ship, feel free to send in an anon ask to see how I'd feel about it.

NSFW memes are open exclusively to people I already ship with. Don't send me spicy stuff unless we've agreed to explore a ship beforehand. If we’ve gushed about a ship in any capacity and are mutually “into it”, that’s good enough. I’m fine with timeline hopping so if there’s a pretty good sense we ARE going to get there, you’re welcome to send shippy/suggestive stuff.

This blog is multi-ship. I don't and will never do exclusives (please don't ask.) I'm more than open to writing the same ship with multiple people so if you see me RPing a ship you'd like to explore already, don't let that stop you from reaching out.

SHIP BIASES (added November 28 2023): My top 3 ships for Law are LawNa (Law x Nami), LawBin (Law x Robin), and LawZo/ZoLaw (Law x Zoro). These are NOT the only ships I’m willing to explore so don’t be afraid to reach out if there’s others you want to know my thoughts on! They’re just my personal favorites. Please note, however, that I absolutely WILL NOT ship Law with either Donquixote brother or any members of his crew.

Other Misc. Notes:

Affiliates are people I talk with OOC a lot! I'm always open to more of these, so if we talk regularly and it's something you'd be interested in just be like: "👀 Affiliates?" and I will be like "Affiliates. -nod nod-" (Like, I think you'll know if we have this dynamic? I'm not subtle/shy.)

I LOVE AUs and playing in each other's verses. I love intertwined muses. If you like one of the threads or verses you see me writing with someone else and you think your muse would be interested in playing / adding to that dynamic, PLEASE DO IT I WOULD LOVE IT. I'm interested in exploring multi (2+) player verses/threads as well! I love canon-divergent "What If" scenarios and building entire AUs from the ground up as well as dabbling in each others' pre-existing verses.

NOTES ABOUT MY PORTRAYAL: I’ll add links to relevant posts later regarding these things later, but the most important things to note about my particular portrayal of Law are that 1. I 100% interpret Law as autistic. He is way more socially awkward than he is bitter/unpleasant (but he does lean into his RBF for the sake of his “big bad scary pirate” persona). He’s undeniably a Little Shit and does have some sadistic tendencies but no, he’s not a bloodthirsty killer. 2. My portrayal is HEAVILY influenced by the Law novel. It features in a lot of my headcanons and Law’s introspection because the time he spent with Wolf and the boys on Swallow Island was every bit as essential to who he is as a person as his own family and Cora-san were (for its own reasons. I’ll write up an analysis on what he took from each of those sources later.) I’ll do my best to tag direct/major events from the novel as #Law novel spoilers but I’m admittedly pretty bad about remembering to do so unless someone has specifically told me they NEED me to be careful with it. Then I’ll be hyper-aware of it, so feel free to yell at me in advance if you don’t want to be spoiled to anything from it. 3. Law is a good person, even if he doesn’t see himself as such. He’s not cruel, he feels strongly about “bad adults” making children’s lives miserable, he doesn’t like killing (he 100% will to protect those he cares about but no, he doesn’t want to).

Further portrayal notes: my grasp of Wano arc lore is pretty weak because I was at the end of a speed read and just wanted to get through it, so Wano based interactions are not my favorite until I get back there in my reread. However, I am technically up to date with all Law-related events up to and including chapters 1081 & 1082. I don’t have a lot of interest in the Egghead arc as a whole, but I’m totally open to exploring the events of those chapters and potential aftermaths in threads!