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cosmicballads · 2 months

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fisselig

Send a Ship + a Non-Translatable Word

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Fisselig: Being flustered to the point of incompetence

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Everything was going smoothly. Smoother than Remy had initially anticipated. He knew that while people believed he was incredibly approachable, Remy was barely capable of conversing with the people he worked with regularly, let alone a stranger. He had his people, the (very) few who could comfortably push Remy out of his comfort zone and he was grateful for them. Those same people were also the ones who pushed Remy into going out and attempting to date.

‘You can’t live in your cabin alone forever.’ They had a point, and despite his protest that he wasn’t alone (he did have his hound after all), there were other facets of human interaction that he did need, which couldn’t be satiated by some seedy website or overpriced movie. Besides, he could only rely on his imagination for so long. Online dating worked to help build up his confidence. Mainly because he could sound effortless, charming, and dare he say cool through the messaging systems which was a huge difference compared to his stammering nervous wreck when he had to speak to a person face to face. His friends also set him up on blind dates, many of which went about as well as he could expect, despite the nerves that seemed to wrack him but nothing ever escalated to the point where the invite back to his place or theirs; Remy learned quickly that he had to disclose he lived in the woods and was, not a serial killer, which somehow killed the buzz more than anybody would have anticipated.

This date, on the other hand, was going swimmingly. Tabitha didn’t care that he lived in the woods. Quite frankly, she was Intimidating enough that he would be the one who was lured into the woods never to come out again. Remy felt that Tabitha complimented him almost perfectly. Something about the woman eased his anxieties and allowed him to relax enough so that when the two determined that the remainder of the evening would best be finished off somewhere more private, he didn’t hesitate to suggest his place.

The tension in the air only seemed to thicken by the time the Uber driver had dropped them off in front of his door, there was very little time between them getting out of the car and inside the door before the momentum heated up. It was in one fell swoop that Tabitha found herself on top of the wooden dining table, half-dressed with Remy’s callused hands moving towards removing her jeans. She stopped him, not seeing the brief flash of panic that crossed his face, the fear that he had somehow fucked up and killed the mood. His button-down came off, her hands tangled into his hair, and their lips met hungrily. There was a sense of relief that relaxed Remy’s tensed shoulders at Tabitha taking charge, he was far enough out of practice that he certainly didn’t want to tell this woman who had very much taken charge what to do. He would let her lead and make sure if anything, she left more satisfied than she anticipated. Of course, this meant that he had to get over the fact that he was equally as clothed as the woman in front of him and that they wouldn’t be for much longer. Or the fact that if everything went horribly, he would never live it down and replay every moment that went wrong in his mind (and not in a good way) every time he would hopefully get as far if not further with another woman.

Tabitha pulled away quickly as if something had shocked her, and her face twisted from what he could only assume was lust to a brief look of embarrassment before the anger took over. A glance down and the now gaping space between them told Remy everything. Before he could stammer out an apology or an excuse or anything to potentially save the situation, Tabitha had dressed and was in the process of ordering a rideshare back into town. Back home and far away from the disaster that was Remy.

“I-I d-do-don’t- it-it wasn’t you.” He managed to get out, fearing the ire that would come from the woman tapping her foot impatiently, not bothering to glance at Remy back, let alone the time of day. He watched her tense up, a slow turn to face him again and Remy could feel the anger rolling off her in waves.

Instead, Tabitha said nothing. The ping from her phone let her know that her driver was five minutes away and to be ready to go outside and get out of this disaster area. Without another word, the front door opened, the chill of the night air cooled Remy’s hot face, and then closed once more, taking what up until a few moments ago, his date with it.

#meme ( answered )#leiaskywclker #10000 years later #Remy;Tabitha #bye everyone see you in a year when i write my next thing

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cixatrix · 4 years

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@leiaskywclker

“You know you can be upfront with me, Beck.” He took her hand into his and tugged her forward. “I’m not running away - you know we’re in this together.”

#leiaskywclker #because yo up to interpretation on which way you want to go about it #and kek #G; Beck 003

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infernare · 4 years

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"The only thing to come now is the sea."

sylvia plath poetry - sentence starters - part i.

The boat rocks as it carries them across the sea to the island. He doesn’t know what to expect for the invitation hadn’t been as clear as he would’ve liked, but he knows it has to be something exceptional to take this amount of secrecy and vigil. There is nothing on that island but the mansion of a man obsessed with making history by joining the likes of Galileo and Copernicus. A mad scientist, as they called him. Miles knows quite a lot about madness however, and as far as he can tell, it is always built upon some amount of truth. If the old Mr. Baxter has something to show him, then he wants to see it. How fruitful the journey will be is a worry for another time.

He settles into the room he is offered, bathing and changing into clothes fit for the evening. The living room is large and lavish, and the judgmental stares of the long dead settle upon him from the walls. He has never understood that. Did Baxter even know those people? His question doesn’t find an answer when the host shows up to greet him, finally. “Godfrey!” The name reminds him of his late family and he hates it. “It’s a pleasure to have you here. I trust the accomodations are to your liking?”

“Please, call me hunter.” That is what he is after all. The creature he has become. A hunter of monsters. The apex predator. All the other names refer to men he no longer is.

“Of course,” Baxter is quick to comply. He is a courteous man of impeccable manner despite his shortcomings.

“The accomodations are excellent, thank you.” He does his best to cling on to these unspoken rules of polite society, but it feels strange. It’s a simple fact that he doesn’t belong anymore. “I was surprised by your invitation.”

Baxter beckons him away from the ugly portraits on the walls and closer to the sitting area. “Yes, in truth I did not expect you to accept it, but I am truly happy that you did.” The man points out a seat across from him and serves each a glass of his best whiskey. “I have been looking for a second opinion from specialists in fields I can only do guesswork in. Unfortunately, most fail to see any validity in my research…”

The bitter taste of whiskey coats his tongue. In spite of the lavishness displayed all over the mansion, Baxter comes across as a simple man. He assumes the man has been born into wealth, and raised with his head in the books. It makes him more likable than many a men of his stature. However, one cannot be unmade. “And what kind of specialized opinion are you looking to gain from me?”

Baxter points a finger at him as if he has unveiled a particularly exciting secret. “Oh, you’ll see. You’ll see.” He finishes his whiskey at once and rises from his seat. “You are a man of few words, aren’t you, God— Hunter?” Baxter doesn’t seem to feel any one way about it. “I’ll show you first. I’m sure you’ll have a lot to say then.”

He sets down his glass and follows the man through the maze of hallways. A private library hides spiraling steps that take them down to what can only be the basement. The room at the end acts like a small storage. Aside from stacks of goods, all he can see is a door. Double locked. Baxter pulls the chain of keys from his pocket and unlocks it. He pushes it just enough for a streak of light to spill through the crack, then stops and turns around to face him. Miles can hear water. “I don’t believe I have to remind you of this, but please, try to remember. You cannot trust what you think you see.”

The door swings open and he steps in to face the biggest tank he has ever seen. His eyes take only a moment to register there is something inside it. No, someone. No… No, something.

“You caught one.” He steps closer to the glass that separates her from them. She has long yellow hair and blue eyes. Her breasts are bare, but they are not what his sight lingers on. Her skin changes as it reaches down her navel, as if covered in fur, but that isn’t hair. She has scales, they glisten at the touch of light like jewels. The vision is otherworldly, and yet he isn’t shocked. If anything, his invitation makes sense now. Baxter needed his opinion as a connoisseur of her kind – as a hunter. “Alive?”

The look on her face is hateful. She presses her palms into the glass, opens her mouth and screams. He can’t hear a thing, but he knows what she’s doing. “Isn’t she magnificent?” Baxter steps closer to Miles, and she turns to him, throwing the man a disdainful look and screaming again. She hates all men, but Baxter in particular, he can tell. He has the inkling feeling his host isn’t a perfect gentleman to all of his guests. “She keeps doing that.”

“They scream for many reasons,” he explains, stepping closer to the glass. “Sometimes to call upon others for help… Others to stunt a prey before they kill them.” And there was no one around to help her. He places his palm against the cool glass and she swims closer, eyeing him as if studying a singularly odd creature. It is then that it strikes him. This creature hasn’t had much contact with humans before. “Where did you find her?”

“I drew a map.” Baxter smiles, proud of his own resourcefulness. Despite talking to each other, they are both looking at her. “There have been accidents with fishing boats. I looked for a pattern, then it was just a matter of time until the accident happened to me. Fortunately, I was prepared for it.” He walks up to the tank and knocks on the glass. Her eyes change color and she bares her teeth. “Two men got lifelong scars trying to catch her… Nasty little creatures, aren’t they?”

“She comes from the shallows,” he decides, motioning towards her scales. “She looks healthy. Colorful.” Tearing his gaze away from her, Miles turns to look at Baxter. “This kind isn’t too bad. I’ve seen much worse.” His sight settles upon her again and their eyes meet. Her look isn’t quite as hostile now, instead there is something akin to a plea in them. A part of him knows this is inhumane, but another brings up the memories of his drowning shipmates. “What are you feeding her?”

“Nothing. She won’t eat what we give her.” Baxter knocks on the glass again, catching her attention. “There is something else too…”

Miles furrows his brows. “What?”

Baxter smiles at him. “Sometimes when I walk in here… she has legs.”

He is shocked to hear that. It has been so long since he started hunting these creatures, and only now he hears they can walk among them. His eyes find her again, colored in disbelief. “I didn’t know that.”

“I assumed you wouldn’t. Studying these creatures is far more rewarding than wiping them out, don’t you think?”

Miles throws him an irritated look. “It depends on how close you are to getting killed by one of them.”

Baxter lets out a hearty laugh. “Don’t take it personally, Hunter. We do what we can when we can.” He gives his shoulder a squeeze. “That is precisely what I would like to discuss with you. What we can do.”

His curiosity is piqued again and he allows himself to be led outside by the man, though he notices from the corner of his eyes that she starts hitting the glass as if begging not to be left alone. Miles isn’t heartless, he feels for her predicament, but he doesn’t trust her. If she is anything like the others he has run into, she would rip his throat out in his sleep. He won’t give her the chance.

Back in the sitting room, he lights up a cigar, processing what he has just witnessed. A deadly mermaid trapped in the basement. Baxter is making a mistake and he knows it. “What do you plan to do with her?”

The host is pouring them another round of drinks. “There is so much we can learn from her…”

“She can’t speak to us.” Miles doesn’t know why he is irritated, but Baxter is starting to get on his nerves. “And even if she could, she wouldn’t. She is starving herself. She would rather starve than eat what you give her.”

Baxter chuckles. “I could make her talk if I took away something dear to her.”

The way the mad man thinks is reductive. He doesn’t know these creatures, Miles thinks, and whatever plan he has will be turned against him. There is nothing she wants that much. “What could you possibly take? She is swimming naked in a dark basement.”

“I’m working on a drug.” Baxter brings the glass to his lips and savors his whiskey. “It’s supposed to keep her from changing… The next time she has legs, I’ll make sure she can’t get rid of them.” He throws his guest a pointed look. “If I take away who she is… what do you think she’ll do to have it back?”

He considers it for a moment before answering, “Anything.” And Baxter smiles.

“Would you stay to help me handle her, Hunter?”

Miles knows he is supposed to leave, but his mouth still says “Yes.”

——————————————

It’s the evening and he hasn’t seen her since the day before last. She is still on his mind though, every minute of every day. He told Baxter it was too early to give his drug a try, after all if anything goes wrong, they could lose her. Baxter doesn’t listen. Tomorrow they will try the drug on her. He goes to bed, but fails to fall asleep, tossing and turning under the sheets for what feels like hours. Finally, Miles decides to leave his room, standing before the door to Baxter’s and listening in on his loud snoring. After all the whiskey he had had after dinner, he must be out cold. He sneaks in and looks down at the man’s snoring figure. Even as he sleeps, passed out drunk like any other man, his wealth is made obvious. Miles looks through his drawer for the chain of keys, and very quietly leaves the room again, closing the door.

The mansion is haunting at the late hours of night, and while the eeriness provokes unease on him, he is unafraid. He has abandoned a good portion of his humanity a long time ago.

Behind the double locked door, Miles finds her again, braiding her yellow hair. She glances at him once he steps in, then resumes her work, paying him no mind. He steps closer to the tank and touches the ice cold glass with his bare hand, watching her. She is unlike any other he has even encountered, perhaps because he has never gotten the chance to look at one in such proximity. Not without fighting for his life. She isn’t human by any means, he know that, but she feels very humane. There is an instant kinship despite the many years of hunting down her kind and making them pay for the drowning of his friends.

“You have never hurt a human before,” he says and she glances in his direction again, meeting his gaze, “Have you?”

The creature doesn’t answer, but she watches him back.

Miles isn’t sure she can understand him at all. “Why did you attack that fishing boat?” It doesn’t make sense to him that she has never seen a man before, but she attacked them still. There is a part of the puzzle that is missing, something he didn’t consider before. A fishing boat. “Did you mean to release the fish from the nets?” It hardly seemed worth exposing herself like that. Then it hits him, the missing piece, and a flash of understanding glints in his eyes. “Something else got caught in those nets, didn’t it? Something worth dying for.” His sharp gaze meets a nervous expression. “Was it… a child?” Her gaze becomes cold, rigid, in an attempt to shut him out. Miles knows that he is right. “Daughter? Son? Brother?”

She swims closer to him, so fast that it startles him, and starts screaming. The sound doesn’t carry through the glass, but her vicious expression makes it clear that she would not only die for her brother, she would kill too.

After the initial scare, he smiles at her. “You are more human than I thought.” Miles steps closer to the tank and caresses the glass. Baxter wouldn’t care that she is innocent, that she wasn’t the one to attack all those boats, just the one. Should he help her? Or should he leave her in the care of a mad man and his experiments? Even if he wanted to help her, she would never trust him.

He watches her expression soften as her anger fades into hesitation, considering what to do next. Miles could turn around and leave, or he could do something crazy. Turning, he makes his way to the door, stopping only when she starts banging on the glass. A sigh escapes his lips, then he grabs a chair from the desk on the opposite wall and brings it to four feet away from the tank. Miles doesn’t bother explaining it to her, after all it doesn’t seem like she understands him much, and instead proceeds to take off his robe and use it to cover the chair. Then he goes back to the desk, looking through the drawers after something sharp. A sharp steel letter opener will do.

Miles returns to his seat and looks at the creature. The weapon in his hand seems to frighten her and she swims back, away from the glass. “I won’t hurt you,” he promises, “I need to show you something.” There is still time to change his mind and he feels the weight of the steel in his hand, mulling over it. Time is running out, however, and at once he brings the letter opener to his throat and slides the blade over skin, slicing it open.

The shocked look on her face as he bleeds out is almost endearing. He chokes on his own blood and the color vanishes from his face. Letting his head fall back against the seat, Miles flutters his eyes shut, and then it’s all pitch black.

Her hands meet the glass and she watches him, or rather the pale, limp body on the chair, staining the robe red. She doesn’t understood why he did that, or why there, in front of her. Her clear blue eyes can’t believe the horror she has just witnessed, blood running and dripping down his bare chest and shoulders. The wound — it looks so painful — how could he do that? Then something happens, and her eyes widen in shock, or awe, or horror, as the skin of his throat puts itself back together. Little by little, the color returns to his face, and at once he wakes, coughing the blood out of his lungs like a near drowning man. She has never seen that before, but somehow knows it’s not unlike her own transformation.

Miles wipes his mouth and looks at the wide-eyed mermaid in her glass cage. “I am not human,” he says, sparing her the details, “you can trust me.”

She watches him for a long moment, then nods. She chooses to trust him.

#leiaskywclker #ok i'll post this in 2 parts bec it got away from me..................#enjoy part one!!!! maybe #( tabitha. you were my new dream )#( ask. miles godfrey )

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malcolmbrights-a · 4 years

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i’m attached to the clown as a writing partner :’)

asjkdhkjshakjdasdas i can’t beliebe you jackie. you and gemma are EVIL. but i love you okay and i adore you and your writing xD LIKE SO MUCH

#i used to be soooo scared of you cause you are soooo cool #but now i get to write with you or even talk to you and i feel lucky <3 #leiaskywclker

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hanjesungs · 4 years

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discrete. (for sara and gabe, follow ur heart)

nsfw prompts ;)

Sara liked Gabe. She liked the way his eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled down at her, and she liked the way his hands felt with he laced his fingers together with hers under the table when they had the time to get out of town for a nice dinner. She liked the way her body fit next to his when they were stretched out under the covers in his bed, and she liked how he looked at her like she hung the fucking moon. What she didn’t like, however, was that despite the fact that she made a point to wear as little clothing as possible (even going so far as to sleep naked once) when she stayed the night at his place and he still had yet to have sex with her again. It didn’t matter how she huffed and puffed as she lurked around the kitchen in nothing but one of his button up shirts standing up on her tip toes to strain to reach something high up as he walked past so he’d get a good view of how the shirt barely covered the curve of her ass. He. Would. Not. Budge. When she tried to initiate things, he’d pull back with several kisses peppered across her face before he smiled at her, the feeling of happiness radiating off his stupid celibate bones. “If we’re going to do this, I want to do it right,” he swore to her.

Instead of making her eyes roll so far into the back of her head, he wanted to hold the door open for her. He wanted to slow dance with her in his living room to songs that were before Sara’s time but that she found herself liking more and more every time he turned on the stereo. He wanted to send her flowers anonymously while she was at work, while all the nurses cooed over them and wondered who her secret admirer was. He wanted to plan a weekend getaway for Valentine’s day for them and surprise her with fancy dinner reservations in a quiet coastal town in Virginia.

At every restaurant, they sat near the back, side by side and faced away from the front door. Not that they thought anyone would recognize them, but just as a precaution. Down in Virginia, away from the prying eyes of the nurses in the ER at New York Presbyterian Hospital, he ordered a bottle of wine and for a while they just talked. And for a while Sara was content with that. At the end of the day, she really did appreciate just being around Gabe, and soaking up the way he looked at her. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t desire more. And if there was one thing Sara was not, it was subtle. As he talked about something she was having a hard time paying attention to, she let her hands wander, discretely.

It started with her staring straight into his eyes like she was paying attention while her hand slid across the smooth fabric of his dress shirt. All that time he’d spent at the hospital gym after work was evident in the hard planes of his chest, she could tell. It continued when he grinned a delightfully wicked grin at her and didn’t stop when her hands found the inside of his thighs, strong and solid even through the starchy fabric of his slacks. Without looking at his face again, Sara could tell he liked her touch, and emboldened, she reached for the buckle on his belt. She heard the sharp intake of his breath before his hand, warm and soft, grabbed her wrist. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his that were dark and swimming with emotions she always had a hard time deciphering. “Sara,” he started, his voice uncharacteristically low and almost strangled. “Nena, not here. Not like this.”

She huffed in response and slunk back to her own space before crossing her arms across her chest. After a moment, she persisted, “If not now, when?”

The lack of an answer, and the apologetic look spreading across his features only made her frown deepen before she looked away.

#leiaskywclker #c. sara sufrón #c. gabriel vasquez

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aquamanandfriends · 5 years

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@leiaskywclker replied to your post: [ Me going back to my 400+ drafts like: ]

lol i don’t have nearly as many drafts but i feel this deeply

[ I used to be good at this lol what happened ]

#leiaskywclker #【 speaking ❖ the mun 】

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icantwalk · 5 years

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“Pleaseeee? Nobody else wants to play Santa!!”

“...I do’t do kids.”

#leiaskywclker

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varelsen · 5 years

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wolf, for the translation meme!

varg !

#🐺#ask #leiaskywclker

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agaywadarchive · 5 years

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❄️ for claudia and alex!!!!!! bc i stan

Title: A Partnership Who: Claudia Daviau (Reeves in this, I guess?) / Alex ReevesRating: PGNotes: This is like in an AU where they get married when they don’t know each other. Alex needed a wife to look good to public and Claudia was about to go to jail for killing a man (lol she be like that in this verse). They really don’t get along and Alex’s aro/ace ass just doesn’t seem into her. Claudia wants to make things work though so she’s gonna make her case.

It was done as a favor. He scratched her back by making sure she didn’t go to jail for manslaughter, and she married him to make him look normal for the press. She got freedom, and he got an opportunity to move forward with his goals. At first, Claudia was fine with the arrangement. He seemed nice when they first spoke and like someone she could get along with. Attractive, so she she didn’t find it awful to pretend being his doting wife. But after living with him for around a week, she discovered that he wasn’t like any of the other men she had ever been with. He didn’t seem interested in her at all, and always moved away or pushed her away when she made advances toward him. She’d touch his arm in greeting and he’d jerk back, or he’d come home and she’d be friendly and hug him and he’d push her away. Then, when she wore something revealing and tried to flaunt it in order to see if that would work better at getting attention, he seemed unfazed.

Like recently, she had worn a short sexy Santa Claus dress that hugged at all of her curves and had bent over to fix the magazines on the coffee table, hoping to see his eyes linger, but instead of getting a reaction from him he just told her to move out of the way because he was watching television and it was at the good part. It was frustrating to her. She was used to being seen as the beautiful woman that everyone wanted. She was used to eyes lingering on her and people hanging onto every single word that she said because she was easy on the eyes. She wasn’t used to being ignored or seen as unattractive. This was new to her and she didn’t like it at all and really didn’t know how to deal with it. She was the type of person who liked to be liked and admired. She ate up attention and craved it.

It also didn’t help that the house she now lived in wasn’t a place she picked out. It was his place before she moved in and she didn’t really feel like her home. She had moved some of her stuff into it, but not everything, because there wasn’t enough room for her, even though she had taken his guest room as her room. She felt like she was intruding and that she was an uninvited guest. It didn’t feel like her place at all, and she wasn’t really sure how Alex would react if she said she wanted to redecorate a little.

She wish it felt like a home, that way she wouldn’t be bothered by how lonely she felt. It was strange to live with someone and not know what they wanted and she had no idea how to ask, or if she should ask. But she wanted to bond with him somehow, and she thought Christmas dinner would be a great way to do that.

So as he typed away on his laptop in the living room, she picked it up from his lap, and the placed a plate of ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, and green beans there. He gave her a puzzled look when she did that, and then he rubbed at the top of his nose with his fingers - possibly in frustration. Claudia thought he wasn’t going to tell her that he wasn’t hungry, but then he began to eat and she beamed at him. “It’s good, isn’t it?” she asked eagerly, wanting to hear him compliment her food, since part of the reason she ever cooked for anyone was so they could compliment it.

“It is,” he said, but he didn’t say more than that. He kept quiet and chewed, and she watched him curiously.

She was waiting for him to say more, but when he didn’t, she spoke. “My nanny used to make us the same thing every year for Chrismukkah, so I basically started doing the same thing the older I got. I thought - well - that it would be pretty dumb to mess up a good thing, so I just kept with tradition.” Which was true. Her nanny Delphine was Jewish and celebrated different holidays from the Daviaus, but somehow she always made things work in both her and the family’s favor.

His eyebrow raised, and he said, “Uh-huh,” but nothing else. He did keep his eyes on her when she spoke though, so she wasn’t offended by his short response.

“But I did have something I wanted to talk to you about that doesn’t involve food.” She cut up her food as she spoke, but then looked up at him to make sure he was paying attention to what she was saying and hadn’t grabbed the laptop back.

He was quiet for a moment, but then he replied with, “Go for it.” After speaking, he took another bite of his food.

“I’m unhappy and wanted to know if I can do more for this senate race thing?” she asked, his eyebrow lifting as she spoke. “I’m highly intelligent and I feel like it’s such a waste for me to simply be used as an accessory in all of this. I want to do more and I want this to be a partnership.” He cleared his throat, but he surprisingly didn’t walk away. “I’m pretty sure you don’t like me because you avoid me like the plague, but I could still benefit you in all of this and it would make me much happier to be involved.”

“Never said I didn’t like you,” he said quickly, sighing as though he prefered to keep his mouth shut.

That statement made her smile a little, but not too much. “Well, I think we should speak more. We don’t have to have long-winded conversations, but when you asked me to get involved in all of this I expected to at the very least get along with you. I don’t have very many friends after the trial and the women in this neighborhood are awful.” She frowned. “I don’t think that’s asking for much, but if I have kiss you in public or hold your hand, I have to get to know you a little more because it’s uncomfortable for me.”

Alex nodded his head, but didn’t say anything other than a simple, “Okay.” His expression made it seem like he was thinking things through, but he never said what, which caused her to furrow in her brows a little bit. “...But I do get busy.”“Which I understand, but five minutes of your day shouldn’t be an issue,” she said, her tone a little feistier than before. “I want this to work, but it won’t if you put no effort into it and expect me to just walk around as a trophy wife. I am and will always be better and more than that.” She finally took a bite of her food and then swallowed, standing up to pour herself some wine. “Anyways, merry Christmas...enjoy the food. I’m going to go and eat while watching television, and then I’m going to bed.”

@ravenpuff-writes @leiaskywclker

#elliesfinishedworks #writing: claudia daviau #( fake ass hoes )#i don't like this but i wanted to post it because if i didn't #i never fucking would #and i feel like alex would probably have attitude because he doesn't #owe claudia like anything #so idk idk #but i wrote the thing and gotta post it #leiaskywclker

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atcmicorgasms · 5 years

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👄 can u pls have nerd squad spill the tea on each other

send a ‘👄 + character name’ and my muse will talk about that character

Stella on Logan → “Okay, first of all, Logan is one of the easiest people to talk to and I’ve gone to her first for a lot of things when I want a more...reasonable voice. She’s my judgement free zone and she’s done so much just for herself and for Lizzie and the latest peanut that’s coming up. Honestly, I look up to Logan so much.”

Estevan on Logan → “I don’t know what really needs to be said that isn’t already known. It’s no secret that I’m...uh...in my feelings about her? She’s amazing, absolutely everything she does, it’s done with the most grace and I really don’t know how she keeps it together. She’s tackling the single-parent thing so well and just adores the kid and the dog. I...don’t even get me started, I could go on forever.”

Stella on Hazel → “Where Logan’s my voice of reason, Hazel is the one that will get my ass in gear. I forget she’s the youngest in our group because she’s so wise for her age and even wiser than we are. She takes almost no shit and she’s...God, she’s so strong, I can’t fathom what goes through her brain or what she does to be that strong.”

Estevan on Hazel → “Hazel doesn’t scare me, she’s not as intimidating as she puts out. I know she can kick my ass, there’s no doubt about that, but there’s something about Hazel that...there’s so much more than meets the eye. I respect her, I know what she’s capable of but I also know not to get on her bad side.”

Stella on Finnegan → “Finnegan is my best friend first and foremost, everything else comes secondary and that’s something I don’t want to mess it up because now that we’re actually acting on our feelings for each other because Rigel loves him. I really don’t know what I’d do without him if he wasn’t around. He’s definitely my rock.”

Estevan on Finnegan → “Finn’s like my brother, he’s the only other dude in our group and he’s probably the smartest one. He tends to always know what to say or when to call most of us on our bullshit. Not in the way that Hazel does but he does it in a less aggressive way.”

Stella on Estevan → “He’s my little brother, he’s a huge pain in the ass. I love him to death though, he’s...our emotional balance. He’s my emotional balance, I think. Even when he’s on his bullshit and shoving people in closet to realize their feelings, he’s got a good heart and he’s...he’s been there for all of us when we need him. I want him to be able to count on us when he needs us, as much shit as we give him.”

Estevan on Stella → “Stella’s always been good to me. Not in the way that Logan is, because Logan’s an angel and everyone else are just collectively kind of assholes, but Stella’s never...dismissed me, I guess you could say. I’m not her first choice for a lot of things but she’s never dismissed me for what I do have to offer.”

#meme ( answered )#Stella ( answers )#Estevan ( answers )#i assume you meant everyone #which is why stella and este spill on each other too #the entirety of this family is too pure #leiaskywclker

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cosmicballads · 4 years

Note

cinematic for finn and stella heyyyyyy

NSFW Prompts List | Accepting

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“Stella.” Finnegan hissed, placing his hand on top of hers in order to stop it from inching further up his thigh. Stella cast him an innocent look before training her eyes back on the screen in front of them. Finn let go of her hand apprehensively, not trusting that she wouldn’t attempt to start up again.

“Hmm?” Stella tipped forward a bit to check on Rigel who was laying on the floor at her feet, completely oblivious to what his mother was up to. She leaned back, removing her hand from Finnegan’s thigh, folding her hands into her own lap. “Is everything okay?” Finn shot her a look, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Rigel is right there.” Stella nodded, aware of her surroundings and just who was in the room.

“He’s so engrossed in the movie he wouldn’t even notice.” Came the hushed reply and with it, the quick shift of Stella’s hand back to Finn’s knee. “You never played chicken at high school parties?”

“Stella...” the was a hint of warning in his voice and Stella turned back to looking at Finn, the grin she started to wear becoming more prominent. “We’re not doing this with Rigel right there.”

“Fine.” Her hand retreated and Stella leaned forward to scoop Rigel up in one swift motion as she stood. “Come on, Ri, it’s close to bedtime. We’ll finish the movie in the morning. Say goodnight to Finn.” Rigel twisted himself around in Stella’s arms and waved at Finn.

“Okay bye!” he called as Stella carried him out the room and towards his bedroom. Stella turned to give Finn another glance, adding a tip of the head in the direction of her room.

#meme ( answered )#Stella ( answers )#Stella;Finnegan ( to infinity and beyond )#leiaskywclker

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lifestreamings · 6 years

Text

maybe i’m just tired

// leiaskywclker

Lately, even movement often felt like stagnation for Brooklyn. She had been staring vacantly forward all afternoon, eyes poised fixedly toward the threshold; every once and a while the door would swing open, alleviating the incessant onslaught of thoughts that took hold of her. Thinking of that envelope; half opened, then fully opened, then laid to rest on the table until she had the guts to open it. The boilerplate pages within: contained in them, her ORIGIN. A life that had gone unlived. Her parents. Then, what she’d done the other night, which seemed to be actions belonging to another person entirely—perhaps the alternate-her, the woman she could’ve been had she known who her family was. Had she grown up in one, rather than the foster homes. When she’d opened that envelope, Brooklyn believed powerfully that another reality had been cleaved into existence; it was that Brooklyn who’d walked around her apartment at near-midnight, sans clothes. It was that Brooklyn that’d brazenly barged into a friend’s room, then offered herself in the most explicit ( and unwelcome ) of ways. It was the real Brooklyn, seated in her office chair, that needed to apologize.

Brooklyn retrieved the phone from inside her desk—second drawer to the left—and held its cool metallic body in her hands. Rather numbly, she went about typing: i’m sorry about yesterday, she penned, fingers moving deftly. i didn’t like who i was. Surreptitiously, she clicked the vibrant send button, and it indicated it went through. She sat it there, just inches beside her keyboard, as she dully flicked through the appointment calendar for the day. There was a woman coming in twenty minutes. If she hadn’t gotten a reply by then, she figured she had more extravagant apologizing to do. Explaining. Something she abhorred doing. Minutes inched by, Brooklyn sitting stiffly in her chair, nothing but the pale yellow walls—faded, in need of a new coat—to keep her company. Most days, she felt STIFLED by the smallness, enclosed. Today, it was anchoring. Her mind was roaming, loping forward, desperately trying to find something to grasp onto. The appointment came and went, a tiny old woman with a matching shih tzu who smiled openly at Brooklyn as she left, and the phone still went silent.

She was absently folding sticky-notes into elementary designs when a coworker’s olive face poked around the corridor, summoning her to the examination room. Just for a moment. Brooklyn tucked a rogue curl behind her head, but it stubbornly slipped forward again, bobbing distractedly against her cheek. It was custom, lately, that things rebelled rather than acquiesced: Her attempts at pick-ups had gone awry recently, thus her stash was diminished, which left her vulnerable to the kind of attacks—stunned breath, fly-away heart—she’d had when she was younger. Her late-night ambling had turned sour, her desperate offer denied, and she’d possibly alienated a friend who just so happened to be going through something serious as well. She was called in to work early, then told the woman who necessitated an early start-time had canceled, and Brooklyn was rendered a useless presence. She’d sat outside on the curb and nursed a nervous cigarette, tendrils of noxious smoke coiling like snakes as she breathed them out. Another. Another. Brooklyn only smoked when she felt storm-clouds encroaching. They felt so real, so visceral, that she almost expected there to be gray blotting the horizon. Instead, it was clear, which unnerved her more. Another cigarette.

Brooklyn offered her hand in back, then breezily shot the shit ( as they were given to doing at the pet clinic ) until it was time to call it quits for the day. She was, at the very least, glad for the weather—lately a sweltering kind of heat, today there was a gentle breeze that was calming as she walked her usual fifteen minute trek from the clinic to the apartment. If she were being honest, there was a part of her that was somewhat anxious to see him. The last thing she had needed—or wanted—was to have taken advantage of Chris when he was in a very rough place and stupidly inebriated at that ( though there was enough alcohol in both of their system’s at the time ). He had been reeling from his mother’s diagnoses, secluded himself to going out late at night and drinking nonstop, sometimes not returning for a couple of days. And what had she done? She’d knelt in front of him, offering herself for pleasure, worshiped him until he shot his seed into her mouth, moaning and desperate and fucking sad. Maybe they both were, she contemplated quietly to herself. No. They definitely were. When they were done he burned her up with a look that was all wrong, like a wild animal cornered in a human settlement, desperately out of context and furious without really understanding why.

( “There’s your damn power trip,” he’d muttered resentfully. “Happy now?”

It was only when he said it that she realized how profoundly she wasn’t. )

She’d left immediately afterward, retreated back to her own room and looked up at the ceiling until she dozed off. It was uncharacteristic for her to give a shit, to feel responsible for the actions that he had WILLINGLY participated in at the time but Chris had always been her friend above all else. Perhaps she should’ve been more emotional supportive ( how? ). An actual presence and shoulder to lean on. Not everyone needs to get fucked to feel like they belong to something, to feel comforted. Brooklyn was used to people judging her way of living. Still, there was a camaraderie she had spent years building with him and, despite all that he knew, he had never looked at her like that before. Like them. Until yesterday.

Biting the bullet, Brooklyn walked into the apartment building, slowly ascending the steps until she found herself in front of her door. Behind it, she could hear a muffled voice and unlocked it to find the object of her obsessive thoughts perched right in the middle of the living room, with Ryan ( another face that she was more than familiar with ) sitting on the sofa behind him. Light glinted off of the array of empty beer bottles on the coffee table, the window behind the younger male pushed open to allow sun rays an unobstructed angle to filter in through and Brooklyn could only stare at the sight before her.

Doing her best to fix her voice into indifference, utter neutrality, she said only one thing ( disliking how her tone lilted ), directing it toward the obviously sober of the two: “Ryan..?” The question in it was unmistakable, and not exactly warm: What the fuck is going on here?

#first off you REALLY don't need to match length #second off writing this - as i mentioned - gave me a lot of backstory for what i briefly mentioned concerning chris and brooklyn #third i decided to be a fuckgirl and ruin chris' life with some recent distressing news concerning his mom and he's a little depressed #so ryan to the muthafucking rescue #this was primarily in brooklyn's pov but i'll be going back and forth with chris and her as we move on #and if this is too much just let me know too #{ && threads. brooklyn davees. }#{ chapter i. brooklyn & chris & ryan: maybe i'm just tired. }#{ && threads. christopher lopez. }#long post tw #leiaskywclker #oh shit i'm also ruining brooklyn's life too #oh well

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