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jeewrites · 3 days

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Hold Fast | Ch. 5 - Five Courses

Series Master List

Rating: M, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

A/N: Frankie and Sweets finally go on their date! I do not recommend reading this when you are hungry. Ty to @bloviating-vy for beta-ing and providing all the emotional support one needs for writing fanfic lol.

Word Count: ~5.6K

Tags: no y/n, alcohol, gymbff!Benny, OC!Chloé, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short and has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, reader's nickname is Sweets, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, Frankie POV, kissing, making out, gratuitous descriptions of food, Sweets eats like a powerlifter, angst that resolves by the end of the chapter, discussion of previous relationships, implied past abusive relationship (not described), cliffhanger-ish?

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After you leave on Sunday, Frankie spends the rest of the weekend scouring the internet for the latest, fanciest restaurants in the greater metropolitan area. He's determined to make up for canceling on you at the last minute and go all out for you after everything you've done to care for Gabi and him. Tucking into another bowl of your magical chicken noodle soup, Frankie sighs at his laptop after clicking through tasting menu after 7 course menu after kaiseki menu after some weird pop-up dinner theater. Yeah, no. This isn't it.

And a small part, ok large part of him, wants to impress you, but he's at a loss as to how since he doesn't know you well enough. Surely as a doctor you are used to living the good life, dining at fancy places, right? What would not just be good enough for you, but impress you? His phone buzzes with a text from Benny in the group chat about a new PR lift and that's when an idea pops into Frankie's head. After a brief exchange with Benny he shuts his laptop and readies for bed. He has a plan.

Just as you are sitting down to scarf down your lunch later that week, your phone vibrates with a text from your favorite brown-eyed pilot.

[text conversation]

😻🐟: Hey, so what kind of food do you like? 🏋🏻‍♀️: Yes 😻🐟: ???

🏋🏻‍♀️: I have to eat so much to fuel for 🏋️‍♀️, so yeah, I like food. 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🍜🍳🥩🍔🌮🥟🍣🎂🍩🍪🍮🧁🥐🫔🍧 🏋🏻‍♀️: I don't do sandwiches though 😻🐟: Roger that 🫡

😻🐟: Be ready to eat okay? Might want to wear something stretchy. Prepare yourself. 😉 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🫡 say no more. I have the perfect outfit. 😈 😻🐟: Pick you up Saturday at 4:30? I know it's early, but trust me ok? 🏋🏻‍♀️: 💃🏻💃🏻

You spend the rest of your break smiling into your lunch wondering what Frankie has planned for Saturday. The weekend couldn't come soon enough.

On Saturday, at 4:25 PM you hear a soft knock at your front door. Swinging the door open you're greeted by an enormous arrangement of dahlias, a stunning ombre of purple, pink, and fuchsia hues, a grinning Frankie peeking from over the top.

"For you," he says with a winning smile as he hands you the arrangement.

You're speechless. You didn't think he'd remember you whispering to him, nearly three weeks ago, what your favorite flowers are. And how did he know these are your favorite colors? Chase never remembered your favorite flowers despite the years you were together. He probably gave you flowers less than five times in the entirety of your relationship.

"You remembered," you breathe, looking up at him. "Frankie, they're beautiful."

"I do my best to remember the important things," Frankie huffs, cheeks pinking at your compliment. You catch him flick his eyes over your form, biting his lower lip. "And you're prettier than the flowers. You look — wow."

It's your turn for your cheeks to heat before you invite him in for a moment while you find the best spot to place the arrangement (you decide on your dining table so you can look at it every morning while you drink your coffee). The dahlias are arranged like a piece of art, exploding with color against the drab colors of your apartment. You could look at them all day.

"Sooo, where are we going this early?" you venture, finally taking your eyes off of the flowers and running your eyes over Frankie, admiring the way the navy button down shirt stretches deliciously across his broad chest and the khakis he's wearing hugs his hips and thighs. Curls accentuated with product. And surprisingly no hat.

"I'll tell you when we get in the truck," Frankie grins at you.

"Okay, Mr. Mysterious," you huff with a small smile as you grab your bag.

When you get to his truck he insists on opening the door for you and offering a hand as you climb in. As he settles into the driver's seat and starts the truck, he hands you a beige piece of folded card stock, printed to look like a menu. The cover reads, "Frankie's Food Truck Tour" in elegant script across the front.

You gape at him, excitement bubbling up your entire body. "You're taking me on a food truck tour?!?"

"Yup," Frankie responds, popping the 'p.' "Someone might’ve mentioned you love food trucks and hole in the wall restaurants. So I'm taking you to all the best ones I know about."

You're practically vibrating with anticipation as you open the card and gasp at the listed courses on the food tour.

Frankie's Food Truck Tour

First Course - Taco de Carnitas 🌮 Heirloom blue corn tortilla from house made masa, slow braised pork shoulder, pickled shallots, chicharrons

Second Course - Empanada Colombiana Braised beef, potato in fried corn flour crust

Third Course - Sunday Sauce with Fresh Tagliatelle 12 hour simmered ragu with fresh made tagliatelle

Fourth Course - Soup Dumplings ground pork, blue crab

Fifth Course - Gua Bao braised pork belly, pickled mustard greens, toasted crushed peanuts in steamed bun

Dessert - Italian Water Ice

You are so very glad you wore your fancy stretchy clothes because this is a veritable feast of all of your favorite things. You weren't joking when you told Frankie you liked to eat. Plus today's SBD day was max effort sets, so you are ready to inhale some food. But you are also so moved by his thoughtfulness, planning such a creative first date. Who told him about your love of food trucks and hole in the wall spots?

As Frankie eases onto the main road, he swallows before asking, "Does it look okay?"

"Okay? This is amazing Frankie! It's so thoughtful." You look at him with watery eyes. "No one's done something like this for me in a long time." You might have let out a little sniffle because he's glancing at you with concern etched across his handsome face.

"Hey," he soothes, sliding a hand into yours. "It's my pleasure."

He presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. The gesture makes you melt inside at the sweetness. You intertwine your fingers in his, wanting to stay connected to him and you catch him smile when you do.

"Wait, so who told you I like food trucks?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Oh uh, I — I asked Chloé," Frankie's ears reddened at his admission. "I checked with Benny to see when she usually works out at Pope's and, uh, talked to her earlier this week."

You hum in response, impressed that Frankie would voluntarily approach Chloé considering most regulars at Pope's Gym wouldn't dare. She intimidated everyone too much.

"It was weird though. Benny acted like he didn't want me to talk to her until I told him it was to plan my date with you." Frankie continues, tapping the steering wheel.

"Huh," you wonder, filing that bit of information away. "Wonder why."

Frankie shrugs as he pulls the truck into a gravel parking lot. A half circle of food trucks sit just in front of a copse of trees, surrounded by picnic tables. Several other cars pull up shortly after you arrive and a queue starts to form at one of the food trucks on the far end.

"Ready for the first course?" Frankie grins at you as he opens the passenger door.

"Born ready, Frankie," you grin at him with barely contained glee.

By the third course, you and Frankie are both completely relaxed and enjoying each other's company, allowing the conversation to ebb and flow between food truck courses.

The carnitas tacos whet your appetite, a perfect balance of succulent pork shoulder topped with crispy chicharrones. Pickled shallots cut the tender, savory bites with crisp acid that dance along your tongue. Charred tomatillo salsa rounds out the bite. All perfectly wrapped in a freshly griddled blue corn tortilla. You can't help but close your eyes and let out a small moan as you experience the first bite. A cacophony of well-balanced flavors and complementary textures. When you open them again you catch Frankie with a pleased look on his face as he takes a bite out of his own taco.

At the second stop, Frankie asks why you don't do sandwiches as you chomp into a piping hot empanada. The corn flour crust crunches with satisfaction giving way to the tender braised beef and fluffy potato filling. Steam curls from the opening of the empanada, a testament to how freshly made it is.

"I mean, why would I want something slapped between two slices of bread when I can have this?" you respond as you gesture to your half eaten empanada. "It's just as portable and tastes a billion times better."

You scoop some of the red salsa onto your empanada before continuing, "Besides, I had way more than my fair share of sandwiches and cold, sad meals during med school and residency. I want my meals to be hot as much as possible."

"But what about hot sandwiches?" Frankie presses, even though he nods in agreement.

"I'll make an exception for them if they are really tasty," you acquiesce. "And bánh mì, especially if the baguette is baked fresh in house."

"Duly noted," Frankie smiles, taking mental note of your preferences.

"Oh my god, you have to try this salsa," you moan after you finish your salsa covered bite of empanada. The acid from the tomato cuts through the richness of the filling, followed by sharp bites from the minced white onion, finished by a hint of sweetness — maybe from pineapple?

"Wait, don't tell me you're a fan of sandwiches."

Frankie looks slightly embarrassed when he admits he eats most of his meals standing over the kitchen sink, especially when he has Gabi, but the food is usually at least hot. "I do love cooking meals for Gabi and introducing her to all of our family's foods," he adds. "She's a really adventurous eater."

You perk up at his information. "Yeah? That's so awesome Frankie. Maybe I can make her some of my family's favorites sometime?"

He gives you the sweetest look of adoration and gratitude. "She'd love that. I — I would too."

You continue to chat with Frankie about how Gabi is doing since you last saw her as he tidies up the picnic table, and you both head to his truck for the next course.

When Frankie pulls up at the third food truck, you giggle and remark at the kitschy decor, multi-color string lights, barrels painted the colors of the Italian flag, red umbrellas shading long wooden picnic tables and smaller red metal patio tables for two. The food truck itself is a long white truck reminiscent of an old milk delivery truck. Short velvet red curtains frame the ordering window with a mismatched gallery wall of photos and paintings hanging along the side.

As you and Frankie sit at a cute red patio table sharing a sangria, waiting for the buzzer to go off to retrieve your food, you hear a woman's voice call out, "Morales?! That you?"

"Hey— " Frankie stands to greet the person behind the voice before a blur of brown hair wraps him in a tight bear hug he returns awkwardly with one arm.

"Finally made it out to check out this place huh??" the brunette says as she pulls back and releases Frankie.

"Yeah, uh, thanks for the rec. This is Sweets," Frankie gestures towards you as you stand to meet her. "This is Becs. She's one of the flight nurses I work with."

"Ooh, date night?" Becs winks at Frankie as she pumps your hand up and down one too many times. "Didn't realize you were seeing anyone Morales. Gonna break all those hearts at the hospital when people find out." You offer her a wan smile, a bit overwhelmed by her chaotic energy.

"Wait! I know you," Becs cocks her head as she assesses you intently. You stiffen even if you don't recognize her. Before you know it she's dropping the name of your former employer, adding, "Yeah, I used to work as an OR nurse there, but jumped at the chance to become a flight nurse. Less surgeon egos, more excitement, ya know?" She gesticulates with fervor as she speaks.

"Yeah, uh, I worked there," you admit, realizing you've been holding your breath. "Been over a year since I left though."

She looks you over once more. Just when you think you're in the clear she snaps her fingers and exclaims, "I do know you! You were engaged to that new trauma surgeon, what's his name!"

Your heart is in your throat and you can't move. Can't breathe. Is this really happening right now? What are the chances you'd run into someone who'd recognize you from your old job right the fuck now?

"I'll never forget how you made a surgeon get on his knees so fast," she smirks. "It's not every day you see someone throw a $50k diamond ring across the cafeteria."

Really, what are the chances you'd run into someone who witnessed the moment your engagement exploded spectacularly in front of what felt like everyone at work? Over a year ago? You can't look at Frankie. This isn't how you want him to find out. Not that you were exactly hiding it from him, but wasn't this like a third date kind of conversation? What did you know, you're so out of the loop on dating things these days. Because you're old. Broken? No one's going to want you, your mother's voice hisses up from the abyss of your mind.

"Well, it's not every day you catch your fiancé cheating on you, at work," you grit out as you find your spine.

"Yeah, bummer about that." Becs waves you off. "It was hilarious watching him crawl around on his knees trying to find that ring though."

She slaps Frankie on the shoulder and says something about seeing him at work before tossing you a nice to meet you and jets off as abruptly as she appeared.

You brave a glance at Frankie, but not really seeing him with the adrenaline flooding your system. "I —"

"Sweets —"

Of course the food buzzer decides this is the most opportune moment to go off, shocking you back into yourself as it dances erratically on the metal table top flashing red like a siren. Frankie slides a hand over the buzzer and picks it up as he walks around the table to stand in front of you. With his other hand he gently cups the side of your face.

"Sweets, you don't have to explain. It's ok. Breathe."

You swallow and let out a stuttery breath as you clasp a hand over his. His hand is warm and comforting against your skin, steady unlike your heart pounding through your chest. The buzzer continues to flash red and vibrate, muted now in his other hand. When you look up, his warm brown eyes only convey care and concern at your thinly veiled panic. Full blown panic, really. You're practically shaking.

"Hey," his voice is soft like when he speaks to Gabi. "It's okay. I'm going to go grab our food and when I get back you can tell me as much or as little as you want. Whenever you're ready. Or we can just go back to talking about how much we hate sandwiches, okay?"

"I— you— okay," is all you can manage, followed by a small nod, eyes still wide with panic, even with his attempt at humor. Coherent sentences are back to being a struggle apparently.

"We all have baggage, Sweets. I mean, I have a whole ex-wife and toddler, remember?" He gives you one more understanding smile before telling you not to go anywhere as he heads to the food truck to collect your food.

How are you supposed to eat anything right now? Your heart is in your throat and your stomach is in knots. You plop down in your chair as the adrenaline recedes, replaced by a wave of dread at what to possibly say to Frankie when he returns. At some point you did plan to tell him, but what happened spans several conversations, none appropriate for a first date. You try to ground yourself in what he said before he went to retrieve the food. It's okay. He has baggage too. He's okay with you telling him what you’re ready to tell him. What the fuck are you ready to tell him?

When Frankie arrives at Pope's Gym to catch Chloé and ask for her help in dinner ideas for his date with you, he isn't prepared for Benny acting so cagey and weird.

"Hey, Benny," Frankie greets Benny at the front desk with a familiar dap of the fist.

"Fish," a rare one word response from Benny, the more loquacious of the two Miller brothers.

"She here?"

"Sweets or Chloé?" Benny asks, feigning ignorance even though Frankie literally just texted him the day before asking when Chloé usually worked out at Pope's.

"For God's sake Ben, I'm looking for Chloé." Frankie glares at Benny before rolling his eyes. "To help me plan my date with Sweets. What's gotten into you?"

"Oh. Right, yeah she's here," Benny mumbles nodding in Chloé's general direction before sulking away.

As Frankie treks over, he notes the message on her cut off shirt declaring, "I'M A RAY OF FUCKING SUNSHINE." Chloé's covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard as she finishes a set of medicine ball slams.

"I'm pretending this is your head," she mutters at Frankie as he approaches. "For canceling on Sweets the day of without telling her why."

Frankie decides to stop a generous distance away from Chloé. He lifts his cap and runs his fingers through his curls, a nervous tic, before replacing the cap on his head. "Yeah, um, that really was my bad. Uh, that's — that's actually why I'm here."

He swears the glare Chloé gives him could kill.

"And why should I help you." It's not a question, but a challenge.

"I want to really impress her and go all out for her this Saturday to make-up for canceling," he continues before pausing. "Especially since she took such good care of my daughter and me when Gabi got sick last week. Which is — which is why I canceled at the last minute."

Chloé gives him a non-committal grunt, brows still furrowed, but her eyes motion for him to continue.

"I thought about taking her to some of those fancy tasting menu places, but I realize I don't know what she really likes… If she'd be into that."

"I mean, who doesn't like a fancy meal once in a while?" Chloé scoffs and shifts her weight from side to side, as if she's trying to decide whether to divulge more and help Frankie out. "But Sweets isn't into the fancy shit the way she is into food trucks and hole in the wall spots. The woman is always on the hunt for the best tacos or dumplings or whatever in the area."

Frankie nods along intently to what Chloé shares and takes detailed mental notes. You truly are a woman after his own heart.

"You should see her on vacation trying to suss out the best local eats. You always know you're going to eat well with her." Chloé glares back at Frankie before concluding with a threat for good measure. "You hurt her and I'll kill you. She's — she's been through enough. She doesn't need another guy wrecking her life."

Frankie appreciates a direct woman. And the tip about some guy wrecking your life. He stores that one away along with the threat.

"I just want to go all out for her. She deserves the best," he manages. "Gonna try my hardest not to fuck it up."

"Good," Chloé resumes picking up the medicine ball and raising it overhead before slamming it down on the ground. How does someone make everything sound like a threat?

"That still my head?" Frankie ventures looking at the medicine ball.

"Depends," Chloé huffs back at him, but he thinks he catches her smirking at him for a moment. "On how well you take care of my friend."

As Frankie thanks Chloé and turns to leave, he catches Benny hiding behind the cable tower machine watching the entire interaction, pretending to wipe down the gym equipment. Benny never cleans a goddamn thing unless it is a weapon.

"You're gonna take the paint off the metal," Frankie whispers to Benny as he walks by.

"Huh?"

Frankie shoves Benny out from behind the cable tower, "See you later, Benny boy. Good luck with that," as he motions with his eyes towards Chloé.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Benny calls back after catching himself from falling on his face in front of Chloé.

Frankie just shakes his head and beelines it to his truck. He has a food truck tour to plan.

When Frankie returns with a giant pile of fresh tagliatelle smothered in Sunday sauce, your stomach turns even if ragu is one of your favorite things. He sets everything down gently as if he is afraid to spook you with any sudden movements or sounds.

"I — I wasn't trying to hide my ex-fiancé from you," you blurt out without thinking. Smooth start there, tiger. Real smooth. You worry your hands in your lap to hold back the rising waves of anxiety. "I just thought failed engagements are more like a third date kinda conversation."

"Didn't think ya were," Frankie responds as he settles back into his chair. He slides a large hand across the table beckoning for you to place one of your hands in his. After a beat you slide a hand into his. It's warm and grounding. You find your shoulders relaxing away from your ears a smidge, and your stomach settles.

"I meant it when I said you don't have to tell me anymore than you're ready to," he reassures before something you said clicks, and he beams at you. "You'd go on a third date with me?"

You can't help but offer a small grin back, "I'd let you take me on as many dates as you want if they're anything like this, Frankie."

"Minus the co-worker with the big mouth." Frankie is full of jokes. "Too soon?"

You suppress a giggle bubbling up from your throat. "I guess that means you're not going to take me home after this?"

"Not unless you want me to, Sweets," Frankie squeezes your hand. "I'm having the best time."

Your stomach rumbles at this exact moment in response and Frankie laughs, tummy shaking laughter, wondering out loud how you are still hungry after tacos and empanadas.

"I told you I like to eat!" You cross your arms in mock indignation as Frankie wipes away tears of laughter and hands you a fork.

As you both dig into the pile of pasta, marveling at the depth of flavor a 12 hour simmer gives the ragu, you take the opportunity to ask Frankie about his work as an EMS pilot. His entire body is buoyant with excitement when he talks about flying, brown eyes bright with passion. You can tell the two loves of his life are Gabi and flying by the way he speaks about both.

"The hours aren't terrible, 12 hour shifts, 4 days on and 3 days off, with a lot of waiting around. But at least I'm not getting shot at now when I fly," Frankie shares, adding how his parents help watch Gabi when he has custody and has to work. Your breath hitches at the thought of anyone shooting at sweet Frankie.

"Next stop?" he tries to change the subject when he catches your worried expression.

You nod and attempt to help clear the table, but Frankie insists you don't lift a finger.

The next two stops fly by as Frankie tells you about the owners of the soup dumpling take-out window, former cooks at some Taiwanese chain making its way into the U.S.

"Ooo yes, DTF! I've been to one of their locations before!" you exclaim.

His eyebrows curve upward in confusion, "Wait, I thought DTF meant... something else??"

"Ohmygosh, DTF — Din Tai Fung!" you cackle. "Their soup dumplings are to die for."

Frankie admits he hasn't ever eaten a soup dumpling before as you lift the lid and a cloud of savory steam erupts from the bamboo steamer basket. You offer him two options that won't involve near boiling broth burning his mouth off. After all, you have... plans for that mouth.

"Next time we have to try the pork and shrimp ones too," Frankie tells you as he opens the passenger door for you. Seeing his eyes light up after the first bite and slurp of soup dumpling, you know he is a convert for life.

At the last stop he slides an arm around your shoulders as you sit side by side on a park bench splitting one extra-large gua bao, too full to each have your own. It’s the size of your face instead of the standard appetizer size. Frankie insists you take the first bite of the pillowy soft steamed bun, a vehicle for the unctuous braised pork belly, pickled mustard greens, and toasted crushed peanuts. The umami of spiced soy sauce carries forward balanced notes of anise and cinnamon with a not too sweet caramel finish of hoisin and brown sugar. A savory symphony of flavors in your mouth.

"That good huh," Frankie smiles as you let out a groan.

"Mmph," is all you can manage, eyes closed, savoring the bite with a happy food wiggle.

You offer the bao up to him, angled so he can get the perfect bite, the scruff on his chin tickling your fingers as he takes an exaggerated bite.

"Fuch, ish good," he mumbles, mouth full and sauce dripping out the corner of his mouth.

When you brush your thumb to wipe the sauce away, the pink triangle of his tongue peeks out to lick your finger clean. Your eyes flick up and catch a dark, mischievous look across Frankie's face that makes you want to combust on the fucking spot. You distract yourself by taking another bite of the bao before offering the last bite to him.

He sighs in contentment when the food is finished and pulls you closer to him, tucking you to his side. It's warm and safe here snuggled against him with his strong arm draped over your shoulder as you idly watch other diners nearby. Safe enough you weigh the risk of ruining the moment by sharing about your painful past.

"Can I tell you a little bit about... what happened a year ago?" you ask, voice quiet, looking up at him.

Frankie returns your gaze, "Of course."

"Ok," you drop your gaze to your hands and take a deep breath before continuing. "We, um, met in college. Both of us pre-med... and just dorks with the same goals you know?"

You tell Frankie about Chase, how he changed from a sweet college boy to someone you didn't recognize as you went through med school and residency. "I was so afraid of being alone, I ignored the red flags and how we were growing apart until he went out of state for his fellowship and I stayed here. That’s when I realized I was happier on my own than when he would visit."

You peek up at Frankie through your lashes and realize he's been looking at you and listening intently the entire time. "But it took catching him cheating for me to leave."

You shudder at the memory of the night you tried to leave and the weeks that passed before you finally could. That is a story for another day. Frankie tightens his grip around your shoulders as he releases a sharp exhale through his nose when you stop talking.

"I appreciate you sharin' all that with me, Sweets," he says, pausing as if he isn't sure what he wants to say next. His thumb on your shoulder tracing slow circles on your skin.

"I guess I spent the last year working on myself and figuring out what I want now in a relationship," you continue.

"And what's that?"

"Where I can be myself and not have to cut off pieces to fit someone else's idea of who I should be — accepted for being me," the last part you say wistfully.

"As you should be. You're amazing, you know that?"

"Depends who you ask," you respond, quirking a smile up at him. "But I like myself alright now."

Frankie shares a bit about where things went south with Vanessa, his struggles with learning how to single parent. They had been high school sweethearts and stayed together, though he admits he felt like they were growing apart even before he joined Delta Force. How they tried to stick it out when Vanessa got pregnant with Gabi, but eventually realizing it was better for everyone if they separated.

You pull his arm tighter around you when you feel him hesitate and start to pull back after sharing about his own relationship history.

"Thanks for telling me."

"Not too much?" Frankie asks, eyes etched with worry.

"You're never too much for me, Frankie."

He visibly relaxes before asking, "Would getting dessert be too much?"

"Never," you say as you stand and offer your hands to pull him up. "Don't you know I have a whole separate stomach for dessert?"

The dessert course is a small takeaway window for Italian water ice just off the broad walk along the beach. You weigh the flavor options, debating between mango and passion fruit, before finally deciding on mango. Frankie picks passion fruit without hesitation.

He gives you a knowing smile and wink when you raise an eyebrow to his choice, "Figure that way you'll get to try both flavors." Is it possible to simultaneously melt into a puddle and combust from his thoughtfulness?

The velvety smooth ice refreshes as the fruit flavor cleanses your palate from your decadent dinner. You both make your way down the broad walk at a leisurely pace, sharing bites of yours with Frankie as he feeds you bites of his.

“Not too sweet?” he asks with a grin, knowing your bar for the ideal dessert.

“Not too sweet,” you confirm with a pleased smile.

He offers you the last spoon of his dessert, which you accept without hesitation because your sweet tooth is the boss, before he takes both your empty cups and tosses them into the trash. You intertwine your fingers in his as you continue your stroll, turning down one of the piers and walking down part of the way.

“Think this might be the best first date I’ve ever been on,” you smile at him, eye to eye as you lean back and balance on the lowest rung of the railing. His strong arms cage you in on both sides, protective as if you might possibly fall into the water below.

“Yeah?” He breathes back, curls whipped wild by the ocean’s breeze, brown eyes anchored to yours. “What would make it definitely the best first date you’ve ever been on?”

“If you kissed me right now.” The tip of your tongue wets your lower lip as your gaze flicks to his plush lips curving into a small smile at your words.

Frankie smooths your hair back before cupping your cheek with one hand. “Think I can manage that.” He presses the line of his body against you as he slots his mouth against yours, gently at first, until you open for him to lick into your mouth. A soft moan escapes your throat. He kisses you harder, his other large hand snaking up the middle of you back to cup your neck, holding you in place. You reach your hands to run your fingers through his curls, such soft curls, tugging to keep him pressed against you. When he lets out a soft moan you realize he likes it when you do that.

Your foot slips when someone suddenly catcalls the two of you, followed by a "GET A ROOM!" But Frankie catches you with his quick reflexes, holding you tight against him. "I got you, baby," he reassures, voice breathy and soft. Baby. You practically melt at the endearment. And because he's now nuzzling the sensitive spot behind your ear with the delicious curve of his nose, peppering kisses down the column of your neck.

"Frankie," your voice comes out breathy like you've just sprinted down the broad walk. You repeat his name when he continues to pepper you with kisses.

"Hmm," he rumbles against your neck.

"We're in public." A giggle escapes your throat.

His eyes flick up to yours, black pupils edging out the brown you get lost in, expression intense. Hungry, but not for food. He wraps an arm around your waist and places you gently back on solid ground.

"I can fix that, baby," he murmurs. Pressing a kiss to your temple and tucking your hair behind your ear, he steers you by the small of your back and leads you back to his truck.

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Endnote: Sweet's relationship with her ex-fiance is partially inspired by this quote from Robin Williams: "I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone."

Hi hi, did ya miss me? I missed YOU. Been adjusting to a new job and the absolute fatigue from training has me beat (summer powerlifting competition wee!). But I’m so glad Frankie and Sweets finally went on their date and ate so well. It’s funny, but I’ve mostly written the last chapter and I just need to get them there. I’m learning that all the stuff between is uh, the hard part. Also, I still haven’t wrapped my head around writing smut, but we’ll see. At least they kinda made out? Lol. Thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far. It means the world to this newbie fanfic writer. Taglist is open! You know you wanna! xoxo, Jee

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held @littlemisspascal

@burntheedges @darkheartgatita @enretrogue @titabel

@copperhalfcent @triplefrontier-anniversary

#hold fast a frankie x powerlifting!reader fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #happy frankie friday #frankie friday

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kiwiana-writes · 2 days

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @cha-melodius and @stereopticons for the tags! I know I’ve done this in the past, but it’s been a hot minute…

How many works do you have on ao3?

239!

What's your total ao3 word count?

822,937—but that’s a collaboration-boosted lie. Per my writing tracker, words that I have personally written and published on AO3 is 693,613

What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly RWRB these days, but the majority of my back catalogue is Schitt’s Creek, with a few others sprinkled in for fun. The Pairing definitely made my brain whirr… we’ll see.

Top five fics by kudos:

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest), RWRB, 65.5k, the Much Ado About Nothing stage actor AU

Kinda think that I might be his type, RWRB, 12.8k, Alex and Bea fake date and Alex gets a little distracted by Bea’s brother

We were supposed to find this, RWRB, 3.3k, soulmate AU

We always walked a very thin line, Happiest Season, 2.7k, Riley character study/alternate ending

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers, RWRB, 5.8k, barista Henry repeatedly putting his foot in his mouth in front of his coworker crush

(This is how I learned Puck It has been knocked out of my top five 😭)

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! And absent a Schitt’s Creek resurgence of some kind that sees me absolutely inundated I don’t see that changing.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Five ways it could have ended (and one way it still could), Schitt’s Creek, 1.2k, for the love of god read the tags

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

Like… most of them? I love to end on a good HEA haha. For sheer joy, though, it’s probably With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest)

Do you get hate on fics?

From time to time. I’m very free with the delete button. Weirdly, it occasionally pops up in the AO3 comments but mostly seems to come to me via anons on tumblr??? I have no idea why.

Do you write smut?

It’s been known to happen, I guess 👀

Craziest crossover:

I haven’t written any AO3-era crossovers! A few fusions/media AUs, but no crossovers.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. I’ve only been asked once, and they wanted to post off AO3 which is a big heck nope for me (and my permissions statement has now been updated to reflect that)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Heck yeah I have. I’ve done several anthology-type collaborations where we each wrote a chapter in a fic, and I’ve fully cowritten fics with @ships-to-sail several times. We have another collab coming up for @aroyallybigbangrwrb and I’m also cowriting The Big Secret AU with @indestructibleheart which is essentially us one-upping each other on emotionally devastating ideas until someone writes them down. Good system 😂

All time favorite ship?

Stop making pansexuals choose things.

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

Look, the chances of kinktober 2021 being finished at this point are slim 😂

Schitt’s Creek kinkverse… I don’t know. I have little snippets written of future fics and they’re great but… idk. Maybe I’ll write one vignette-y wrap up fic one day.

What are your writing strengths?

Narrative POV, dialogue that feels like the characters, epistolary bullshit, smut apparently.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Coming up with actual plot lmao. Visual descriptors — I’m not even remotely a visual person so I really really struggle with writing the sorts of things people can visualise. Also like… the passage of time? A scam.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Love it. I’ll shoulder tap a fluent speaker if I need an actual sentence/anything Google isn’t super reliable for. Forever heartbroken that there are no fics in my second language in AO3 and no reason for me to be able to sprinkle it into my own writing (though one of the subscriber shindig prompts might be about to change that 👀)

First fandom you wrote in?

Favorite fic you've written?

Stop! Asking! Pansexuals! To! Choose! Things!

I don’t know there are 239 of the bloody things 😂 I’m far more interested in what other people’s favourites are than what my own is!

I have no sense of who’s done this already so apologies if this is a double up but tagging @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise @getmehighonmagic

@happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @nontoxic-writes

@read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sparklepocalypse @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play!

#20 questions for fic writers #kiwiana-writes

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vibratingskull · 2 days

Note

Well if we are doing Thrass...I humbly request: First date with Thrass! Any way you want to do it.

Thrass is on the dating market guys! Come try your chance with the sweetest chiss in the Chaos!

beautiful art by the amazing @thrawns-backrest

Thrass xF!reader

Tag: first date, Thrawn being casually aroace (in my fic? who knew?), Thrass is kind of a goofball, fluff

You breathe through your nose, reassuring your grip on your purse straps in your hands. You raise your head lightly to observe passersby.

Chiss...

Haughty and regal.

Barely giving a glance to little you, all alone lying against the street light. You fidget your thumbs, suddenly second-guessing your dress with colorful flowers... Is too much or too little? Are your heels too high? Is your stocking elegant or scandalous? Does your perfume smell good or just reek? Does your coiffure enhance your features as you hoped or does it make you look goofy?

It’s your first date with him, and you want to appear at your best to impress him!

You bite the nail of your thumb, looking around for him.

He is late.

What if he never comes?

What if he forgot about you?

What if he sets you up?

What if-

“(Y/n)’(F/n)! There you are!”

You spin in surprise to discover Mitth’ras’safis approaching with a tranquil pace, raising his hand to you in a greeting. He wears the traditional tunic of his rank, long, elegant, and distinguished. His long hair is impeccably braided.

“Mister Mitth’ras’safis!” You slightly bow to him in your excitation and confusion.

You are so relieved he is here! You press your lips in a thin line as he winces.

“It’s Mitth’ras’safis.” He corrects, “But please, call me Thrass, it will be easier for your vocal cords.”

“Alright, mister... Thrass.” You nod hurriedly.

“Just Thrass please.”

“But you’re a Syndic of the Mitth!”

“Today I did not come to you as a Syndic but as a simple man.” He retorts, “I am merely an ordinary Chiss.”

You nod again, slower, feeling your cheek heating up dangerously and it worsens when you remember the Chiss can see warmth on your skin.

“Then please, call me (Y/n).” You propose back.

“(Y/n)...” He tries your name, his chin in his fingers, testing how your name rolls on his tongue, “It has an exotic sound to it.”

He seems to like it.

He tilts his head with a gentle smile.

“Should we go?” He invites.

You walk alongside one another in silence. You hold on desperately to your purse, trying to calm down your beating heart. You feel yourself sweating with too much tension. You give a side glance to Mitth’ra...

Thrass.

He seems relaxed and calm, a little smile floating on his lips as he looks straight ahead of you both. You’re clearly on two different planets! You gently press a hand against your heart.

You never thought he would accept such rendezvous with you! You are only human after all...

You remember your meeting with him, and how dismissive and distrusting he was. You had the misfortune to mispronounce his full name and he took it very personally! Commander Thrawn tried to mediate the situation but you kept fumbling your poor Cheuhn and Thrass finally left with a terrible first impression of you and you were utterly terrified you might have doomed any future relationships between humans and Chiss!

When you’ve been judged civilized enough to be released in Chiss society, the Mitth family received the responsibility of “taking care” of you, because the Chiss who found and rescued you was Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo. You have been brought to the Mitth homestead and once again you crossed paths with Mitth’ras’safis and with Thrawn’s support you took the time to apologize for any wrongdoing you might have done towards him in proper Cheuhn this time.

He kept his expression closed and neutral, politely listening to you trying hard to not mangle any words and don’t inadvertently insult anyone’s mother in this difficult language. He stopped you by raising his hand and sighed. He apologized for his harsh demeanor and bad attitude and extended his hand to you. Your gaze traveled back and forth between his hand and face, unsure before tentatively taking it and shaking it with relief.

The Mitth’s Patriarch, Thooraki, chose a job for you, appointing you as aid to syndics of the family.

All of them.

So whenever a syndic needed a file, a datacylinder, or just a cup of caccoleaf it was your job to run everywhere in the building to find it. Mitth’ras’safis didn’t deprive himself of your services and frequently asked for your help.

He just was... nicer to you than the rest of the Syndics.

As much because it was his personality than because you were friends with his brother, or rather you held on to Thrawn as a buoy in the open sea and he, strangely, let it happen. Commander Thrawn was the one who saved your life from the neverending dark and cold of the Universe and was, by far, the most welcoming and open-minded of all the Chiss you encountered until now.

Thrawn was curious about you. You were the only representative of a new species, the only intel he had about this entirely new part of the Chaos and he strategically kept his relationship with you nice and polite. Desperate, you imprinted on him, asking him advice and opinions on everything and he let it happen, patiently, courteously.

And Thrass heard about it.

Thrawn must have come to him at the end of their respective day, telling how the weird alien human came back to him crying once again because she switched another file again today.

Which surprised Thrass because he never saw you cry during the day. He only saw you trying your best all day long, but apparently you took the habit of calling Thrawn each evening to vent.

Which also means somehow Thrawn gave you his personal code to call him, and that point was terribly interesting to Thrass...

Thrawn doesn’t trust easily.

So if he gave you a direct channel to him, he must have studied you thoroughly and judged you trustworthy enough. And whomever Thrawn trusts, Thrass is inclined to trust in return.

It’s the point when Thrass started to look at you more and pick up your little quirks and habits, the way you click your pen when you're nervous, the way you push a strand of hair behind your ear when you’re intently listening to someone, the little “oh!” you let escape when you understand something new...

And slowly, oh so slowly, Thrass started to relax with you. Being more patient, taking time to explain to you why he needed this file or this one when he asked you to retrieve it, while the other syndics just barked at you to find them chop chop! He saluted you when you crossed paths in the corridor and you bowed to him respectfully and, in all honestly, a little afraid. He chatted with you during caccoleaf breaks, helping you around when he found you overwhelmed while trying to sort data.

You always apologized profusely, feeling like a dead weight as he helped you carry data-cylinders into the storage room. He politely said it was nothing and got on his way, letting you finish your tasks.

And today, here you are!

On your first date! Together!

Thrass’ glance slides towards you and he gently smiles at you, making your heart race even quicker.

“Here we are!” He finally announces.

You stop and observe the imposing building in front of you. For the date he proposed you both come up with an activity, and you choose a play.

He is so refined and distinguished it was the only activity worthy of him you could come up with. He let you choose the play and the theater and had the role of guiding you across Csaplar.

The building is tall and large, with glass walls and geometrical oddities as angles. You open your purse to take out the ticket you printed, give his one to Thrass, and enter.

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

“(Y/n)’(F/n) speaks highly of you” Thrawn once said to him during one of their Tactica games, during one of his too rare days back at Csilla.

The two brothers where sitting at their favorite bistro, a nice glass of alcohol each and a platter full of different canapes next to the board.

“Does she now?” Thrass responded, taking a sip of alcohol, letting it burn his throat and tongue so deliciously.

“Yes. I hear a lot about you through her.”

“Are you telling me I do not catch up enough with you, my brother?” Thrass teased Thrawn.

“Sometimes she cries when she speaks to me at night, but she always says you magically appear out of nowhere to help her on her feet and move on with her day.”

“I just want the work to get down, simple as that.” He chuckled, trying to understand where Thrawn was getting at.

Thrass took his stingfly and made it cross the board to place it next to his groundlion as Thrawn gaze was lost in the game, thinking 5 steps ahead in his strategy, making his drink twirl in his glass. Thrass contemplated his move one last time, tapped his clock to validate, and threw a tomato canape in his mouth, satisfied with his new Tactica level.

“I suspect... She thinks about you quite a lot.” Thrawn announced with his legendary tact, attacking his flank with his lion.

Thrass swallowed his canape the wrong way.

“Come again?” He coughed.

Thrawn raised his head, looking straight into his red eyes, serious like he had never before.

“You never noticed?”

“How would I have? My head is buried in my files and the only times I go out is for political meetings... Or to meet you.”

“How curious.” Thrawn tilted his head, not understanding, “You are usually better than me for understanding those things.”

“Exactly. It most probably means you misunderstood her.” Thrass patted his lips with a handkerchief in a soothing manner.

“She expressed herself in quite explicit terms.” Thrawn insisted, peacefully sipping his drink as Thrass got more and more distraught, “She left little to interpretation.”

“How explicit?” Thrass asked a little afraid.

Thrawn shakes his head, sorry.

“It is not in my rights to report her words. She should speak her truth herself.”

Thrass sniffed, putting his handkerchief in the pocket of his tunic.

“So what? The human as a little fling, what is it to me?”

Thrawn tilted his head again, squinting his bright red eyes at his older brother.

“I thought you appreciated her in return?” He let Thrass know.

Thrass remained silent, eyes round with surprise and mouth agape.

“What in tarnation... Where did that idea come from?” Thrass finally asked.

“It is a general sentiment you give off. The more times pass, the more her name leaves your mouth, you also hold yourself differently when you speak about her, you appear more... relaxed.”

By reflex Thrass corrected his position, straightening his back and raising his head high like the Syndicure theatrics teached him.

“I do not speak of her that much.” He counters.

“Maybe not so much, but more than before. And your tone is considerably softer, and your eyes...”

“What about my eyes?” Thrass asked with a warning in his voice.

“I just noticed they glow brighter when we speak about her.” Thrawn explains patiently.

Thrass gulped, his throat was going dry.

Thrawn is a master at reading body language. He undercovers entire secrets with a single glance, stripping souls naked before him.

What exactly did he think he saw in Thrass? Because there is no way he was smitten with the alien! Alright she was very hard-working, diligent, and pleasant to be around, her enthusiasm was enjoyable in the tight offices of the Syndicure. Thrass was even ready to admit her little panicked gasps when she realized she lost something on her way was endearing.

Daresay cute.

But to go such length as to say he was into her? Utterly ridiculous!

Thrass opened his mouth to shut down Thrawn definitively but his throat tightened around his rebuttal, stifling any words in his vocal cords, leaving his mouth simply open and completely mute.

He cannot explicitly deny his brother’s claims! Something was preventing him from speaking the truth!

The undeniable truth that he was, in fact, not enamored by the human woman.

Because that is the only truth.

Obviously...

“Like you said, I am not good with those matters.” Thrawn continued, swallowing a cheese canape, “But I know you, my brother. I know how you act towards things you love, and how your voice fluctuates when speaking of people close to your heart. And I simply thought I saw it on you with her.”

Thrawn was obviously trying to smooth the angles with Thrass to not offend him, but Thrass was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even notice how his brother was contorting his words to preserve his honor.

Thrass pressed his hand against his mouth, taking support on his elbow on the table, his mind spinning at 100 miles per hour.

Why can’t he just say the simple words ‘I am not in love with her’?

Coud he be...?

No.

Ridiculous.

Thrawn looked at his brother, febrile on his seat.

“Why not go on a date with her?” He finally asked.

Thrass raised his head to look at Thrawn, is attention piqued.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you obviously have a soft spot for her. Why not give it a try?”

“She is an alien.”

“And you are an alien to her, it did not stop her from falling for you.”

Thrass raised his hand to stop him.

“I am flattered she thinks so highly of me. But she is an alien, and I am a Chiss! Those things do not happen.”

Thrawn appeared more and more confused.

“I do not remember any laws forbidding it?”

“It is not about laws, Thrawn. It is about morality.”

Thrawn looked at me the weirdest he ever did.

“How living your love being against moral laws?”

For a fleeting second Thrass forgot he was talking to Thrawn. Any other Chiss would agree with Thrass at that moment.

But not Thrawn.

Thrawn would never understand...

“You speak of love but you know nothing about it.” As those words left Thrass's mouth he regretted them immediately.

Thrawn seemed to close back over himself, a single line of discontentment crossing his forehead.

“Thrawn, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Thrass immediately presented his excuses.

Thrawn took another canape to eat, his throat’s mucles contracting under his frustration.

“No, you are right.” He said, “This is a sentiment foreign to me. But I know when I witness it, and I witness it in you, my brother. And I would be mournful if you missed a chance to find your other half in life.”

“You are quite a romantic I realize.” Thrass couldn’t help but grin lightly at Thrawn’s choice of words.

“What I am trying to say is: give her a chance Thrass. You might come one day to regret not trying. You have nothing to lose in the end.”

Thrass slowly relaxed, pondering his options. It’s true, in the end, he had nothing to lose. He will not die to spend an afternoon with (Y/n)’(F/n)...

He could even know where he stands with her, why he couldn’t word the simple truth.

“You seem supportive of her.” Thrass investigated.

Thrawn shrugged.

“I got to know her during her stay on my ship on the UAG. She is honest and with a good nature. Like you.”

“You trust her.”

“Indeed I do. She is not a threat to the Ascendancy and I never felt an ounce of violence or darkness emmanating from her.”

“You know what? You are right.” Thrass let out, like transfigured.

Thrawn stopped mid-movement of drinking, not expecting such a drastic change of attitude in such a short time. Thrass didn’t lose a second and took out his comm, typing rapidly.

“Sent! ”

And Thrass seized his Nightbringer on the board and took Thrawn’s lion. Thrawn remained silent, fixated on his brother, completely lost.

“Like you I hate uncertainty.” Thrass explained, “The sooner I meet her, the sooner I will be in the picture. Are you happy?”

Thrawn contemplated his older brother, trying to make sense of that last minute.

“I simply thought you could be a good match.”

“We will learn it soon enough!”

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

You exit the theater absolutely exhausted, your brain scrambled. It was a classical play, as you hoped, but consequently with classical Cheuhn.

And you didn’t understand a single line!

You learned the entire Wikipedia pages about it as about the theater you came in to info dump Thrass and impress him but you didn’t understood a single word. You spent the whole play typing feverishly on your questis to translate the lines in common Cheuhn while Thrass tried really, really hard not to explode laughing. But he mastered the neutral face of the politician man long ago, he simply didn’t control the trembling of the rest of his body.

Thrass sighs, satisfied under the artificial sun of Csaplar.

“It was a really good play”

You sniff, sad to not have enjoyed the play as you hoped you would.

“I am really glad you liked it.” You respond.

“A bit too didactic to my liking, but nice nonetheless.”

You turn your head to him, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“We studied this play at school, I already knew it.”

You open your mouth in shock and suddenly your body slumps, completely demoralized.

“I am sorry Thrass... I just thought-”

You cannot finish your sentence that Thrass explodes laughing in the middle of the street, hands on his knees. You look at him absolutely dumbfounded by his reaction.

“What?”

He tries to stop laughing, to no avail.

“I am sorry! You appeared so distraught back inside, you were trying so hard to follow the play!” He manages to say between two fits of laugh. He coughs to force it to stop, “Hum! I am sorry (Y/n), but it was really endearing seeing you try so hard.”

You purse your lips, embarrassed. You saw him casually cover his mouth, hiding behind a relaxed position, his legs crossed and his elbow on the armchair, trying to not look in your direction to not explode in the middle of the play.

He straightnens his back, raising back up with one hand on his stomach and a big smile on his face.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... It’s been a while since I laughed like that! Thank you (Y/n), it was very much needed.”

You readjust your purse straps on your shoulder, trying to put up a front.

“You’re welcome.” You mumble, cursing the heat spreading to your cheeks.

He wipes the tears off his cheeks.

“Come on! We need to take a tube car for my activity.”

He starts to walk away from the theater in the Tube car station’s direction and you begrudgingly follow, ashamed and disgraced by his reaction, measuring how much of a fool you must be in his eyes now...

Thrass instantly notices you’re not walking next to him and turns to you, a simple smile on his face, detailing your expression.

“I am sorry (Y/n), I shouldn’t have laughed at your efforts.” He says softly, “I am glad you took an interest in our culture to try to take on such a classical piece. If you wish I could break it down with you later and explain its cultural significance to you.”

You raise your head to meet his gaze.

“You would?’

“Of course. Come with me now...” And he gently takes your hand to guide you to the station.

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

You squirm, uncomfortable but trying your very hard to not show it. Next to you Thrass takes another sip of his tea, appearing fully at ease.

He brought you to an entirely new neighborhood. You walked in cobbled streets for an hour after the tube car, he generously asked if he could take your high heels to make it easier for you and you daringly said no.

You lasted 15 minutes before your heels started to poor blood and you had to stop at a pharmacy to dress you.

“Again, I am sorry.” You said pitifully.

Again he tried very hard not to laugh.

“It’s all right (Y/n).” He responded with a smile threatening to stretch his lips.

You finished the route with your shoes in hand, band-aids covering your heels. The cobblestone was warm to your skin and smooth, without asperities that could slash your feet. Thrass walked next to you, hands clasped behind his back, explaining to you the intricacies of the architectural style of that neighborhood.

It is apparently a perfect reproduction of the “old city” of Csaplar underground full of wooden structures and buildings.

You entered a small building to change into a kimono and enter a salon opening on an inner courtyard garden with a pound and large trees. Two rooms away you could hear traditional Chiss music, giving the place an elegant and serene atmosphere.

You imitated Thrass, sitting on his heels in front of a woman in the same position. The tea ceremony lasted more than two hours, in the exact same position, unmoving.

It was difficult for you, but you held on, you embarassed yourself enough before Thrass for today.

Once the woman finished preparing tea she rose on her knee to pour it in your cups. You both bowed down deeply to her, thanking her. She disapeared, leaving you two alone to savor your hot tea.

You sigh deeply, trying to keep the numbing sensation of your legs in check as you sip your tea. You desperately want to unfold your legs but greet your teeth.

“It is delicious, isn’t it?” Thrass finally asks, visibly satisfied by his tea.

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, “It has a lot of flavor!” You try your best to not let your pain reach your tone. That’s not really a success.

“I always loved tea ceremonies... They are peaceful and meditative.”

“Thrawn told me that.” You smile, laying down your hands with your cup on your legs, “He told me you introduced him to proper tea art for his 29th Starday!” You reveal, too happy to find common ground with Thrass thanks to his brother.

“Ah, he remembers this day then.” He notes with a little grin, “I never saw someone hold this position as well as him. I always left with terrible pain in my legs.” He winks at you.

You flush and let your gaze fall on your cup to not meet his inquisitive red eyes.

“I always thought that tea ceremonies are telltales of characters.” He tells you pensively, his eyes detailing the scenery of the garden.

“Really?”

“Indeed. They put your patience to the test, and require good etiquette and politeness, good taste and culture. I can tell a lot of things about someone by how they sit on their heels and wait for their tea.”

You gulp, suddenly apprehensive. Is your attitude correct, is your demeanor polite and dignified enough for such a place?

“You did good, do not worry.” He reassures without even looking at you. He just knew the questions gnawing at your reason.

“Phew... I am relieved.” You sigh, letting your shoulders fall.

“Careful, the ceremony isn’t finished yet.” He lets you know.

You immediately straighten your back and stiffen your shoulders, on edge once again. Thrass cannot help but chuckle once again.

“I appreciate you, (Y/n). You make me laugh, I like that.”

You turn to him, in surprise but full of hope.

“Really?” You cannot contain your enthusiasm.

He nods peacefully, taking another sip, slowly savoring his drink.

“Yes. You work hard and are mindful of people around you, you're driven by your will to learn... Those are really important qualities, and I appreciate them in my entourage.”

You purse your lips for a split second.

“Would you not like me if I failed at the ceremony?”

“I never dated someone who failed at the ceremony.” He reveals, “I discovered that I am incompatible with such characters.”

You nod slowly, feeling like you almost fucked up!

“And your brother likes me!” You add, trying to smooth your portrait even more.

Thrass puts his cup down, laying his hands on his legs.

“Yes. That is another good point in your favor.” He concedes, “Thrawn is another excellent judge of persona, and he deemed you trustworthy wich is why I accepted the idea of this date with you.”

Thrawn played matchmaker?

Did he...

You flush terribly, wich doesn’t escape Thrass.

“Is something wrong?” He worries.

“Did he... Did he reveal to you what I told him about you?” You ask, barely able to look in his direction.

“No, he did not.” He reassures you, “He told me it wasn’t in his right to do so and that he should let you express yourself.”

You sigh, relieved.

“Do you wish to speak to me about it?”

You start but calm down.

“No... I am not yet ready to reveal it.” You admit.

It is too soon for your heart to admit your love to Thrass, you would go into cardiac arrest!

“It is quite all right. We will have plenty of other times together for you to tell me...” He smiled softly.

Full of promises.

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037

#thrass x reader #thrass x f!reader #thrass x you #thrass #mitth'ras'safis #thrawn #thrawn ascendancy #fanfic #vibratingskull

20 notes · View notes

sonego · 3 months

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actually no it's not your place as a man to comment on what's women tearing other women down or this whole thing in general

hi thanks for stopping by. i'm nonbinary, i'm not a man. i don't know where you got that from since i believe a look at my blog (or even just my about if you don't follow me) will tell you that i'm nonbinary. i don't even know if this ask is in good faith or not, it doesn't feel like it is to me but feel free to correct me if i'm wrong, and maybe we can have a better discussion that doesn't involve answering an anonymous ask

that said i will respond bc it's not like i haven't thought about this myself so i guess that's an opportunity to talk about it.

is it my place to say what's women tearing other women down? i'm not a woman, so maybe not. i've posed this same question in that tag that i'm assuming made you send this ask? so yeah, fair, i can avoid commenting on that kind of thing next time. i've lived as a woman most of my life, i'm still considered and treated as a woman by some people, so i do want to say it's not like i'm completely removed from the concept of relationships between women. but like that is a whole can of worms and we're not getting into the socialization of trans people here so i'll just keep questioning myself on when it is appropriate for me to comment on issues pertaining women

which brings me to the other thing you say i shouldn't speak of, "this whole thing in general" which i assume is zverev's case/the issue of abusive men in sports and how players and fans talk about it? again idk correct me if i'm wrong. but uh. sorry but that feels insulting to me. i know it's a problem, a societal problem first and foremost, that disproportionately affects women. domestic violence and gender based violence are strongly linked. i don't think i've ever said anything that suggested i don't believe this. but that doesn't mean 1) only women should talk about it?? women need allies in this battle. 2) only women are victims of domestic violence. and again, i think it's insulting to suggest i, a survivor of domestic violence, shouldn't talk about this? you might not know. fair. i've mentioned it on here lately but you might not follow me or have seen it. but it's not hard to think of the fact that domestic violence affects children of any gender, that trans people are also disproportionately victims of it and that literally anyone can be a victim

sorry but even if i'm not a woman and frankly even if i was a trans man, that doesn't mean i can't know what gender based violence is like, i've lived it on my own skin multiple times throughout my life and it affects me to this day and i'm not gonna sit here and not talk about it just bc i'm not what most people would think someone "qualified" to speak on it is

sorry if i sound aggressive. sorry if i assumed you should know things about me that you maybe didn't know. but honestly you came onto my blog, on anon, and kinda assumed things about me yourself when you had the information here on this very blog so?

#nico answers #anon #i was debating if i should even answer this #but it IS important to me that i don't speak over anyone #so this might be a good opportunity for people (especially women) who follow me to let me know if you ever feel like i'm speaking on #something that is not my place to speak on or if i ever make you feel unsafe in any way #as for the rest i just. idk. it made me feel pretty bad even if again i understand ppl don't have to know things about me??#but if you're coming on my blog with this kind of thing it just. would be nice if you didn't assume whatever you like about me?#and i'm more than open to discussing this subject and my role in it inside this online community! but not if you're gonna start the #discussion by misgendering me #abuse tw #alexander zverev #<- for blacklisting purposed i hope this won't show up in his tag lol

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kayvsworld · 7 months

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i always forget i have Healthcare System Anxiety until i have to interact with The Healthcare System and immediately just start screaming internally for days

#my mom obliterated her bones and the pre-surgery surgery post-surgery experience. the ER situation. moving 2 the woods #this is a vent post i forget my complaining tag #waited 30 mins for an ambulance & when we called back they were like ''yeah it hasnt been assigned to anyone & might be hours''#so i drove her to the ER with a migraine & ran over some pylons (cool).#stuck in the ER for 9 hours. took 4 hours for anyone to give her any kind of pain management. i caught covid #was supposed to get a call when she was out of her 2 hrs max surgery. was told i could call if i hadn't heard anything #5 hours later i called and was transferred 6 times - told she had been discharged - told she had never been registered at that hospital -#yelled at by a nurse for asking for patient information - eventually got the right department and was told oh yeah sorry she's in recovery #was supposed to find out if she could come home or not in 30 mins. 3 hours later theyre like OK come get her #i show up and the doors to that wing are. locked? and no one's there to unlock them?#apparently i was supposed to pick up the wall phone? and call a code they hadn't given me? spent 30 mins getting help from other department #to GET THEM TO OPEN THE DOORS. FREE HER RELEASE HER #finally i get in and she's OK SHES FINE except morphine doesn't work on her so that's. fine. bodies are good to have #we have reached shrimp colours levels of anxiety i am a walking talking stress migraine but she's doing ok. but holy fuck #kayvswords #also like she's black and all of her nurses and doctors have been white so feeling normal about all of it all around

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a-motherfucking-beast · 4 months

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coach ur so cool but i hate exercising :(

SON. LET ME TELL YOU. THERE IS A CERTAIN THING ALL THE LANKY BINOS IN THEIR HAUGHTY-TAUGHTY UNIVERSITIES AGREE ON. AND THAT'S THAT THERE ARE *SOME* THINGS THAT ARE ESSENTIAL TO BEING A HUMAN. ART -- MUSIC, DANCE, VISUAL MEDIUMS. FRIENDSHIP, BROTHERHOOD. JOY AND SORROW. SHARING OF KNOWLEDGE. FAITH. LOVE. FOR SOMEONE ELSE, FOR THIS WORLD, FOR YOURSELF.

AND, LAST BUT NOT LEAST -- PHYSICAL ACTIVITY. FUCK YEAH

BE IT PLAYING TIGGY IN THE SCHOOLYARD OR BEING A PROFESSIONAL LINEBACKER PRETTY MUCH EVERYONE PLAYS A SPORT OR EVEN JUST WALKS SOMEWHERE AT SOME POINT IN THEIR LIFE. FOR GOOD REASON -- EXERCISE RELEASES ENDORPHINS AND DOPAMINE AND OTHER FEEL-GOOD SHIT IN YOUR BRAIN, BALLFACE, AND EVEN IF YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ALL THE OTHER BENEFITS OF STAYING HEALTHY AND BEING ABSOLUTELY YOKED AND TAKING CARE OF YOUR BODY THAT SHOULD PROBABLY CONVINCE YOU TO TRY OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT

SON, I'M NOT GOING TO CONVINCE YOU TO TAKE UP BODYBUILDING OR ANY OTHER HEFTY COMMITMENT LIKE THAT. THAT WOULD BE FANTASTIC BUT EVEN I CAN RECOGNISE THAT IT'S NOT FOR EVERYONE. I CAN ONLY OFFER THIS ADVICE.

IF YOU HATE EXERCISING THEN THERE ARE ONLY SEVERAL (AT LEAST ONE) POSSIBILITIES WHY YOU DO.

A) YOU HAVEN'T FOUND THE RIGHT OUTLET. TRY OUT A NEW SPORT YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED BEFORE THAT YOU CAN PLAY AT YOUR LOCAL GYM. HARRY WAS THE FUCKING GOAT AT BEING A GYM TEACHER BUT NOT EVERY GYM TEACHER IS AS FANTASTIC AS HE WAS AND MAY NOT FACILITATE THE FULL EXPERIENCE OF PLAYING A SPORT SO MAYBE EVEN TRY PLAYING SOMETHING YOU THINK YOU DON'T LIKE. HELL, MAYBE TRY SOMETHING LIKE ACROBATIC ARTS, THAT SHIT NEEDS STRENGTH AS WELL. FUCKING BREAKDANCING. BECOME AN ANAL ACROBAT LMFAO. HELL, YOU DON'T NEED SOMETHING STRENUOUS -- EVEN IF YOU GO FOR A WALK IN YOUR LOCAL PARK EVERY MORNING WHEN THE SUN'S JUST RISING (THE VIEW AROUND THE LAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF JAMROCK IS BEAUTIFUL) OR DO SOME STRETCHES WHEN YOU WAKE UP THAT COUNTS FOR SOMETHING. DON'T LET ANYONE PUT YOU DOWN FOR DOING LESS THAN THEM.

B) YOU HAVEN'T GOT THE RIGHT PEOPLE SUPPORTING YOU. AGAIN, YOU ONLY WISH YOU COULD'VE HAD OUR HARRY AS YOUR TEACHER AND REFEREE, BUT IT ALSO COMES DOWN TO YOUR TEAMMATES, WHETHER THEY FACILITATE YOUR PRESENCE AND BUILD A SENSE OF CAMARADERIE WITH YOU. YOUR SPOTTER, WHO YOU PLACE ULTIMATE TRUST IN. YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY, THE PEOPLE YOU HOLD CLOSEST WHO YOU CAN SHARE YOUR ACCOMPLISHMENTS WITH. OR EVEN JUST THE PERSON DOING THEIR OWN THING NEXT TO YOU WHO MIGHT GIVE YOU A WORD OF ENCOURAGEMENT OR CONGRATULATE YOU WHEN YOU HIT A NEW PERSONAL RECORD. GOING TO A GYM CAN HELP WITH THIS WHEN YOU ALL HAVE A SHARED GOAL, BUT THERE'S PLENTY OF ELITISTS THERE WHO MIGHT SHIT ON YOU FOR BEING A NEWBIE OR NOT HAVING THE SAME CAPABILITIES AS THEM OR EVEN HARASSING YOU FOR YOUR IDENTITY. TUNE THEM OUT. THESE KINDS OF PEOPLE ARE PRESENT EVERYWHERE YOU GO AND YOU SHOULDN'T ALLOW THEM TO SULLY YOUR EXPERIENCES. OR ALSO YOU CAN DECK THEM IN THE FACE. PERSONALLY I'M LEANING TOWARDS THE SECOND ONE BUT IT'S YOUR CHOICE (DO THE SECOND ONE)

NOW THAT WE'VE GOT THAT STRAIGHT, I'LL TELL YOU RIGHT NOW -- ONLY DO SOMETHING YOU KNOW YOU'RE CAPABLE OF, AND SOMETHING YOU KNOW YOU CAN ENJOY. DON'T TURN THIS SHIT INTO A GODDAMN CHORE THAT LEAVES YOU SUFFERING EVERY TIME YOU DO IT, THAT'S NOT THE FUCKING POINT OF ANY OF IT. I DON'T KNOW YOUR PERSONAL SITUATION, NOT EVERYONE'S GOT THE MEANS OR THE TIME OR THE PHYSICAL CAPABILITIES. BUT CALISTHENICS DOESN'T TAKE ANY SPECIAL EQUIPMENT AND EVEN JUST SOME STRETCHES WHEN YOU GET UP WILL DO. GODDAMMIT, COACH *WILL* FIND SOMETHING THAT WORKS FOR YOU, BOY

ANYWAYS DAMN RIGHT I'M FUCKING COOL DON'T YOU FORGET THAT

#SKILLSPOSTING #LONG POST #Ooc: OK dropping the “ooc notes in capslock too” bit for this. I am so sorry I don't know how this got so long. I blame the capslock LOL 🤣#Even now my eyes are glazing over looking at this...#This is something I'm a liiiittle bit passionate about. HPE was always my C subject in school while I'd get straight A's everywhere else...#...and my teachers were all the type to only watch the people they already knew were good (who would be very exclusive and only pass...#...the ball to one another). Badminton saved me though! 😊 (Sadly my leg is too bad now so I can't play anymore...)#It's easy for me to say all this since I come from a place of privilege having enough free time for this when some people might not #As well as being able to walk and run in the first place. And usually having the motivation to get up to do that.#So again don't let me yelling at you through PI influence you. You know *yourself* better than anyone.#BUUUUT even some stretches when you get up can make you feel good! 🤗Hahaha #Treat your body well. It's the only one you have. (I know that's *so* cliché to say... but it's a cliché for a reason hahaha)#ALSO. This whole thing... kind of doesn't align with my view of PI? But I'll talk about that in the tags of another response I need to make

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qrevo · 8 months

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got curious and looked at the MILGRAM # on twitter. sorted by latest. worst mistake of my life 💀💀

#curiosity killed the cat am i right (is that a motherfricking milgram reference)#it's just. full of people proudly saying ''i voted on this project (that i don't care about) because of a superstition 🥰🥰''#''yeah there are people that might care about this project. but not me!! i just want free tickets to see my fav idols 🥰🥰''#''found a coin on the street today. TOTALLY related to voting on this random project 🥰🥰''#like. come on. this whole ''unforgiving shrine'' is just absurd.#people voting unforgiven with 5-6 different accounts and linking it to every single good thing happening in their lives.#it's just. unfair. to everyone that cares about this project.#fans voting innocent are simply outmatched by this whole insanity #and fans that care about milgram voting guilty for personal theories got their votes tainted and invalidated by this mess.#and it's like. getting worse. the guilty votes are getting faster. both for kazui AND mahiru.#at this point we should just create 50 twitter burner accounts each and start voting forgiven. at least it would balance out the voting.#i'm really hoping this is just temporary and these assholes will just leave the fandom in peace soon #but if this continues until amane's voting starts i'll get kind of worried for future votes.#i was planning on voting amane guilty but if this whole unforgiving shrine continues i'll just vote her inno #because i simply will not be able to vote her guilty with a clear mind while she is being bombarded with guilty votes for NOTHING.#i don't want my votes being summed up with empty meaningless tainted votes.#looking on the bright side. if they stop this mess soon we can still balance the vote out. his voting only ends in october after all.#anyways. can't have shit in detroit am i right. not main tagging because this post is kind of bitter.

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trashbaget · 2 years

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#wrote a fucking poem #because a bitch is fucking feeling things #cue venting in the tags because this is where i'm feeling comfortable to do it right now #a while back i caught the love bug for a friend and tbFCKNh it was the very second time i'd ever actually fallen In Love with someone and..#the first time it didn't end well. long story short: i asked him out and he turned me down but we stayed friends and it actually made us..#grow closer regardless. a little while later i'd realized my feelings were Different and it just came out one night when we were having a..#really deep conversation. and i'm glad i told him because it helped me get over him and we got better and things weren't weird at all. we..#stayed really good fucking friends. now i didn't get to see him for a summer and i definitely don't have feelings for him anymore and i'm..#sincerely happy for him and his now partner. i consider him (and always have) my best friend. (among others but he's definitely Up There..#like no. 2 probably) but way too soon after Talking was summer and we were both farthest from everybody and are both the kind of ppl who..#pretty much don't text anyone except like 2 ppl and we are not one of each's 2. today i got to see him and a bunch of our friends for the..#first time since fucking april and god have i missed them all. but seeing him again kinda fucked me up a second. threw me for a massive loop #i got Weird (neg) and i was NERVOUS as HELL at the start and for a few minutes i couldn't figure out what it even WAS because i hadn't felt.#that way in a long time. and i am not about to catch those feelings for him again because No. i chilled out after like 3 minutes bc i got..#reacclimated to being around ppl My Damn Age again and things weren't Weird (neg) anymore. we talked we joked we sincerely said our I Miss..#Yous and we hung out. with everyone and alone for a bit because ppl had gone out and come back and it was FINE it was NORMAL () and we..#were GOOD. we ARE good. and i don't love him in that way anymore. i love him as a friend. and that love is definitely more intense than with #other friends because we have a deeper bond and yes because i Loved him. but the fact is i don't and it's ANNOYING to react like i still do.#and getting nervous like i still do. and i kept worrying that something i'd do might make it seem like i do and i don't and just UGH having.#feelings is annoying. i've never been able to stay friends with someone after having feelings for them at all let alone INTENSE IN LOVE FEEL #INGS!! like wtf!!! and this is sincerely one of the best friendships i've ever had and i don't want to and Won't. lose him especially for..#this but god DAMN am i not having it right now. and my head's been spinning like a fucking tornado in the 5min ride home and i accidentally.#wrote it out in a poem because the words wouldn't go anywhere when i just tried to brain dump about it because Of Course They Did. because i #can't think about this man in anyway except poetically and i can't write a poem unless it's about love in some degree and just UGH love is #and i'm gonna leave it there because i'm running risk of repeatin myself.#if you read all this i positively adore you and also you need to touch some grass bc reading the vents of internet dwellers is for suckers #i am just kidding i really do sincerely appreciate you and love you very very much thank you for caring #please ignore the following organizational tags:#writing #poetry

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pyrriax · 2 months

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HI TUMBLR late footnote posting before i go to bed (i took a nap today........ ate up most of my time)

not a lot to talk about with footnotes today since i was Busy and my brain wasnt working pfndkmlfd i blame seven hours of modded oneblock

#haunted ecosystem #haunted bookshelf #i might make a tag for these footnote posts? i think its a fun way to document what ive written about without sharing All of it #also yes thats a random crack au that i've have in the back of my head for a bit what about it #i dont think its canon in the slightest its just a funny little thing in my head for writing random bs #honestly i might start trying to work on more wtds stuff. this is kind of a perfect excuse #also! i think how i might work this is that if i work on a larger project during the day then i'll just do the daily prompt #since its a good exercise and an excuse to keep some kind of writing streak going #i actually asked one of my partners for a prompt since i was struggling to find an interesting one #ended up with 'last man standing' for spoke... very fitting tbh #i might write a more canon take for that. the concept i wrote down was much more set in an au than anything since i was also thinking #about asomatous zam at the same time so i kind of just incorparated both of them into it with it being paracosm-era #OH did i ever mention that i have a general title plan for the other parts of that kind of. world #its very set in stone that if i do write more it'll be two more parts #metamorphosis (5 part) and paracosm (1 part with multiple scenes. functionally 3 part maybe?)#asomatous goes in the middle of that. i need to kind of plan all of them out better and see how it wants to flow #metamorphosis was started as a concept because i had a few bad things happen bingo prompts i wanted to be used for asomatous #but didnt end up using. so metamorphosis is my excuse for that. paracosm is just a Concept thats been really plaguing me basically since i #originally wrote asomatous... i should probably come up with a temporary series title. i think something about shattering skies?#its a reoccurring theme and symbol throughout all of them....... i just think its neat #ANYWAYS goodnight to you especially if you actually read through all my tags :)

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mrs-kelly · 1 year

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Selfshippers need to kinda be careful using the term soulbonding because it's a term that has roots in the plurality/multiplicity spaces.

https://multiplicity.fandom.com/wiki/Soulbond_System

Just wanted to warn you because you're a lovely mutual and I don't want you stumbling into syscourse accidentally!

Thank you for the resource! I appreciate you looking out for me.

If I'm being honest, I agree that it could be dangerous for people to use the term lightly. It's why I've been holding back from using it myself, and I wanted to do more research before I decided to say anything about it at all. I don't feel comfortable sharing what leads me to believe that I can identify with that term or any of the culture around it yet, but I feel safe in saying that it's one that makes sense for me.

The link you sent me is actually one that I've read through before, and I encourage anyone else to read through it as well. @jamesfiance also made a post with a few resources that I thought were helpful.

I have to say that I personally can't tell anyone what their experience is, or what counts as "real soulbonding," but I ask that if anyone suspects they might be experiencing it, or if they see the term and think that it sounds cool, please do your research. It is a serious experience and a lifestyle that many people live every day with. It's like a belief system.

The plurality aspect of it is hard for me to touch on without being too personal, but I don't really find myself interacting in those communities much. I have mutuals who are plural, and if they have opinions, I'd be happy to hear about them.

I'm not the best at articulating these kinds of things, which is why I'm not someone who comments on things like this often, so I want to make it clear that I'm not claiming to be an authority on any of these things, and I can only speak for my experiences and how I believe they fit into this term and the culture around it as I've researched it. That being said, I want to reiterate that selfshippers should do their research before identifying with it. Because the experience is more than having a deep connection with an f/o, but it's hard for me to explain in a cogent and concise way.

#man ajfhklds i'm trying hard to make it clear that i am not taking any of this lightly #im just all shaky bc this is rly important to me. and i want to be able to talk about my experiences with it #and im aware that i have a not-insignificant amount of people who'll see what I post about this and i want to represent-#my thoughts and feelings correctly #i admit that i don't know much about s.yscourse or what that looks like in detail; i don't look at d.iscourse in general #but if anyone reads this and does get hurt by anything ive said or feels annoyed bc im not understanding #pls know that you can talk openly with me about it. im not a person who's fixed in these things #im always learning and trying my best to be a person who does the least harm possible #on the flipside; if im taking this way seriously and its not a big deal then i apologize #like i said; this is very important to me. ive never met people who experience this before #and i thought for a long time that i was alone in it and weird #im trying my best to share my experiences at a pace that feels comfortable for me #while still assuring people who may worry that im an interloper using the term lightly that that is not the case #thanks again anon for looking out for me <3 i appreciate the heads up #ren speaks #ask to tag #it might be good for me to come up with a tag about this kind of thing too but. i wanna brainstorm a bit

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killmebythebeach · 1 year

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Just finished tma. I have to go to fucking school tomorrow. How do I FUCKING BE A PERSON AFTER THAT?!?!

I'll probably reblog with more tags later (cuz 30 just isn't enough) but !!!

#you know the drill tma spoilers in the tags dont read tags unless youve watcged the whole series. statement begins #i never really cry over fiction and that held true but FUCK did i get close when jon said 'that ones for sasha'#ill get to the lamenting but let me talk about my fucking !!! first. helen my beloathed i was so fucking happy when you died #i enjoyed her character imensly but GOD was it satisfying to hear jon say 'helen... was that a lie?' and !!! shes a gaslight girlboss #hearing jude and notsasha get smited was also so good. hmmmm i love how slimy jude sounds and how corparate notsasha sounds too #love the moment when all the acatars jon kills realises theyve fucked up (careful who you bully in middleschool)#and daisy and basira :( never liked those two too much but it was still sad :( basira confuses me from a worldbuilding standpoint #i love it though. shes the only person in daisys domain and i think thats metal as fuck. but seeing trevor and breekon alone made me sad #and annabelle!!! stunning. love her. would die for her. shed let it happen.#that being said i want to punch her so fucking bad. shes the tape recorders?#i saw this post where it was like 'what kind of kid was jon that the web thought hed bring the apocolypse?' and i thought itwas exagerating #georgie and melanie! georgie was a favorite from s3 so im glad we get to see her a bit more! even if shes a... cult leader?#oh :( when jon leaves them to get martin from annabelle and when he comes back the other seven survivors are gone :(#i hate all the arguing though :( i have the nuance of an oreo so seeing my blorbos argue just makes me sad :(#anyway. night night my beloved. recollections my beloved. wonderland my beloved. checking out my beloved. gah!#and the rosie and elias statements!!! ive always wondered about rosie and now i wish i never found out!#and hearing jonah and jon work together on the elias statement sounded SO COOL!!!#with jonah being like the voices of all the people hes inhabited. and all the archivists wandering london like zombies!#i was sort of disapointed jonah wasnt like super hard to defeat but holy shiiiiiiiiiit #i. LOVE. the 200 statement. its like 10 minutes long but i just might have to make an animatic of it.#oh its so fucking cool. i always imagined the web and eye as the smart entity power duo but no.#the web was playing the eye like a cheap whistle the entire time. i guess the eye does need avatars to actually do much #like lonely your alone. end you die. desolation is your fault. spiral is all you. but eye needs people to do stuff with its information #martin and jon. Martin and Jon. MARTIN AND JON.#those fucking idiots. hearing martin enter the room and both him and the listeners realizing what happened felt like ORPHEUS turning around #dude. martin stabbing jon always gets joked about. i thought itd be a light hearted moment or some shit #and hearing the three girls at the end. basiras 'good luck'. gah. just hearing the birds chirping was enough #but i also get to know simon was probably mauled to death by a crowd wich i find hilarious.#jonahs 'good luck' as well. like sir. jonah fucking magnus does not have the right to choke me up.#the magnus archives

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sttoru · 4 months

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‘the king of curses doesn’t like sharing. especially not when it comes to his partner.’

☀︎｜tags. heian era!sukuna x female reader. sfw/fluff ? ig. set in the heian era, duh. jealousy & possessive themes. size difference (reader gets referred to as small!). tried to be realistic w/ sukuna’s characterisation so. . . don’t be surprised to read about him killing somebody. therefore, mentions of blood. reader is implied to have a fear of blood (dw sukuna takes care of it teehee). reader gets called 'brat'. not beta read; this sucks ass.

you were taking a stroll outside of the estate, the hem of the floral kimono you’re wearing lightly dragging along behind you. the weather was perfect with not a single cloud in sight.

a pair of silent footsteps follow yours and you sigh. even though it was an usual occurrence, you still aren’t used to having one of sukuna’s servants at your side at all times. your over protective lover insisted that it was for your own ‘safety’. as if anything or anyone could harm you whilst you stay within the four walls of the estate far up in the mountains.

sukuna is continuously busy and thus decided to assign you a personal maid that accompanies you and takes care of your every need when he isn’t able to. well - looking at the bright side of things - at least she tries her best to hide her presence from you. she tags along silently and only speaks when spoken to.

you stop near a sakura tree and tilt your head back to admire its beauty. after a few minutes pass, you hear a different pair of footsteps walking up your way. you turn your head and see a familiar male servant approaching you with his head held low.

his hands were holding onto a platter with a cup of warm tea and a few of your favorite delicacies. the brown-haired man greets you politely. maybe a bit too politely as his voice carries a bright smile, “good afternoon, my lady.”

you return the greeting with a smile of your own. it was like you to treat the servants around the estate with kindness and care — a total opposite of the king of curses. you take a pastry from the platter and look back up at the man, “thank you for bringing me these. i appreciate it greatly.”

the way you treat the ones of lower status has always been an admirable trait of yours. it might have stirred some forbidden feelings for you in the heart of the male servant. he knows that it was impossible - he’d seen how easily sukuna gets rid of those who get too close to you.

but, he isn’t here. the king of curses isn’t present in the current moment. the brown-haired male shifts in his place a little, fingernails digging into the material of the plate he was holding. he was going to do it — no one could hold him back. not even the maid who stood a couple steps away.

“y-you look very beautiful, my lady.” the servant stutters and bows his head at you. you are surprised to hear such a flattering sentence leave the lips of the man in front of you. none of the men around you had dared to be this straightforward in ages. they all knew the possible consequences that such actions could bring after all.

perhaps it was due to the absent intimidating presence of your lover. still, you can’t help but feel grateful. you giggle softly, covering your mouth with your free hand, “thank you so much.”

the male servant gulps at the sound of your laughter. ‘oh, how lucky the king of curses is - to have such a beautiful woman at his side,’ the man thought to himself. he was sure that he could treat you better than the indifferent sukuna himself.

he hesitates to continue the conversation for a second. there was an urge deep within him; to ask if you’d like to have some tea with him in the dining area. it would be extremely bold and maybe way out of line considering that you’re taken.

but, the way you reacted to his earlier compliment gave him a huge confidence boost. one that would sooner or later send him to his grave.

“would you perhaps be interested in joining me for a drink, my lady?” the servant asks and anything that happens after that instant, is all but a blur.

you can’t process the next few moments as everything happens way too fast. the last thing you remember seeing, was the servant before you. a sudden gust of wind passes by and the sounds of quick slashes fill your ears. you couldn’t figure out anything else as your vision gets blocked by something. or rather - someone.

a familiar and large hand covers the back of your head. the scent of the person holding you is also oddly familiar—a certain scent that made a shiver run down your spine from both excitement and light fear.

“sukuna?” you guess and guess correctly. your voice was muffled due to your face being smushed against his torso. you didn’t yet understand what happened, so you try to pull your body away from the king of curses, only for his grip on you to tighten.

sukuna’s face was as emotionless as ever. his eyes look down at the pile of blood near your feet — what was once a human being had now turned into nothing but a pure crimson liquid.

“foolish. absolutely foolish.” the king of curses grumbles, his tone filled with disgust. he doesn’t soften the grip on your body for even a moment. one of his four arms holds you captive against him, his hand firmly yet somehow tenderly cradling your head just above his midriff, “it seems that i cannot leave this place for a single second.”

sukuna glances at your personal maid who had been bowing to him the moment he appeared out of thin air. she could feel his piercing gaze on her and knew exactly what to do without being told: to clean up the mess that stained the garden’s pavement.

“sukuna,” you try to move your head again, but was still restricted. you let out a small whine in response. you just wanted to see your lover after spending an entire day without him. any thoughts about that servant from earlier had long vanished, “i want to see you. can i?”

the request is an innocent one. there isn’t a visible change in sukuna's expression, but the way you asked him that was quite. . . endearing, if he were to explain it. he would comply if it wasn’t for the literal bloodbath he created. which he doesn’t want you to witness.

“not yet.” he replies and effortlessly uses one of his arms to pick your small body up. your lover notices how you try to steal a glimpse at the scene behind you while he moves you around in his embrace. he grunts and gently smacks the back of your head, “no peeking, brat. do as told.”

sukuna knows how much you hate the sight of blood. he's being considerate towards you — even if you do not realise that just yet. however, he also does not have a single regret about murdering that servant. it was to be expected. anybody who dares to make a move on his woman should suffer his wrath.

plus, it's not like you don't know about sukuna's ruthless actions. you’ve come to get used to them; more and more male servants keep dissappearing without a trace after they’ve been ‘too friendly' with you. it's easy to guess who’s behind those disappearances.

it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. as long as you don't see it happening and as long as you get to stay under sukuna's care and protection - you don’t mind.

“can i look now?” you huff after sukuna has carried you away from the garden. the king of curses clicks his tongue at your impatience.

he sighs deeply before allowing you back on your own two feet, “i do not understand why you’re so adamant on looking at me, but fine.”

you waste no time and immediately open your eyes. your gaze doesn’t wander off towards your surroundings—it instantly settles on sukuna. he looked the same as usual; there was not a single change about his appearance and yet you find yourself smiling at the sight of him.

“i missed you.” you hug your lover and feel him returning the gesture a few seconds later. he looks the other way and may seem indifferent to your display of affection, though the man was secretly grateful for it. for you in general.

“mhm.” sukuna lets out a small noise of acknowledgment and that is all you get out of him. he doesn’t have to say much; his body automatically does the talking. he squeezes your body against his — your small frame disappearing behind his beefy arms.

the king of curses doesn’t understand why, but the way your eyes sparkle when looking at him, intrigues him. sukuna had never seen another human look at him like that before after all. they all cower in fear; except for you. you don’t show a single ounce of fear. thus why you are something - someone - he must keep for himself.

he has and will never have any intent on sharing you with anyone. you’re his, for as long as he exists.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #female reader

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sunnami · 3 months

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❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders x reader. (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.”

You blink.

“Get the fuck out of my room!”

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making.

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls.

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!”

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze. Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!”

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly.

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.”

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.”

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies.

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—”

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.”

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you.

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”)

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—”

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.”

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.”

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.”

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home.

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were �� are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that.

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”)

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.”

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze.

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.”

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much.

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile.

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.”

“I know.” Harry grins.

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.”

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally.

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.”

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow.

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers.

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.”

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.”

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you.

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast.

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.)

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?”

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.”

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you.

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.”

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze.

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.”

“Oi!”

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.”

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.”

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary.

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.”

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”)

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.”

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.”

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!”

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?”

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically.

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name.

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now.

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?”

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.”

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right?

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.”

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily.

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.”

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.”

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable.

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced.

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear.

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.”

Harry’s eye twitches.

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.”

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly.

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.”

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?”

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.”

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.”

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.”

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading.

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands.

“In your dreams!” You shrill.

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.”

Harry nods. “Is it time already?”

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.”

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?”

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.”

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?”

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?”

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat.

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.”

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this.

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes.

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.”

“One date, then.”

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?”

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.”

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.”

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you.

“And I want to—”

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—”

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration.

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases.

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words.

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.”

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.”

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.)

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance.

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.”

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm.

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.”

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.”

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.”

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth.

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it.

He falls in love.)

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.”

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?”

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.”

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.”

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.”

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.”

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader

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