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javiscigarette · 28 days

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Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

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You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings.

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock.

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal.

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky.

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands.

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain.

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better.

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass.

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask.

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him.

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him.

So you do.

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision.

Fucking pathetic. Both of you.

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly.

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house.

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours.

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?”

You ask even though you don’t really want to know.

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face.

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know.

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to.

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap.

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again.

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that.

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits.

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you.

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms.

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight.

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale.

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked.

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand.

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of.

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy.

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat.

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger.

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can.

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth.

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes.

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach.

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand.

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there.

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down.

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again.

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out.

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in.

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is.

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painfull reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does.

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic.

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be.

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's.

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

#writing challenge 2.0 #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters

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polaroidpascal · 2 months

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girls night out || frankie morales

AO3 || MASTERLIST

pairing : frankie morales x f!reader

summary : after spending a night out for your friend’s birthday, you try to sneak back into the house without disturbing frankie. you thought he was a heavy sleeper, but your mischievous boyfriend never fails to surprise you.

tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, frankie being positively down bad for you, bar outing, alcohol consumption, reader is aware of her decisions and everyone is consenting, mechanical bull shenanigans, p in v sex (practice safe!!), grinding, riding, frankie has a filthy mouth full of praises, lotsss of nicknames, sweet aftercare bc its frankie and he's a sweetheart ofc

WC : ~3k

a/n : happy frankie friday loves !! hope you enjoy 🤭

“What bar is it again?” Frankie calls from the living room.

“It’s called ‘Deo Drinks,” you reply. “Apparently it’s new in town. Anna said she wanted to see what all the fuss is about. Supposed to be pretty nice.”

Tonight is your friend Anna’s birthday, and she wanted to take all of her best friends on a night out to a new local bar that popped up recently. According to her, it’s a nicer venue (as far as bars go, at least), so she suggested that everyone get dressed up nice for the fun of it. You look down when your phone dings, a message from Anna saying:

make sure your outfit is still practical tho! there’s something at the bar i want everyone to try <3

So here you are on a Friday evening, standing in front of your bathroom mirror perfecting your eyeliner, adjusting your hair, waiting to be picked up by your friends. You hear hefty footsteps traversing the hallway, getting closer and closer to your ensuite. You look in the mirror over your shoulder as Frankie rounds the corner. “Hey, check out these pictures of the bar—”

He cuts himself off when he finally looks up to see you. You’re wearing a sheer sparkling black shirt with a simple black tank-top underneath all tucked into your skinny jeans, the whole outfit being tied together with beautifully shiny jewelry and a pair of black heeled ankle boots. In the mirror, you catch his gaze as his eyes size you up and down, unable to pry them from all of the sparkles. You turn around and his eyes finally meet yours.

“Well? What do you think?”

“Baby… you look beautiful,” he says walking toward you, his eyes leaving yours and continuing up and down your body again. “I mean, you always do, but…” His hands trail up to rest at your hips, holding you at a distance so he can look at you.

You stare at his expression until he’s looking at you again, studying your makeup as his pupils visibly grow. You never get tired of watching your effect on him. You finally ask, “So, those pictures?”

“O-oh, right,” he stammers and brings his phone up. “There’s not very many since it’s so new, but I figured you might want to see anyway. Looks pretty cute.” You can hear the small smile creeping on his lips as you watch him scroll through the pictures. You look up again and smile at him, leaning in for a long, sweet kiss. His hands drop down to your waist to bring you closer to his body, but before he can take it further, you both hear the unmistakable sound of a car horn outside.

“That’s them,” you say, breaking away.

He steals another kiss, humming in protest before freeing you from his grip and smiling down at you. “Go ahead, then. Go have fun.” You smile back, turning away. He playfully smacks your ass and you yelp from surprise.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

You look back and give him a wink.

Your friend Emily drives the group to the bar, opting to be the designated driver for the night. Pulling up to the bar, you see the sign and decorations on the building: the bright red neon sign illuminating your face, wooden planks lining the building, and old, fake wooden shutters on the windows. Of course, you think. “‘Deo” for rodeo. It’s a western bar.

Suddenly, your phone goes off again:

Have a good time princess. I’ll be awake to let you in the house later, so call me when you’re on your way. Love you, don’t get too fucked up :)

You chuckle and send back a quick “will do, love you too!” before you walk in with your friends.

The rest of the night is a blast. You learn a few line dances from the regulars in the bar, eat food that’s honestly better than you expected, and drink probably a few too many shots and mixed drinks with the group.

“Guys!” Anna yells, obviously feeling the alcohol at this point. “I can’t believe I almost forgot!” She huddles you all together and leans in so everyone can hear better. “There’s a mechanical bull towards the back. I want everyone to try!”

You make your way towards the back and see that, surprisingly, there aren’t many people back here. You approach the bull and everyone lines up for a turn. One by one, you all get on and see how long you can last. When your turn comes, you get an idea. You hand your phone to Emily, the only sober one of the bunch, and ask, “Could you record my turn for me?” She kindly agrees, taking your phone as you kick off your boots and mount the bull.

Back home, Frankie lounges on the couch relaxing in his sweats and a t-shirt, watching some random movie he found. When his phone chimes, he sits up to grab it, sees it’s from you, and opens the message to a video. Before he can even press play, his eyes go wide.

No fucking way…

He sits up a little straighter and presses play, watching you with bewilderment as you straddle the mechanical bull, meeting every one of its jerks with an equal but opposite rebuttal. He stares at your hips swaying perfectly to keep your balance and your free hand in the air as you exclaim, your friends in the background cheering in excitement. Frankie gazes at your shocked expression. Of course, she’s a natural. He knows exactly why you’re so good at the game, even if you might not.

You ride it so well, but I’d expect nothing less from you ;)

As if he’s being broken from a trance, he notices his sweats feel unusually tight and sees a bulge slowly growing between his legs. He curses the universe that he’s not there with you right now. Though, he probably wouldn’t be able to contain himself anyway, so maybe it’s for the best. He decides that what he really needs is a shower to take care of his… issue.

But nothing will keep that video off his mind for the rest of the night.

By the end of the outing, the only one who can reliably hold her footing is Emily. Birthday girl Anna is by far the drunkest of the bunch, and while you are really not that far behind her, you might be holding your liquor the best of the group. Emily rallies everyone in the car for a ride filled with loud karaoke and copious slurred compliments to each other as she chauffeurs each girl back to their house. You are the second to last passenger to be dropped off, but Emily had planned on staying at Anna’s house anyway, so you were the last stop.

“Do you need me to walk you in?” she asks with a gentle smile through the open window.

“No, no, ‘s okay. Frankie said he left the door open… or something. I don’t remember.” His text from earlier completely slips your mind. “I think he’s sleeping anyway,” you continue with a giggle.

“Okay, I’ll stay here until I see the door close behind you just to make sure you make it in. Goodnight!” she replies.

“G’night!” you say, turning around and making your way to the door. You turn the doorknob as slow as you can and find that Frankie did in fact leave it open for you, but when you walk in, most of the lights are already turned off. You turn and wave to Emily as she pulls off, closing the front door as slowly and quietly as you can. You slip off your boots and leave them at the door, shuffling over to the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

You creep back to your bedroom in methodic yet messy steps, reaching your bathroom. You smear a makeup wipe across your face in a lazy, drunken attempt to clean it up a little and slip into some random comfy clothes that you aren’t sure are yours or Frankie’s, but you don’t really care. Gazing into your bed, you see Frankie’s silhouette, laying on his side under the covers, and you feel a warmth bloom in your chest, thinking about how lucky you feel being able to come home to him.

As you reach down to climb into bed, every intention to spoon Frankie until you fall asleep, you’re interrupted by a hand gently grabbing your forearm. You let out a tiny gasp of surprise. “Frankie?”

“Hey, sweetheart. You made it home alright,” he says sweetly, turning over and sitting up some.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Did you really think I’d go to sleep before I made sure you got home safe?”

You look down a bit, suddenly remembering his text from earlier. “Hmm… no, I guess not. But I definitely forgot you told me you’d be up,” you reply bashfully.

“I heard you as soon as you walked through the door, anyway.” A grin breaks out across his mouth.

Your eyebrows raise, surprised. “Really?”

He lets out a chuckle. “I know you tried, but you weren’t really that good at keeping the noise down.”

You look down and giggle too. You really thought you were being quiet.

“Plus,” he continues, “I couldn’t sleep if I tried, thinking about that goddamn video you sent earlier.”

You think for a second and remember. Ohh, the bull. You grin back at him seeing his eyes grow dark merely remembering it. And now that you’re finally back in front of him, he’s ravenous. “Oh really?” you tease. “You liked it?”

“Liked it? Baby…” he says, reaching up to grab your sides and pull you closer into a gentle but hungry kiss. He pulls away, his lips mere centimeters from yours, and whispers, “You wanna show me how you did it?”

You see a glimmer of desperation in his eyes underneath his playful tone and nod. He kisses you again, a little sloppier this time as he guides you to straddle him. You lean down and melt into his lips, your tongues waltzing together. You can already feel the outline of his cock stiffening up in his pants and you subconsciously guide your hips up and down the growing bulge.

He growls into your mouth and you swallow the noise, suddenly aware of the warm wetness growing between your legs. You keep grinding, feeling him get harder and harder, moving your kisses across his cheek and down his jaw. He groans as you lick the muscle flexing on his neck when he tilts back to give you better access. You kiss back up to his ear, nipping at the lobe and whisper softly, “Touch me, Frankie…”

His hands wander down from your face to the bottom of your shirt and he pulls it off over your head freeing your tits to the colder air of the room. His lips immediately attach to you, licking and sucking at your nipple and drawing sweet moans from your lips. He hums back at you, the vibrations reverberating against your skin and moving down between your legs as another wave of wetness fills your panties.

“Frankie… need you inside…” you whine, his tongue furiously working against the hardening bud. “Please…”

“Mmm, always such a needy girl,” he says. “Be a little patient. I missed you.” He helps you out of your soaked underwear and sees just how wet you are. “Fuck princess, you really are needy…”

His hand resting on your hip glides over to your middle, his thumb ghosting over your clit as your hips buck forward chasing the new sensation. You whine as he slowly, agonizingly teases the sensitive bundle of nerves and stares at your face watching it contort with pleasure.

“Yes, Frankie… needy jus’ for you… all you…” you whimper breathlessly at his touch. He loves when you’re like this, losing yourself to the sensations he gives you, soaking him with your slick. He can feel your wetness soaking through his sweats as your naked core rubs against his fingers and clothed cock.

“Goddamn, gorgeous. Feels good, doesn’t it?” he teases, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, please…” you mewl. You keep grinding against him, the pressure in your lower belly building quicker and quicker. “Fill me up… please… wanna come on your cock…”

A guttural moan rumbles in his chest at that and he lifts you slightly to free his throbbing cock from his pants, precome already making the tip sparkle. He loses the pants completely and he guides you to lower down onto him. “Thaaat’s it baby… fuck, feel so good and warm,” he encourages, your walls welcoming him with every inch added inside. You gasp and moan at the stretch despite being so wet that you’re practically dripping for him. You quickly settle and feel positively stuffed. “Perfect fit. Pussy was made for me, princess.” He brings you down for a deep kiss before he says, “Now, show me how you rode that bull.”

You sit up and rest your hands on his chest for support as you slowly rock your hips forward and backward, gripping his shirt as you go. Sinful moans fill the room when you glide forward feeling the skin on his belly rub perfectly against your clit at the same time. “Fuck, Frankie…”

“Doing so good princess,” he praises, using his hands on your hips to help guide you back and forth, encouraging you to slowly pick up speed. “Yeah, ride me like you rode that bull, baby. Fuck… show me how good you are.” You sit up and pick up speed a bit at the praises he gives you, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. “Yes, beautiful. You’re so good. Gonna come on my cock baby?”

Your walls flutter around him and he groans at the feeling. “Mhm,” you reply in a high-pitched whine and a nod. You claw at his shirt wanting to feel his skin. “Want this off. Wanna feel you.”

Frankie lifts up a little, ripping the shirt off his body and tossing it off the bed. Your hands roam his chest, feeling him up and down. Your face contorts at the sudden tightness in your abdomen. “Gonna come for you… oh my god…”

“That’s it, keep going… come for me baby, let me feel you squeeze me.. so good…” Frankie drives his hips up just a little as you grind yourself to a shaking orgasm on top of him, crying out in pleasure and collapsing onto his chest. He wraps his arms around you and keeps fucking into you, letting you ride out your orgasm on top of him.

He keeps going, slower now as you come down from your high, holding you in place with those perfectly muscular arms. “My good little cowgirl, wish I could have been there to watch you earlier,” Frankie praises as he moves and you’re teetering on the edge of overstimulation. While you’re still a little dazed from the booze, your senses are heightened nonetheless, and he fills them all. His scent fills your nose as you bury it into the crook of his neck, you feel his burning touch wrapped around your body, and you hear the sweet sounds and praises he mutters into your ear.

“Frankie… ‘m gonna come again…” you manage to whimper out.

“Already princess? Feels that good, huh?” he teases, but he’s barely holding on himself. You can feel the unmistakable throbbing of his cock inside of you. “Go ahead, baby. Come on my cock… not gonna last too much longer either…”

The rolling waves of pleasure overtake you quicker than you thought they would. Without a chance to warn him, you convulse under his touch, soaking him in your pleasure and writhing on top of him. Your muffled cries fill the room and send Frankie into a frenzy, fucking into you with sloppy, hard thrusts.

“Fuck yes, baby… ’m so close… my little cowgirl, ride me so good… fuck!” he yells and quickly pulls out, dropping one hand from around your body to pump his length, spilling all over his stomach in between your bodies. His legs shake and so do yours, barely able to keep yourself hovered over him. You meet his grunting with your own whimpering as you both pant your way through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You stay laying on his chest, still held there by Frankie’s other arm and panting into his neck. Your tired eyes stay closed and you just want to lay right here on top of him with his sticky mess between you both. And you do, for a while, Frankie unable to completely catch his breath from the ride you just gave him, until he finally chirps up, “I knew you’d be an expert, princess.”

You smile and giggle. You remember hoping earlier when you sent him that video that it would drive him crazy like this, and your plan worked. “Knew you’d wanna see it first hand,” you murmur through tiredness, lingering alcohol, and complete fucked-out bliss.

He gently flips you over and lays you in the bed, getting up to retrieve a towel and clean up his mess. He wipes his stomach walking back over to the bed and gently does the same to you, pressing a kiss right below your belly button. You hum quietly and he gives you another kiss on your forehead. When Frankie climbs back into bed, you tuck yourself into his arms getting swallowed in his embrace, both of you wiggling into a comfortable position before you sigh, satisfied in every way you possibly could be.

“Goodnight, cowgirl,” he whispers and kisses the top of your head. He can tell from the feeble attempt at a response that you’re nearly asleep, and he hugs you a little tighter before you both doze off together.

a/n : could possibly have a fluffy little sequel for this if anyone would ever maybe want that...

#francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #im nothing if not delusional

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wood-white-writer · 6 days

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“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” [10/…]

OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"You're the one, You're all I ever wanted. I think I'll regret this."

-Mitski, "Your Best American Girl"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (live action) x F!Reader

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.

The past echoes behind you, as does the uncertain future that lies ahead. Where you go from this point on, you'll have to be quick about making your decision. There is unrest in the waters, and not everyone knows how to swim.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, Buggy being a simp, flashbacks

A/N: .... Half a year later, and an update. As I've mentioned several times already, I'm sorry for the delay. A lot of things have happened these past couple of months, work has been hella hectic, and I'm moving into a house next month. This chapter is not too long, but I hope it'll do until the finale. If you notice any grammar mistakes, no you didn't.

It's tough to have so much love in your heart but nowhere to put it. It festers in your body, churning until it sours and rots into something unspeakably ugly.

You try not to remember, but sometimes your mind possesses a will of its own; sadistic in nature, taunting you with images of events you wish would leave you be.

You recall that day. You see images of it flash through the synapses in your brain on more than a few occasions; twisting and knotting until they form an enlarged image of what you have dubbed the day you were acquainted with true pain.

It was a rainy day, not even a month after Rogers departed from the world of the living. The winds were picking up, the ship was rocking like she intended to knock you off balance and leave you at the mercy of the waves.

Even still, you refused to let go.

The tension between Shanks and Buggy was palpable through your fingertips for a while by then, the reasons behind which were entirely unknown to you. The way they looked at each other was vehemently acrimonious, yet you had no clue as to what had detonated this rift.

Maybe you didn’t want to think about it?

Maybe you were so desperately naive as to believe that things would stay the same, even when it was plain to see that they wouldn’t.

Buggy and Shanks had always been … at odds with one another, but never in a way that struck you strange before. They were simply like that, for as long as you’d known them. Their rivalry was benevolent in nature, just boys being boys, pirates being pirates.

Not that day.

You had been talking to Shanks on deck, moments before it happened. The subject of your conversation has long since evaded your memory, but that’s all you did. Conversing.

Then, Buggy was there, only that he wasn’t there either. There was something different about the bright blue eyes you used to hold in such high regard. They were cold, inexplicably hostile.

Foul.

There was rage in his irises, and that had been beyond the kind you were acquainted with. It was scorching, tenfold sharper than the kind you received from your foes.

Only that he wasn’t one of your foes.

It was Buggy.

Your Buggy.

And you were on the receiving end.

“You’re going with him, aren’t you?!” He demanded in such a way that you felt like it wasn’t him at all. An impostor.

Whether it was the surprise or the shock that ensnared you, you didn’t answer at first.

“ANSWER ME, DAMNIT!”

“Buggy…” your voice was hushed, scarcely making your vocal cords vibrate with each syllable. “What are you—?”

“I saw it, so don’t bother denying it!”

He stomped over to you, and it felt like the planks beneath his feet were about to break. “Just tell me! Tell me that’s what you’re going to do! Just get it over with!”

You tried to reach for him, intertwine his fingers with your own; a safety line amidst a storm. He never rejected the gesture before, but when your digits fell upon his soft skin, he yanked them off like your touch was molten lava.

His limbs were quivering, hands knotted to fists, burning with heat yet trembling with cold at the same time.

Then, he said three words.

Three words that would come to haunt you for the next two decades to come.

“I hate you,” he snarled. “I wish we’d never even met. Be with him if that’s what you fucking want! What do I care?”

“Buggy—“

For a moment, you didn’t know how to breathe.

How to blink.

How to feel.

You had been stabbed before. Burnt. Slapped. Stabbed. Whipped. Tortured.

Long before Rogers brought you with him, you thought yourself well-acquainted with all the pain the world could provide. It marred your bones, painted your flesh, scarred your skin. The indents still stained your arms and legs, your face, yet nothing could compare to the agony that followed Buggy’s words.

Your heart felt hollow; submerged in neck-deep waters with no bottom in sight.

“Buggy,” the corners of your eyes were stinging, yet you could not recall if you were crying or not. The feeling was a foreign one, so much so that you had no way of recognizing the sensation.

He left after that; turned his back and walked away, and it was the last time you ever saw him in the flesh.

The next couple of years following that incident were blurry, you can’t remember much of it. It was as though your brain decided to dismiss those memories in an act of self-preservation.

You remember staying with Shanks for a time, whether loyalty or self-preservation, it didn’t matter. You stayed until just the mere sight of him rendered your guts to stones.

You had no reason to resent him. He was good, among the best, but he could not provide a cure for your affliction, so you decided to leave the Red-Haired Pirates.

Shanks never begrudged you.

After parting ways with him, it didn’t take you long enough to establish a crew of your own, and a name. “Cross-Hairs”, the moniker you replaced with your real one. It’s been so long since anyone acknowledged your actual one, it’s as if it never existed.

Some people saw a strong woman with enough broken bones on her record to know she would ensure their survival just as much as she could guarantee their demise, yet they still placed their bets on it.

Thus, the Cross-Haired Pirates came to fruition. Escaped convicts, thieves, general rogues, but efficient people in their own rights.

They feared you as much as they respected you. Your crew was among the most loyal people you’ve ever met.

If you told them to bark, they’d bite.

If you commanded them to kill, they’d do so without question, but they’d still leave their lives in your hands. They were your pack of loyal hounds, but you were a wolf in their ranks. Your say was the last of theirs.

You don’t regret letting them go. You had nothing more to offer them after you’d found a reason to stay in Foosha Village. Whatever violence remained in the world; they could find it in your absence.

Some of them chose to disagree with your decision, demand that you remain their Captain; their checks would never run empty, but they were silenced quickly enough with the swing of your blade.

You’re not proud of the person you were, yet you could credit your survival to her.

Blood, bones, tears, and pain, it never mattered to you, yet it granted you a superior seat on the food chain.

You became the beast haunting everyone’s dreams. The shadow in their path.

Even so, the pain of other people could not relinquish your own.

You burned every day and every second for twenty years, so you turned the world to ashes in kind.

———

Long ago, Cabaji found his captain on deck one night with a bottle nursed against his sternum, his back against the railing, and his knee propped up to rest his head on. He was drunk, and although it wasn’t an unusual occurrence on its own, it was still unnerving.

“Captain, you alright?”

“‘m fine,” Buggy answered tightly, lolling his head back and forth. It was dark outside, no moon, yet the first mate could spot the redness across the Captain’s cheeks. “What t- time is it?”

“Just past midnight.” Cabaji frowned at the pathetic display, and with some hesitance, crouched down so he could put a finger on the clown’s forehead. Holy shit, what a fever. “Captain… You’re burning.”

“Burning?!” Buggy wheezed, as if he’d been told the world’s funniest joke. He threw his arm out, bottle raised high, and repeated: “Burning? Oh, that’s just great! I never took you for a jester, Cabaji! That title’s usually reserved for yours flashy truly! You tryin’ to upstage your captain or something?”

“No, Captain.” His right-hand man lightly put his fingers on the clown’s forehead again, mindful of not letting them linger lest he wanted to lose them. “You’re seriously burning up. How long have you been out here?”

“Five minutes, an hour, fuck, twenty years perhaps!” Buggy took another sip of the half-empty bottle in his hold. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it did wonders for his mind. His troubled, asymmetrical library of a brain whose caretaker had long since abandoned their charge.

The jester leaned the back of his head against the hard surface of the railings, tipping the bottle carelessly to the side so that its content could spill onto the wooden floor without any concern. It stained his pants; he'd reek for days, but there was no urgency in ridding himself of the splotch. “How can I burn when there is no sun out, Cabaji? Answer me that.”

“I don’t understand… it’s the middle of the night, the sun will be back tomorrow.”

“MEH! WRONG!” He continued to laugh with no sense of humor. No joy. No nothing. Just hollow breaths meant to mimic his trademark sound. With no short amount of effort on his part, he almost tripped himself trying to get up to his feet.

His next words almost struck the first mate as … hollow somehow.

“The sun stopped shining long ago.”

———

You can’t sleep, but it has nothing to do with the added weight on your abdomen.

Buggy, even with his entity body stripped from him, feels heavy and sleeps soundly, and he snores. You can't help but marvel at the view, mindful of your movements as you do.

He looks to be at peace, completely so. Content. You'd think that he'd be a bit more wary considering he's currently stuck on a ship with people who want nothing more than to throw him overboard, yet here he is.

He's here.

With gentle hands unbeknownst to you, you carefully pry him off of you and settle him back down once your body’s out of the hammock.

He can rest, you think, and he does so like a newborn.

Even with your body no longer attached to him, you can’t help but marvel at the sight. His eyes are closed, breathing even, as though he’s completely at ease with the world. Light as a feather, you tug a strand of hair away from his eyes and resign yourself to a night of wandering to ease your nerves.

The air on deck is cold. You find Ussop leaned across the steering wheel, sound asleep. You have half a mind to scold him for his negligence, but the other half remind you that in essence, he’s still just a kid. He should rest as well.

So, you find a blanket and carefully pull it over him, hoping that the cold won’t catch him as easily as Arlong’s men probably will at one point.

The waters are calm as you lean over the railings to observe them. The moon isn’t full, but it still dons a soft light across the waters. You relish in the ambience the night sky grants, finding serenity in it all.

“What’re you doing up?”

You snap your head down to find Buggy’s head poised next to your arms, having hopped over to you on the railing. He must’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, or maybe you had been uncharacteristically caught off-guard.

He looks tired, but not disoriented as he props himself closer to you. If he’s moody from the lack of sleep, he doesn’t voice it.

“You’ll fall off,” you warn him.

“You can still swim, can’t you?” He points out.

“What makes you think I’ll jump after you?”

“Won’t you?”

You glance back down at him, and you can vaguely spot an ounce of sincerity in his eyes; a genuine question that conceals the deep-rooted vulnerability underneath. It’s a rare look on him, or maybe it’s the hole of light in the sky playing tricks on your brain.

The two of you say nothing to each other for a while, but your eyes never shy away from each other. To be honest, you have no idea where this … this is headed. You’re not sure what to do about it either. Twenty years has left a gaping hole in your chest, akin to a supernova that swallows everything around it.

Turns out it will still consume any scraps of your youthful affection too, and you can’t tell if it fills the hole up or further deepens the void. You’re not sure you want to know.

“You should head back inside,” you finally say. “It’s cold outside.”

“So what?”

“Being a head surely leaves you at a disadvantage against the elements, does it not?”

If he had shoulders, he’d shrug, but he makes a pretty good imitation of it with just his head alone. “Dunno, but I don’t care.”

“You don’t want to catch pneumonia and die or something, do you?” I

t wasn’t meant as a joke at first, but the moment he hears it, a snnnrrrrrk develops into full-blown laughter that’s a hair width away from waking your crew members.

You don’t know what possesses you, but hearing him laugh like this, so genuinely, conjures a laugh of your own. It’s more hushed and subtle in comparison to your companion, but it’s there and it feels so strange to have it erupt from your chest.

When was the last time you laughed?

After a while, your combined laughter gradually quietens and when you look at Buggy next, you see him with eyes the size of plates, like he couldn’t believe what he just witnessed. Not in an alarming way, but in … adoration. Just unadulterated, complete awe.

For some reason, it pains you to have him look at you like this. After all this time. So, you turn your head back to the sea and let your gaze linger there again. You’re reminded that, like the waves, you can’t go back to how it used to be.

“When you’ve retrieved your body, you can go.”

Buggy freezes. "... What?"

"Once you get your body back, you can leave. I'll tell the crew you disappeared."

It'll be easier for the both of you, you justify. He can get back to being Captain Buggy, and you can go back to being ... someone.

You're no longer a captain, and you have no interest in playing the part again. He'll have his freedom, and you'll have your contentment in knowing that you have once more gotten to look him in the eyes.

It’ll hurt, but pain is an old friend.

He doesn't say anything for the longest time, but you can hear the cogs churning in his brain. "You mean ... You don't want to go with me, after all this time?"

You glance over your shoulder to the door to the kitchen area. "I ... Care much for the boy, and I know you tend to carry grudges. I don't intend to be involved with that."

"You don't have to be!" Buggy insists, almost urgently, like he's afraid you'll leave on the dot. "You can stay with me, and whatever business I have with the rubbery pri-... I- I mean, the kid, I'll keep it to myself."

You spend a second looking down at him, scrutinizing him of any signs that he's being false, before you avert your gaze back to the waves. Truth be told, you've never thought much of what to do once you left Luffy's crew.

As far as you're concerned, you don't have anywhere to go back to. Maybe you'll return to Foosha village, pay Makino a visit, or maybe you'll become a wayward at sea. Make coin where you can, visit Shanks sometime?

But joining Buggy?

Now that's a thought you never believed would cross your head for a long time.

"I won't be a good circus performer," you admit.

He makes a pfsssssh sound, tongue waggling out of his mouth. "'Course you'd be! The strongest woman in all of East-Blue! People will bankrupt themselves just to see you in action! C'mon, just think about it!"

You bury the urge to remind him that if anyone will commit any bankrupting, it'll be him. Joining Buggy's crew, after so long? A part of you thinks that it can open a window of opportunity to provide closure. Grant him a chance to make up for his misdeeds.

Another part reminds you that the pain he once brought caused you two decades of misery, so why give him the opportunity to attempt the same once more? In all your life, only he’s ever possessed the power to render you so small.

You might be among the strongest pirates across the seas, but someone always held you by a leash; dragged you, pulled you into every direction, and demanded your obedience. Rogers freed you from the leash altogether, but Buggy remains the only person you freely gave your leash to. You gave it to him, and he let it go.

Are you willing to hand it back to him, knowing what happened last time?

How does the saying go?

Bite you once and twice, shame and all that.

"We should head back inside."

———

Coco Village, you think, is a lonely place; void of life; desolate. It reminds you of where you originally came from before Rogers brought you onto his crew all those years ago. A hollow replica of how it used to be.

A feeling of cold stretches across your skin at the memory of it all, like a layer of frost having come back to torment you.

You glance around at the halfway-demolished huts, and you see its denizens with nothing behind their eyes. Whatever hope once resided in their hearts abandoned them long ago. It brings you no joy, but it doesn’t necessarily bring you any melancholy either.

It is not your sorrow to bear.

Nojiko’s cabin, on the other hand, seems like a pleasant reprieve. It’s not much, but judging by the delicate way she handles herself and her equipment, it’s a home.

A home hanging on a thread from Arlong’s pointy nose.

While Sanji’s helping Nojiko clean the plates, you’re seated across from Usopp, with Buggy’s head poised between you on top of the table. Wherever Luffy and Zoro are outside, you’re certain they’re concocting some sort of plan to get Nami out.

It’ll be the first time he’ll have to make up a thorough plan, rather than making it up as he goes as he’s done so far.

You’re curious as to how it’ll go, though you’ll follow nonetheless. Your presence here with them depends on whether he’ll make it, and if he does, you’ll finally part ways.

You love Luffy, almost more than you’ve loved anyone else in your entire life. You were there to watch him grow, you were there to patch him up, to make sure he had food when Makino couldn’t afford to spare any.

You love his hair, his eyes, the way his smile all but brightens up any dark corner in any room. You love him so much so that you’ll leave the moment you know he doesn’t need you anymore.

The thought, while maintaining a rooted spot in your brain, lessens your appetite and causes you to play with the food on your plate. It’s long since grown cold in your negligence.

Suddenly, a loud "BOOM!!" promptly snaps you out of your mindscape and back to reality. Buggy cackles, and although you're not the intended target of his joke, it still irks you to some limited extent.

"Can you just be quiet?"

"Aw, come on. Where's the fun in that?" There's a malicious glint in the clown's eye. "Do you really think your little toys can get through the skin of a fish-man?"

You have to commend Usopp for his resilience. "These are smoke bombs."

"Smoke. That's rich..." Trailing off, Buggy eyes your meal with the subtlety of a puppy looking for scraps, licking his chapped lips. "Makes me think of how long it's been since I've had any smoked fish."

You spare him a wayward glance, fork ceasing its massacre of the flesh on your plate. Usopp notices the change almost instantaneously as he tinkers with his makeshift bomb.

The reply from the slingshot is quick. “Don’t give it to him.”

“As opposed to what?” You quirk an unbothered eyebrow. “Let Sanji’s meal go to waste?”

“Eat it yourself, then! You’ve hardly had any!”

“I’m not particularly hungry at the moment, and it’s either the trash or the clown.”

Usopp scoffs. “Like there’s a difference.”

“HEY! I’M RIGHT HERE, ASSHAT!”

Sanji perks up at the commotion and looks at you from over his shoulder, hands still wet from the washing. “I do hope you’re not discussing the possibility of discarding my food. Not when Nojiko has been so lenient as to lend us the necessary ingredients?”

Usopp shakes his head. “It’s worse! She wants to give it to the fucking clown!”

Sanji glances at you, and he speaks in that soft tone he primarily reserves for the women in his company. “Was my meal not to your satisfaction, Madam?”

You incline your head to him in a way that’s meant to convey approval. “It was, make no mistake of it, but I’m afraid that my appetite is rather lacking at the moment.”

Buggy looks between the two of you, and his mood sours considerably. It’s as though a fire is burning in the back of the room, and the scorch threatens to incinerate the furniture and all the people inside. He halfway hopes it will, but although his Devil Fruit has granted him a plethora of powers people can only hope to dream of, prokinetics are evidently out of his reach.

No one notices, however.

Then, a minute goes by, and Sanji finally shrugs. “As much as I can’t condone Usopp’s anger, I can’t condone a good meal being wasted. Do with it as you please, my lady.”

Buggy guffaws while Usopp pales, but your face stays the way it’s always done. If anyone were to notice the way you discreetly inch the plate towards Buggy, they keep their opinions to themselves.

If Buggy stares at you like you hung the moon and the sun in the sky, you keep your observations to yourself.

You don’t say a word, but you want to say a lot.

You wish to say more than you've ever said before.

But you don’t.

———

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23, @neenieweenie, @kassandrasowl, @matthewjstarling, @fisshil

(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #one piece live action #one piece x reader #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #buggy one piece #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #Didn't mean to make your heart Blue

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jyoongim · 29 days

Text

Jyoongim’s Horny Game

Hi everyone! I’m Jyoongim and WELCOME TO THE SHOW✨

GUYS 2K plus????? IM GONNA CRY!!!!

In response I would like to show my appreciation to all my followers for showing love and support my blog and writings by letting y’all run wild!

I saw @okay-babe do something like this and I thought it would be fun and give it a spin hehe!

✨INFORMATION✨

This is mainly for Alastor x reader requests but any HH character is welcomed (not Valentino he can choke or Husker just because I think of him as a tired uncle lol)

THERE WILL BE NO WORD COUNT - I am lazy sorry guys ;(

There is NO limit on how many times you play!!!

HERES MY MASTERLIST/TAGLIST comment here for future work postings📻❤️

————————————————————————

Here’s how to play!

SPIN THE WHEEL! This color coded wheel will decide the category of your prompt. (Color system is below as well to help)

2.) Select a prompt. SPIN THIS WHEEL! There are 4 prompt lists I have provided to pick from! Feel free to use the prompt list for inspiration MIX AND MATCH prompts if you like.

⚠️limit to mix/match is 2 per request⚠️

➡️Prompt #1

➡️Prompt #2

➡️Prompt #3

➡️Prompt #4

3.) Send in your request per inbox as usual. You can be anon or make yourself be known (your decision).

❗️use correct color when sending request❗️

▶️ I HAVE A COLOR SYSTEM TO HELP US WITH EXAMPLES⤵️

————————————————————————

Below is the color system and what it includes:

🟢: Fluff-sweet,cute, makes you cringe

cuddles, hand-holding, hugs, domestic, kisses, hugs, appreciation, romance, lovey-dovey shit

——————————————————————

🟡: Saucey-fluff but you felt something

Obvious feelings, mutual pining, admission of feelings, keep it cute

‘example: their hands brushed and they quickly pulled away blushing’

——————————————————————-

🟠: Flavor-you tease!

teasing, tension, banter, flirting, stealing glances

——————————————————————

🔴: Mild-its getting hot!

Sexual tension! high emotions, realization of feelings

——————————————————————

💥: Mild Spicy-oh you like that?

Plot! smut! Introduction of kinks!

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🟣: Spicy-give it to me good!

Usual smut with plot *sprinkle sprinkle*

——————————————————————-

🔵 : Extra Spicy- what did i just read?

smut and no plot

——————————————————————

⚫️: Uncharted-you need a therapist & God babe

Every single morally gray scenario & kink possible.

THE SKY IS THE LIMIT!!

(Kinks however ARE limited by writer’s discretion)

————————————————————————

I look forward to see what you guys requests and thank you again for all the love! Xoxo 😘

MASTER/TAG LIST IS LINKED!!!

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luckyfrogtarot · 8 months

Text

Pick a Keroppi

How does this person feel about you ? This isn't a romance reading btw 🥲, I think only one of these piles has some romantic partner briefly mentioned in it lol.

Disclaimer: This is for entertainment purposes only. Sometimes piles won't resonate and that's okay the pile or reading might not be for you. If it's just the pile you can choose a different one if you'd like.

Pile 1: Generally this person feels safe and happy around you but to a degree. They feel as if you are fulfilling to them and there's lots they can enjoy with you. This isn't a facade, they do think you're lovely there's just more going on behind the scenes for them. That being said they have their fears and worries that they hide or try to hide. You might sense this or notice this, yet you feel that if you mention it they might pull away from you. It seems like both of you want to focus on the good things over the vulnerable parts. They avoid it because they are scared of vulnerability and you might avoid it because you're scared they'll leave. They might also worry that you might impart justice upon them. you could be someone who is righteous or have a certain moral compass or strong feelings about certain subjects. They worry you might judge them by those standards. They worry that their flaws are beyond justifying although you and others might not view it that way. If/when you find out their flaws you will take the time to digest it and truly understand how you feel about what they do. Pile 1 this person really cares about your opinion. They feel as if they'd like to slowly open up to you or repair things with you. They wish to have something balanced and they could feel as if they have to take action soon with you. They could worry about money or try to get you to like them with money because they feel as if money is all they have going for them. For those of you where this is a romantic partner then they might have their eyes on you because they feel as if "you'll quench their thirst" but you actually might be too much for them to handle mostly because they're not as emotionally mature as you are. If you're asking about any one else then whoever this is values the material more than the emotional. Romantic interest or not this person will try to fix things with money. You'll sense their lack of emotional viability and/or you'll notice the gifts they give you but in the end its up to you how you handle this person.

Pile 2: Lol New Rules by TXT is playing while I type this. This person could see you as a punk, someone who doesn't follow rules. They think that you go too fast, you're cutthroat, and ignore set rules that you feel don't make much sense anyway. Pile 2, on one side you're represented as someone optimistic, grounded, and looking for stability. You're someone who may have just started a journey to stability and things are going really well. It seems like in general you're a calm person, yet when you're up against who you're thinking about you might feel defensive about your choices. Not in a bad way, but more like you like to shine on all the good you have done, in a triumphant and proud way. Yet this person doesn't understand or see that, they could feel betrayed or anxious by your decisions. They're really stuck in their head and thoughts in worry about you and what you could do to them. They might fear that your sharp words could hurt them, even if you have no intention of hurting them. You could just be setting boundaries and being honest but this person sees this as you attacking me. This could cause them a lot of anguish, but it's really all their mindset, not you. They could think you're wasting all their hard work. While they don't realize that you're actually waiting for your hard work to kick in. This could be about a parent for some of you. You could be really smart or creative and they see this as a threat to them. As if you'll use that intelligence against them. I see this distortion through the fact that I saw a candle on a card and thought it was a knife. They could see your candle as a knife too. If you've read Oedipus, you'd be him and this person would be the dad. They're scared of what they created without realizing it and nothing will change if they don't change. And while they worry about all of this it seems like you are just continuing your life. Not because you're mean or don't care about them, but because there's nothing else for you to do there with them.

Pile 3: This person is confused by you, not in a bad way. They are just intrigued by you and your personality or what you present. This pile sees you as rather dual. You're someone who to them you "have nothing" or "very little" yet you are so compassionate and giving. You are also someone who might be really fun and outgoing but you're also intelligent and respect traditions and rules. You have a really fiery personality and you care a lot about others especially your friends. They could see that you have a really loud and/or big laugh. You're really warm literally or just personality wise. You have Princess Kaguya vibes. (One of my favorite Studio Ghibli movies) The princess was emotionally intelligent beyond her physical years and she had everything she could ask for. Even though she didn't need or want those things. She wanted a simple life and she was pretty humble. Which could be confusing because this person could see you as humble and royal-like at the same time. It's possible that they know or see that you were hurt before and while you might not have received justice for that you're trying your best to recover from this betrayal. This could sometimes make you seem spacey to this person, you could get lost in your own world as you try to figure out how you feel or as you navigate what happened to you. They do see all the progress you've made though. They see how you're optimistic that you'll recover from this difficult time and leave it all behind. I do think this was some type of mental hardship you're leaving behind. Something that at the moment blinded you to the work you did while you were in this. You could have still gone to work or done homework while enduring this, yet you might not realize all your efforts yet. This person could feel upset that you don't recognize this yet. They also see you as someone who could need protecting, they don't want to hold you back though so it seems like they just like to keep and eye on you instead.

#tarot #spirituality #pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot teading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #luckyfrog #luckyfrogtarot #frog #divination #Spotify #keroppi

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mysteria157 · 4 months

Text

Chapter 5

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~4.3k

CW: Profanity, mentions of mental health (anxiety)

Summary: You want nothing to do with him. Nanami wants to make the right decision.

Notes: Hi! Thank you all for taking the time to read. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter | Ao3 | Next Chapter

It Had To Be You Masterlist

“Uncle Ken don’t ruin the bread! Daddy made it special!”

At four years old, Aiko Haibara was full of wit, attitude, and a curiosity about the world that would rival anyone else her age. While she inherited her mother’s hazel eyes, they were large and full of passion just like her father. She was his carbon copy in almost every way, always fostering his outgoing behavior and never leaving his side. She hung on her father’s shoulders; small chubby hands buried in deep brown bowl cut locks as a tether. Her father studied Nanami, his normally bright and wide smile subdued and apprehensive.

Yu Haibara was the epitome of happiness, joy, and confidence. Even though a few inches shorter than Nanami, his personality compensated for the difference. He was everything Nanami wasn’t. Cheerful and extroverted in a way that would make most nauseous, it should have made someone like Nanami feel the same. Since high school Haibara stuck to him like glue, always interested and questioning, always wanting to know about his family and his hobbies or why he parted his hair in such a harsh way that would surely garner teasing looks from others.

“But its like you make yourself look broody on purpose!”

It never made sense. Haibara never made sense.

But he was kind and perceptive in a way that made him the perfect person for judging character. Nanami had always thought there was an ulterior motive; maybe become his friend to get closer to Gojo and Geto for popularity gain. It had happened to him before with countless others.

But eventually he realized that Haibara was simply…a good person.

So they formed a solid friendship as they matured through high school and college. Haibara used their mutual love of food and reality tv to his advantage with the entire collection of Chopped and Jersey Shore in return for becoming roommates. He became Nanami’s moral compass when faced with tough decisions; always a sharp reminder to not be so pessimistic about life.

He was there for Nanami through every breakup, every argument with his parents, every promotion throughout his career. And in turn, Nanami remained by his side as Haibara navigated through culinary school, becoming a willing test subject for new breads and desserts until he was confident enough to open his own bakery. He was Haibara’s best man, the godfather of Aiko, and his very best friend. He had wormed under Nanami’s skin and forced himself to understand the blonde. And it worked.

So Nanami tried to ignore his friend’s stare as he picked at his sweet bread, long fingers pulling apart the soft and sticky cooked dough as he ate piece by piece in silence. The pastry was featherlight and still warm, his favorite snack always crafted just for him and yet he was allowing it to fall apart on the glass table all three of them sat outside of Haibara’s bakery.

“Uncle Ken! The bread!”

Aoki’s sharp voice pulled him out of his thoughts as he offered her a small smile, shoved the rest of the treat into his mouth and yanked her from atop Haibara’s shoulders before pressing sticky lips into her cheek and blowing hard. She squealed loudly, arms flailing and giggles pealing into the Fall air.

Haibara’s cheerful voice was soft, concern laced between syllables as he watched Nanami and his daughter interact.

“Aiko, can you go check on Mommy for me?”

She grumbled but conceded, letting Nanami drop her to the ground before sprinting away on small, unsteady legs. She disappeared into the small bakery, the glass doors shutting softly behind her before Nanami directed his attention back to his friend.

“Tell me or I’ll remove sweet bread from the menu indefinitely.”

“Threatening me won’t work.”

Haibara didn’t respond, dark brown eyes unrelenting as he gazed playfully at his best friend. Nanami should have known to give up; Haibara had long ago unlocked his weakness for sweet bread. The recipe was personally crafted, weeks of different versions forced down Nanami’s throat until one day Haibara recognized his golden ticket when his best friend finished the entire treat without complaint. He refused to give Nanami the recipe and it was probably for this exact reason right now.

A trump card.

Nanami exhaled slowly, trying his best to ignore the curdling of anxiety in his gut.

“When you and Kaya were expecting, how did you react?”

Haibara tilted his head in confusion, a hand scratching the side of his scalp before he chuckled shyly.

“Why? Am I going to be a godfather?” The glare that Nanami shot his friend’s way could have cut through glass, hard and unyielding but covered in a veil of nerves that made Haibara give up teasing any further.

“I wanted a family. Even in high school, it was something I always envisioned. But when she told me…I didn’t exactly have the reaction she was hoping for. Probably not my proudest moment. But I was terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Failing.” Haibara absentmindedly traced patterns into the crystal clear glass of the table they both sat at. “Not being mature or intuitive or just…there for her. It terrified me but at the end of the day, when I saw Aiko for the first time, nothing else mattered. Things kind of fell into place—at least they did for me—as I watched Kaya grow something we both created.”

Nanami hummed in reply, trying and failing to ignore the wrecked state of his mind. It had been a long time since he last felt this way. Out of control of his life, confused and helpless.

Scared.

He was normally so put together and aware of everything around him, capable of thinking rationally in a way that would leave no room for error. He was an expert at separating the intricacies of his personal life with the demands of work life. He had perfected it years ago and it served him well, helped him get to where he was now.

But in the course of six weeks, his entire life had turned on its side.

“Kento.” Haibara’s voice was more insistent as it echoed in his ears, slicing through the wind as the cool air wrapped around them. “While I love pestering you until you have a fit, I’m worried.”

Nanami bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to make his brows furrow in pain, the faint tinge of copper exploding on his tongue. He knew Haibara wouldn’t judge. It wasn’t in his nature.

It took Nanami many long tortuous seconds to speak, but when he did, it all came out. His mouth spilled every detail of his encounters with you, every argument and disagreement, every detail of how you carried yourself at work, his frustration at your eagerness to not let things be, and the confusing attraction he held for you within a matter of hours after first meeting you. You had a tenacity that others around him lacked. You weren’t afraid to speak up or challenge those around you. It pulled him closer just as much as it drove him insane.

You both clearly held a sort of intense lust that had been dampened with every interaction until alcohol had lowered both of your inhibitions enough to give into temptation.

And the result had Nanami in shambles.

“Is this something you want?”

Despite the circumstances of how this came about, there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to be a father. He had never given it much thought as to how he would go about it. Marriage had been a vague dream. Working until he had enough spare income for a quiet life on an island was his ultimate goal. If a partner fit into that equation, then he wouldn’t turn it down and the same went for a child.

“It is. But she won’t answer my calls or messages.”

You had every good reason not to. You truly did.

“Give it time. I’ve never met her, but from how you describe her, I don’t see her as someone who would keep you out of the picture the entire pregnancy. She’s upset, give her a little space before reaching out again and go from there.” Nanami could feel the subtle pricks of a headache manifesting in the back of his skull. Haibara was right, he knew he was.

“I’m going to say something, and I want you to actually listen…I know when it comes to your work, you try to keep things as they are to avoid what happened with Yuji in the past. But it’s not your call to decide the direction of the company.” Nanami opened his mouth to protest and was immediately interrupted. “Just because people who want the best and work hard to be the best does not mean they have an ulterior motive. That’s not how everyone thinks. You’ve just had shit luck.”

“Yu—”

“You’ve spent your entire career doing only what’s strictly necessary to make your day easier. That doesn’t mean that those who want more are wrong. To me it just sounds like you’re doing something you hate just to exist because the perks are nice. Yuji looks up to you, and the last thing you would ever want to teach him is to simply ‘get by’.”

Hearing the words come from his friend’s mouth brought a sharp pang of something he had been trying to ignore for weeks now. He was wrong and had immediately judged you based on past experiences. He had pulled up a wall to keep you and everyone else before you away to avoid making his work life harder and hurting Yuji again.

He thought it was necessary, he wanted to prevent another mistake.

How big of a mess this all was.

The bakery door burst open, the patter of Aiko’s footsteps hitting the pavement hard as she crawled into Nanami’s lap. She held up a small juice box, the straw still encased in clear plastic and glued to the box as she pushed it harder into Nanami’s chest. His chest fluttered as he looked down at her, imagining a daughter with deep brown eyes staring up at him instead, her mother’s loose curls framing chubby cheeks.

“Make things right with her. It’s going to take time, but you need to try.”

Nanami nodded, not looking up at his friend as he took the juice box from Aiko and assembled it for her. Her sweet voice thanked him, grabbing the beverage before she nestled her back into his chest and laid her head against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“You’re miserable at that job. Do something you love for once Kento. Come work with me. You love to bake. I could have you as a co-owner in days.”

Nanami didn’t respond, his heart hammering against his ribcage as he tried hard not to entertain the thought. He could do it. He could finally give into his dream and just do something he enjoyed for a living.

“I’ll give you the sweet bread recipe?”

He snorted, shaking his head as he combed his fingers through his goddaughter’s hair.

***

It took you a week to acknowledge that being back in the office was making you bitter. You were still involved with the joint project with Tokyo, but without the co-lead position, you had become a usual blur in the background. You would only be involved at certain stages in the project that warranted a marketing specialist.

Even though you had worked hard, it still wasn’t enough. You didn’t have enough experience like other specialists.

Always so close to something and still so far away.

Jin had apologized profusely for the fiasco in Tokyo, his eyes particularly soft as you offered him a calm but straight expression. Even though you knew the decision to remove you was not his, the sight of embarrassment etched into his features as he apologized made you feel a little better.

You requested two weeks off as soon as Jin stopped talking. He was shocked at first, but from the look of resignation on your face, approved the request instantly.

Yoyogi was a two hour train ride from Sendai and home to your uncle who was the only extended family you had in the country. He was ecstatic the minute you informed him you would be in town and had insisted you stay with him. It would be nice to get away and just not think about everything else for a week or two. You hadn’t taken a vacation in years, content to work and work and work to get where you needed.

A lot of good that was doing.

The gentle buzzing of your phone made you blink, your eyes pulling from the tress that were quickly passing by the train window.

1 Unread Message- Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento: Are you available? I would like to talk, if you’re willing.

You locked your screen and shoved your phone back into your purse. An entire week since your hurtful argument with Nanami and a satisfying slap later, he had called over 50 times and left just as many messages.

You ignored every single one.

You knew you couldn’t keep this up. Despite how angry you were…you didn’t have the animosity to ignore him like this for the next nine to ten months.

You would answer him eventually. Until then, every alert would go unanswered unless he was at death’s door.

Your uncle wasn’t home when you dropped your things off. He had a modest house in a small suburb in Yoyogi that was decorated in an eclectic style that echoed his personality.

Various styles of art scattered his walls from artists all around the world; paintings, photographs, and even textile pieces. The forest green sectional in the living room was covered in throw pillows of different colors and textures. His window nook which had always been your favorite place to read as a child was filled with thick pillows and blankets, ready to be used.

Tables with curved corners, a kitchen with backsplash that traversed the entire wall it rested on, a gas oven painted a sharp navy blue, and plants of almost every variety made up the home of your Uncle Rory.

When he wasn’t home during the day, he could be found at his ceramic studio just a few blocks away from the neighborhood and breaking into the city.

It had been open since you were a child and was one of the few places you spent your time in the summer. The entire studio was filled with crafts of his own over the years and even some that had been gifted to him. His work was vast; terracotta statues, stoneware bowls and cups, bone china dishes that had been painstakingly painted. This entire place was his pride and joy.

The man himself, was wheel throwing, his broad form hunched over a spinning metal wheel as his dark hands molded itself around the beginnings of a vase. His long two strand twists were tucked into a low bun in an effort to stay out of his face.

“Can I finish it?”

He looked up at you, genetic brown eyes catching before he smiled softly, the faint hints of crows feet showing on the sides of his lids.

Rory moved away while the wheel still spun. You pulled on an apron and rolled up your sleeves before slotting yourself in the now vacant chair, your small hands beginning to caress the wet clay as the muscle memory of molding took over.

You both talked idly as you worked, adjusting the motor of the wheel intermittently and using your wet hands to press into the clay softly, watching it carefully as it gave under pressure and began to bend with the direction of your hands.

It had been so long.

Before work took over your life and all you wore were pencil skirts, blazers, and crisp blouses, you used to have the extra time to throw on well-worn baggy pants and shirts and hunch yourself over a pottery wheel or painting easel for hours at a time.

“I’ll make curry tonight.”

He didn’t leave any room for argument in his statement. He knew it was your favorite and would make it for you in the summer on days where the anxiety was too heavy on your bones. Or when your mother never stopped calling to ask when you were coming home. Or even during that terrible month after your longest relationship fell apart.

Curry was always an antidote to make you smile and open up. Unlike your mother, he could read you like a book.

You sighed, dipping a soaked sponge into a small bowl of slurry water next to you before you gently pressed against the clay, watching the material slowly start to shine again.

“You’re gonna judge me.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say.”

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat, ignoring the way it pressed against your esophagus as it slid back into your belly, melting and brewing into nausea. You didn’t look up at him as you began to talk, pouring all focus into your work as you used a wooden rib to shape the sides of the vase a little more smoothly.

He listened intently, passing you tools and watching you slowly craft the vase into something of your own creation. You blinked away the tears before they could bubble and fall over your lashes, the disappointment and anger at Nanami resurfacing as you wrapped up the most recent events with him.

He spoke up immediately. “As my sister, I love your mother. It’s a connection that I am glad to have…but as a person, I don’t really like her.”

You slowed the wheel, looking up at him. You weren’t expecting that to be his first response. To be honest, nothing Rory did ever made sense. He went with the flow of everything. He says what he wants in ways that doesn’t hurt others, does what he wants when the desire hits him, and pushes away expectation with an art you had always envied.

“Your grandfather wanted us to be the pinnacle of good breeding. An African American family filled with only successful people, wealth, and status that we could pass down the line. We went to the best schools, had the most expensive tutors, ate what he wanted us to eat, did what he wanted us to do. It was maddening and I always rebelled. Every chance I could take, I fought back, and he despised me for it. Your mother did everything he asked and eventually when I looked at her, he was all I saw.”

“You’re like a daughter to me and as you got older, I saw your mother in the way you did things. The college you went to, your career, all of it. But I didn’t want to stop you, you’d hate me.”

He paused, distant eyes on the slowly spinning pottery wheel.

“Honey, it’s fine to just be content in a job. I’m sure to most people it’s not ideal. I agree that how he went about pushing you away was wrong, but it sounds more like you’re disappointed that he didn’t value you and your work specifically.”

“You’re a bright eyed marketing specialist that just wants to be seen.”

“The value you place in your work is not a representation of who you are.”

The words should have been calm and reassuring, but they only felt sharp and painful as you turned on the electric motor, watching the wheel begin to move and roar back to life. He waited a moment longer before speaking again.

“I have been with you for almost every milestone in your life and I love how hard you work. But there are tons of people in this world who are incredible at what they do and hate every minute of it.”

You shook out an unexpectant laugh, shaking your head with a grimace as you began to remoisten the clay with your wet sponge.

“So what do you expect me to do? Quit my job and dedicate my life to pottery and painting? I may love it, but there’s no money in it.”

You bit your tongue as soon as the words left your mouth, shame sliding down your spine as you avoided eye contact with him. You knew you were wrong. Rory was the perfect example in your life of someone who turned their passion into a successful business. He woke up and went to sleep doing what he loved. But your fear of never reaching that same level of success kept you subdued and complacent in something else.

Rory simply chuckled.

“That’s another stupid thing to say.”

You smirked softly as you smoothed your fingers along the top of the vase, shaping the lips in the way you wanted.

“What’s important now is that you talk to Nanami. I understand that you’re upset but you can’t let that fester. At the end of the day, this is about your child now. No one is asking you to move in together, but you won’t know how he feels if you don’t pick up the phone.”

You acknowledged his words in silence, picking up the wooden rib to pull the vase’s walls higher.

The sound of the doorbell later that night startled you, jerking you from your book that you were fully immersed in. Your ears vaguely picked up voices, Rory’s and another that was masculine but too low to distinguish. You didn’t get to turn back to your book when you heard your uncle call out for you.

All thoughts of finishing your novel dissolved immediately when you saw him. Rory looked perfectly fine, hands in his pockets as he held his front door open, stepping to the side to give you a good view of who it was.

The soft brown eyes of Nanami Kento caught yours instantly, the sight making ice cold water douse your veins.

Rory excused himself, rubbing your shoulder as he brushed past you and down the hall, casting the room in silence.

Nanami looked incredibly ruffled—as if he had rolled out of bed unexpectantly. His normally slack covered legs were instead clad in dark jeans, a white hoodie covered a muscular torso and his hair wasn’t parted in its signature style. It was loose, askew as if he had been running his hands through it over and over, wild with bangs falling in front of his eyes. And those eyes were filled with an emotion you had never seen on his face but were familiar with yourself on a personal level.

Anxiety.

Even when looking like a complete mess, he was handsome in a way that made you curse inwardly.

It all clicked together instantly. The quick put together ensemble, untamed hair, shaky features and the fact that it was almost ten at night. Someone told him where you were, and you only needed a second to realize who.

You were going to kick Ome’s ass.

“I tried to contact you…”

It was soft even for him, his voice unsure. His hands were limp at his sides, large pale fingers fiddling with the material of his jeans idly.

You shrugged, crossing your arms over your robe covered chest as you pulled your gaze from his, choosing to focus on the dark wood floors beneath your sock covered feet.

“I didn’t really feel like talking. I’m sorry.”

You wanted to kick yourself, wrap the strings of your robe around your ankles and drag yourself down the pavement as you tried to push away the grimace.

Why are you apologizing to him—

“Please don’t apologize.” Even though you weren’t looking you could feel him fumble for words. “I shouldn’t have—I just wanted to—” He paused, pulling in a shaky breath that made you look up at him. His dark blond eyebrows were furrowed, the skin between them pinched. “What I’m trying to say is that you have every right to be angry with me. I needed a few days to…get over the shock I suppose.”

You dug your fingers into your arms, blunt nails pressing into your skin as your mind flashed with images of his shocked face when you broke the news that day.

“I had my OB-GYN put in a referral for a paternity test if you wanted to be sure.”

“I don’t need that.” He sounded almost angry as he spoke, eyebrows furrowing deeper before what looked like embarrassment colored his face. “I know that you’re not too fond of me right now. But I would like to be involved in this—in the pregnancy. In whatever way you’ll allow.” He cleared his throat weakly, shifting from leg to leg. “Please.”

The ruddiness on his cheeks made him look incredibly shy. He was uncomfortable; ashamed of himself and his behavior and now he was facing the consequences in the form of a beautiful woman that he had judged and hurt to the point where he wouldn’t be involved in his own child’s life.

You could cut through the air with a knife with how thick it was. Tension radiated off you both as you stood in front of each other, not moving, not speaking. The subtle ticking of a clock in your uncle’s kitchen was the only sound in the room.

“Make things right with her. It’s going to take time, but you need to try.”

“At the end of the day, this is about your child now.”

You spoke first, the freezing feeling in your blood melting with each word that slid from your mouth.

“I have a checkup in two weeks. I’ll text you all the details and you can come if you want.”

An olive branch. Skinny and bent with weak spurs, but still an olive branch.

You watched as the tension evaporated from him faintly, his shoulders sagging beneath his hoodie in relief. He blinked twice, blonde lashes fluttering in relief before he swallowed loudly.

“I would like that.”

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hsvh-hp · 2 months

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You know I agree with you that fanon paints Lucius as a much worse father than he was and I don't like that either, but do you not think indoctrinating your child into a genocidal cult + coldly demanding that he be the best in class and publicly humiliating him about that ("if [my son's] grades don't pick up, a thief or a plunderer] may indeed be all he is fit for") is bad parenting?

Like I'm not saying "he is a bad parent" or "he is a good parent", I'm very hesitant to label parents (real or fictional) in such a one-dimensional way because parent-child relationships are so incredibly complicated. But at the same time it is very important to me to acknowledge even little things parents can do that can really have a negative impact on children. And indeed in Draco's case they do, leading him to want to be a Death Eater, to seek validation from Voldemort (when he disarms Dumbledore he talks about wanting to be the Dark Lord's favourite, he doesn't want help from Snape because he has a need to prove himself etc) and contributing to his general insecurity and need to be better than everyone & getting upset when he's not, because if he's not the best all the time then he feels really bad.

One big reason I dislike the fanon tendency to make every morally questionable parent an extremely physically abusive monster is precisely because that erases the representation of how the smaller, psychologically/emotionally damaging things they do can still be traumatising.

It goes without saying that there’s nuance. I would never say nor claim that Lucius did nothing wrong or didn’t make mistakes. By mere virtue of holding bigoted beliefs, he signaled to Draco that there were things he could do or be that might undermine his father’s love. To me, it doesn’t even matter if Lucius is otherwise perfect as a father. That small thing, in a kid as needy for love and validation as Draco is, would be enough to have him always on edge and anxiously performing his role as the perfect son to the best of his ability.

My earlier frustration was a pushback against the need to inflate Lucius’ less-great moments into overtly obvious abuse (we are very much in agreement there), as fanon seems to love to do without a hint of introspection or greater analysis. I’m so bored of complicated behaviour being filed away into a thought-terminating box called ‘abuse’, where a sole instance of someone being a grumpy, imperfect dad (the Borgin & Burke’s scene) is all that’s required to put a character on the same level as men who actually do beat their sons. It’s not given a greater thought.

For instance, you bring up Draco’s indoctrination into the Death Eaters, and his eagerness to join. This is a very interesting conundrum for Lucius to me because Voldemort is back for an entire year before Draco signs up. Lucius is in Azkaban at the time, unable to exert any influence over Draco’s decision, and Voldemort explicitly brings Draco into the fold as a form of punishment for Lucius. We have no access to Lucius’ head as readers, but he had an entire year afterward to sit and think about how he failed Draco. He’s a smart guy. I’m sure he could put it together that his bigotry came very close to costing his son his life. Considering the Malfoys sit alongside the winners of the war in the Great Hall, it speaks to me of some greater narrative reflection on Lucius’ part to have earned himself a place there.

The point is, I’ve never seen that Lucius in fic before. I crave that Lucius, who can realize his mistakes and grow or change as a result (and is brave enough not to let the lateness of its arrival dictate the terms). It’s very important to me that growth not be something exclusive to a certain age (16 and under? 18? I’ve seen people argue that Draco was no longer redeemable at 12 LMAO). So yeah, feeling alone in this sentiment occasionally bubbles up and I forget to articulate all the nuance of the subject when engaging with it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#meta #draco malfoy #lucius malfoy

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radiosummons · 1 year

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Even though Wolfwood is very much not an actual Catholic priest, I do find it compelling that Vash--someone without any religious beliefs and minimal exposure to "Christianity," courtesy of Rem (OG Trigun)--is the most faithful of the two.

And by "faithful," I don't mean so much in a religious or Christian sort of sense. More that Vash holds onto his faith that there is good in people and that everyone is worth saving. That the taking of a life is something so unspeakable to him that it will literally cause him immense mental, emotional and physical pain when he is forced to do so. His unshakeable belief, i.e. his faith that every life is precious and no one is beyond redepmtion irregardless of how morally corrupt an individual may be is so foundational to who he is as a character.

While I've only really experienced this through anime and various other Japanese based video games, I do enjoy seeing depictions of Christian iconography and concepts form non-Western creators. I love the art and memes of Vash being a "biblically accurate angel" (even though Plants aren't angels, I am so fucking happy that people are picking up on the unintentional symbolism) and I do enjoy the amount of, again, art and memes of Wolfwood being a cringefail Catholic priest.

But I also love the non-Western depiction of Christianity in Trigun, or rather the apocalyptic remnants of it. Despite the fact I have lost my ability to have faith in a higher being (and my own personal beef/distate with the Catholic Church/conservative Christianity as a whole), I find the worldbuilding of Trigun fascinating in this aspect as it provides its audience an alternative form of a global religion that's very relevant to our daily lives.

In Trigun, Christianity is very much a shadow of its former self, a leftover remnant of humanity--more specifically, a remnant of an old forgotten belief system--that has been essentialy been lost. Save for a few remaining Bibles and some memories of particular Catholic iconography/symbolism.

But overall, that's all that remains. Just familiar symbols and various rituals that some people are able to recall from their former lives.

So the decision to pair Vash up with someone like Wolfwood, someone who has lost his faith in humanity as a whole but has resolved himself to protect those that he can (or rather, deems worthy of saving) ... I find that relationship absolutely fascinating. Because I'd argue that in most Western depictions of a holy man (typically Christian and typically Catholic, let's be real), it's usually the holy man that is doing the saving. Or at the very least, is usually helping guide the other characters on their own paths towards redemption.

Despite the fact Wolfwood isn't an actual priest but instead an assassin trained by a mercenary group using the guise of an old religion (again, that most of humanity has clearly forgotten about), I find it to be a wonderful storywriting choice to make Vash the "holy man."

They're both incredibly tragic characters that burden themselves with crippling destinies. Destinies that ultimately lead to their own destruction, but hopefully all for the greater good. Vash holds faith that maybe, just maybe, he can make Nai realize the error of his ways and turn over a new leaf.

Understandably, Wolfwood finds this way of thinking horribly childish and naive. He even takes it as a personal insult when Vash continues to insist that killing people, even if it's for the sake of protecting someone else, is wrong.

But Vash isn't wrong for wanting to see the good in people. To borrow a quote from Everything Everywhere All At Once: "You tell me it's a cruel world, and we're all running around in circles. I know that. I've been on this earth just as many days as you. When I choose to see the good side of things, I'm not being naive. It is strategic and necessary. It's how I've learned to survive through everything. I know you see yourself as a fighter. Well, I see myself as one too. This is how I fight."

Granted, Vash doesn't express his beliefs as eloquently as this. But that doesn't really matter, though. Because Wolfwood doesn't need Vash to make express himself this way for Wolfwood to finally understand him. Vash, by the simple of virtue of being himself, is a good person who chooses to see the good in others.

And Wolfwood ... Wolfwood is someone who chooses to see the bad.

Wolfwood cannot quite bring himself to view the world the way Vash does. And Vash will never be able to share Wolfwood's opinions regarding who is worthy of living, either. But they respect each other and understand where the other person is coming from.

It does take Wolfwood a lot longer to understand Vash as a person, let alone his faith in humanity. But when he does, it's so satisfying to watch Vash become someone important to him. Someone that he wants to protects. Because if Vash won't defend himself, Wolfwood resolves to be the one to protect Vash.

Even if Vash doesn't really want that.

It's so fucking amazing to see these two clash over their ideals, whether it's in the form of playful teasing or straight up beating the shit out of each other. But they stay together and hold each other in such high regard despite their conflicting beliefs.

To me, one of the most beautiful aspescts of Trigun is that Wolfwood--a man of faith but only in name--gets to have such a close connection with Vash--a man of faith through and through--and that because of their relationship, they both inspire a existential AND spiritual crisis within one another.

Because in a world that makes no sense, they both find faith in each other. And if that isn't the most beautiful shit you've ever seen, then I don't know what is.

#trigun #trigun meta #og trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #vash #trigun vash #trigun wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #wolfwood #vashwood #i've got a LOT of feelings about these two #yes i quoted #everything everywhere all at once #it just fits okay?#i haven't posted any trigun shit in a while #here's my way of making up for that

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teaberrii · 3 months

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Chapter 20: Someone to Love

After ending a five-year relationship, you pour all your energy into work. Your latest assignment? Staying at a popular bed-and-breakfast to gather information. It should be a piece of cake... If only the owner isn't the man you scolded on the street.

Jing Yuan/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

Support my writing

You almost miss hearing the thunder rumble in the distance as Jing Yuan’s phone starts blowing up with messages and calls. Is this what Caelus’s uncle meant by ending things once and for all? How did he know about what happened to Jing Yuan’s friend? Wait. What happened to the guy? You nervously tap on the article and brace yourself as you read.

Jing Yuan’s old company—desperate to stay afloat amidst poor sales and a terrible economy—had their stocks crash. Jing Yuan’s friend, who had invested a pretty penny in hopes of a high return had lost everything. The company, knowing about his financial situation, had disregarded him, and his situation took a tragic turn. The article continues by saying that this man’s tragic downfall starts with Jing Yuan, the “rich CEO with millions that recommended and brought his friend into a corrupted company with no morale for its employees.”

What the article doesn’t say is what Jing Yuan told you just moments earlier:

“...I told him the consequences.”

Jing Yuan's eyes are glued to his phone, and for once, you know what's on his mind.

His business, partnerships, reputation… It's going to take a massive hit if he doesn't explain. Now you understand what Caelus's uncle and Jing Yuan meant. Are you going to stand by a man who's supposedly a "criminal" for ruining an innocent man's life? Are you willing to put your reputation on the line?

“...Hey.” You put your hand on his arm. “You don’t have anything to hide,” you reassure. “Using these dirty tactics means nothing if they aren’t true.”

“It’s true I referred to him... But, before then, I told him what I knew about was happening.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “Yet, he kept insisting that everything will be fine. At the time, I thought: Fine. I warned you. And it’s not guaranteed he’d get in through my referral alone. So, I did it.” Jing Yuan is looking away from you now. “It was not a smart decision, but I never thought it would lead to something as bad as it did.”

You tilt his head back. “...It’s not your fault.” Jing Yuan’s hand finds yours, and he holds it tightly. “He made that decision. All of it.” You pull him into a hug, and Jing Yuan’s arms go around you. “We’ll get through this. We won’t let him win.”

Jing Yuan wishes he could continue holding you like this. He can feel your heartbeat just like you can feel his, beating in sync.

“If you’re going to miss each other that much…” You and Jing Yuan break apart. Yanqing stands to the side, looking up at the two of you. “Why can’t Mom just sleep over?”

Jing Yuan crouches and picks Yanqing up. “...Dad has to take care of something tonight.”

Yanqing pouts, and you put a hand on Yanqing’s head. “Can you take care of Dad for me tonight?”

“I look after him every night!”

You and Jing Yuan smile, and then he lightly bounces Yanqing up. “Let’s give Mom a goodnight kiss.” Yanqing kisses your cheek, and then Jing Yuan says, “Now, close your eyes for a few seconds."

Yanqing does as he’s told, but he peeks out. When Jing Yuan leans closer to you, Yanqing completely covers his eyes. Jing Yuan’s kiss is brief, but long enough that you crave the taste of him. Then, you hear him whisper in your ear:

“Goodnight, my love.”

But, that night, like Jing Yuan, it’s far from a good night as you don’t get a wink of sleep.

It’s early the next morning when you’re on the phone with Kafka. Your phone is on speaker as you’re making coffee.

“The timing is too strategic and deliberate,” Kafka says.

“He knows about the investigation I’ve been doing,” you say. “It seems like he wants to shift the public’s focus onto other things even though nothing about him has come out… yet.”

“Well, innocent until proven guilty. If what Jing Yuan told you is true, I also don’t think he did anything wrong. The only problem is proving it.” She sighs. “Wait. What am I talking about? I’m supposed to be talking to you about work, for goodness sake.”

“You are… sort of.”

“Anyway, it’s crazy, but the company believes this will work to our advantage. With Jing Yuan in hot water, we can start making moves.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, I wonder how long that will last. It’s not like Star Rails has the best reputation here to begin with. Just because someone else is in trouble doesn’t mean we'll get a permanent boost. But…”

“...It’s making our ‘big, bad director’ more suspicious. I’m having another meeting with them today. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Great. Because I’ll be having a meeting of my own.”

It’s not long after you end the call with Kafka that you give the ex-fiancée of Caelus’s father a call.

“...I saw the article,” she says. “It’s all over social media.”

“I want to ask about the recording.”

“...The recording? The one between my brother and him?”

“My theory is that he needed proof. Imagine someone walking up to you and telling you that your wife cheated and had secret children. Who wouldn’t ask for proof?”

“Well… He could’ve asked his niece and nephew to get a DNA test or something… It’s pretty easy to do that nowadays.”

“Sadly, that kind of information is pretty private if they did. I highly doubt I can get my hands on it. I just want to know if you know about the details of that recording. You said it was a private conversation between your brother and him, but were Caelus and Stelle ever brought up? Or, maybe your relationship with their father? Anything that points to the fact that they were children of an affair.”

“...I’d have to ask my brother.”

“This man’s done enough,” you say. “You say it takes one person to ruin a bunch of people’s lives. Well, it can also take one person to save a bunch of people’s lives.”

You hope those words are enough to convince her.

When noon rolled around, you and Jing Yuan got in touch once. It's no surprise he's busy dealing with the aftermath of this fiasco while you're scrambling to get something tangible to nab Caelus's uncle once and for all. What puts you at ease is that Blade and Luocha are with him, but what surprises you is that even Jing Yuan's ex has willingly stepped up to give a statement. The man who died had been a friend of hers, too, and while the tragedy happened during their divorce, Jing Yuan had told her about his warnings to him when they were still together.

March and the others have also gotten in touch, and you could easily picture her annoyed face and clenched fists when she said:

“He’s such a little worm! That fuc—”

“As much as Jing Yuan’s trying to protect himself, he’s also keeping your name out of this as much as possible,” Dan Feng said, and you assumed he took the phone from March. “It’s no secret what that wormy old man is going to do next, so be careful, too.”

“Everyone in Xianzhou is surprised,” Welt said. “No surprise there, but we’re trying to mitigate the situation.”

March sighed. “...Yeah. We can’t sit around and do nothing. It’s frustrating.”

“But, don’t worry, Mom. We also got the almighty JIngliu on our side." You could see the smile on Dan Feng's face. "We got this.”

You walk into a café, and you see the “wormy old man” sitting at the back with a hot drink that you wish you could pour all over him. When you sit across from him, he finally looks at you.

“Not going to get a drink?”

“I’d rather not waste my time.”

“Fine. Let’s get down to business, shall we? Have you decided to stop your little investigation?”

“And if I don’t, will you release an article saying that I’m just as much of a criminal as Jing Yuan?”

“It doesn’t look good for you, considering he’s a competitor, isn’t he? Also, as a woman climbing the corporate ladder, it’s going to make it difficult for you even if you leave Star Rails.”

You almost scoff. “Is that what you also told Jing Yuan’s ex to keep her quiet? After Caelus died, you used this tactic that if word got out she was involved, it would harm her reputation and career.”

“You’re making some bold accusations without any evidence.”

“You used her as a pawn to get what you and the director wanted.”

Caelus’s uncle has a tight smile. “And what would we want?”

“...Do you believe me now?”

The director’s face had gone pale. His arms were on the table, his hands entwined, and he pressed his forehead against them as the words of the recording began to sink in and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He thought he’d knew everything, but this goddamn woman had hid even more secrets from him. She was an ugly blemish on his life that would never disappear, and he wanted to fucking scream.

“Did you know she had children?”

The director slammed one of his hands on the table. “It’s all in the past. I have nothing to do with her anymore.”

“She took your money, didn’t she?”

The director glared at him. “What do you want?”

Caelus’s uncle crossed one leg over the other. “The same as you. Revenge. My brother is someone who only cares about himself. He refuses to give me anything, and he has everyone in Xianzhou fooled that it’s sickening. He came between you and your wife… and she supported him using your money. The hotel that’s thriving in Xianzhou… a large part of that success is because of your hard-earned money, and it’s in the hands of the child my brother had with your wife. If I were you, I’d like to see it go up in flames.”

He knew he had the director right where he wanted him. His face was red as a tomato, fists clenched, and a dangerous look in his eyes that looked as if something snapped.

“I’m sure you know that we’re trying to acquire that hotel right now,” Caelus’s uncle continued. “The project manager in charge of that… I know her very well. A capable woman who’s desperate to climb the corporate ladder. She’s willing to do anything to make sure this project goes through. Her greediness and desperation will be beneficial to us.”

The director’s anger seemed to have subsided slightly when he said, “...The one who presented at the meeting today?”

“That’s right. A pretty one, isn’t she? With the right words, I doubt we’ll have to do much. A woman’s desperation can be a scary but entertaining thing to watch.”

Caelus’s uncle remembers the conversation vividly. It feels like it’s just yesterday. He’s looking straight at you, impressed but also terrified at how much you know. But everything is just speculation. As long as the right people keep quiet…

“...Fine. I’ll entertain you.” He glares at you. “Assuming what you said is all true, there’s no direct evidence that leads to me purposely pressuring my nephew to take his life. There was a full police investigation, and while there was no suicide note, there was also no foul play.”

“You think you have everyone wrapped around your finger, but”—you lean closer—”people are selfish. If they don’t see any benefit to keep quiet, they won’t.”

Just then, your phone buzzes. It’s a message from the woman, and after reading it, you smile.

Your smile doesn’t go unnoticed by Caelus’s uncle. What did you read? Who messaged you?

“You gave us an opportunity,” you say, sliding your phone back into your pocket. “You trying to smear Jing Yuan also put your name in the papers. With him coming out clean, you won’t get off so easily. People can be ruthless when digging up other people's pasts, especially if they're dirty. The more lies you say, the bigger the hole. You won’t get off so easily no matter how much you try to play it off.”

“This doesn’t mean you and Jing Yuan will come out unscarred.”

“...We'll see who gets the last laugh.”

You’ve just exited the café when you take your phone out and reread the earlier message from the woman.

My brother doesn’t have the recording, but… he sent me these screenshots.

Lo’ and behold, it’s written in black and white: a conversation about the recording, but most importantly… one whole paragraph about how Caelus's uncle hates his brother and his desire to ruin his family and “take back what’s his” by getting rid of the children who stand in his way. The way it was written makes you think he must’ve been drunk at the time.

Just moments later, Kafka calls you.

“Like I thought, he denied everything,” Kafka says. “He said he only knew him from the project, but they weren’t involved in anything… personal.”

"Of course, I knew him," the director said. "He was a stakeholder in that project."

“He’s also the brother of the man who had an affair with your wife.”

He quickly stood. “What is this really about, Kafka?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the article about Jing Yuan. I just found it interesting that the company mentioned in the article… was the same one we were looking to work with many years ago. I did a little digging myself and saw that Jing Yuan left before anything between the companies even began.”

“And?”

“The man that took his life… He was part of the management team that was on close terms with us, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, Kafka… Don’t tell me that you think we came up with this article. That’s ridiculous.”

“This timing is all very coincidental. Perhaps it’s to cover—”

“Your imagination is as wild as some of the people who work here.” Kafka narrowed her eyes. “The employee that you sent to Xianzhou hasn’t been delivering any results. Perhaps she should be thanking whoever wrote this article that the reputation of our competitor is going to go to shit.”

Kafka shook her head in disappointment. “You know what would’ve been the smartest move?” She looked at him straight in the eyes. “You should’ve left Xianzhou alone.”

You almost scoff. “Sounds like he can’t contain his guilt anymore. But… It makes sense. I don’t see how Caelus’s uncle would’ve known about what happened to Jing Yuan’s friend if someone hadn’t tipped him off.” Then, you roll your eyes. “Guess Star Rails was smart to not put their name in the paper.”

“Well, it’ll turn ugly, that’s for sure. Our director fed him this information. And, thinking they had the upper hand, they quickly published it. Now, if Jing Yuan is found to be clean, people will start questioning the person who started this entire thing.”

“Knowing the kind of person he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if Caelus’s uncle drags in our big, bad director and Star Rails so he doesn’t take all the blame. But, I’m glad this case will finally see the light of day.”

“In due time. It’s likely Star Rails paid this journalist to come up with this article if that journalist didn’t bother checking facts.”

“Then, I guess it’s good I have connections of my own.”

◆◆◆

“People are shocked, but not everyone is blindly believing it. So, that’s a good sign.”

It’s late afternoon, and Dan Heng and Jingliu are at a nearby café.

“I talked to Jing Yuan earlier today,” Jingliu says. “It’s the constant explaining to his investors and partnerships that’s driving him a little mad. But, at least the media already reached out to him. Our cute little investigator is also involved. ”

“Cute little investigator?”

Jingliu says your name. “She’s ready to fire bullets.”

Dan Heng puts his hands around his coffee. “...Looks like you are, too.”

“Me? Oh, well, if you call finding a new path firing bullets…” She chuckles. “I suppose.”

“It’ll do well. A physical rehab center for seniors isn’t something Xianzhou has yet. Fits with the market too since the population is getting older.”

“I’m glad people are already looking forward to it. A lot of my younger staff are already thinking about getting certifications. Some of them haven't decided what they want to do as a career yet, and this is something they're considering."

Dan Heng’s hand finds hers. “What about your dad?”

“What do you think?” Jingliu laughs. “He’s glad he doesn’t have to travel to the city if something does happen. In other words, he's happy we found a way out without having anything to do with you-know-who.” She slightly leans forward. “Why do you look down? I thought you also have things figured out.”

Does he? Dan Heng has been trying hard not to let it show, but it seems like he can’t suppress all of his emotions. He looks off to the side, wanting to pull his hand back when she holds it tightly. Is it childish to tell her what he truly feels? Probably. But it’s better than keeping her in the dark. So, he looks at her and says:

“...I’ll miss you. A lot.” Jingliu gives him a small, reassuring smile. “But knowing that both of us have our own thing going on, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“I don’t know about other people, but”—Jingliu holds his hand—”I prefer this than being stuck with each other all the time.”

“I thought you might say that.”

Jingliu leans back and glances out the window. “You asked when was the last time I’ve been on a date. Well, I’ve been on a couple… but obviously they never worked out.” She looks back. “Some people told me I was too assertive and that men liked a woman who’s a little dependent on them.”

“...I’m sure there are people who fit that mould, but”—he smiles—”we do our own thing, regardless of what other people say.”

“I think that’s one of the things I like about you, Dan Heng.” The unexpected compliment makes his face warm. “Out of the years I’ve been training you, you don’t sway easily by what other people say. Whether it’s about your performance or decisions… You think about whether what people say has merit. That’s not something easily accomplished by someone your age.”

“I’m not young anymore.”

“Well, some people never get there.”

“...There’s one person whose opinion I want to know about.”

Jingliu laughs. “My dad?” Judging from the look on his face, she was right. “Oh, he’ll love you. Don’t worry.”

But his legs still feel like jelly every time he thinks about formally meeting him, anyway.

◆◆◆

Dan Feng is lying half-naked on a table with acupuncture needles sticking out of his shoulders when March walks in. He glances at her and sees she already got his bag of medicine. She slides the door shut, and he can no longer hear the outside conversations. It’s just him and her.

“Luocha says Jing Yuan will be fine,” March says. “Looks like Welt’s Ms. Femme Fatale got some dirt on Caelus’s uncle that will really shut his mouth once and for all. Hallelujah!"

“You talking about Mom?”

“Stop calling her that,” March deadpans. “It’s weird.”

Dan Feng tilts his head to the right as if he’s a puppy. “Why? You call JIngliu Mom. With how things are going, you might as well start calling Dan Heng Dad."

March makes a disgusted face. “That’s different.”

“Well, we have time to spare. Enlighten me, dear March.”

“You’re not that much older than her.”

Dan Feng gives her a deadpan look. March ignores this and pulls out her phone. When she slips it back into her pocket again, Dan Feng asks, “You waiting for someone?”

She sits on a nearby chair. “...I’ve been back in touch with some people I knew in the entertainment industry.”

“Are you excited?” March looks at him. “You’re going to be performing on music shows, aren’t you?”

“Actually…” She takes a small breath. “The contract I’m going to be signing is for acting.”

“Acting? You’re going to be an actress?”

“I was talking to Welt about it the other day… How cool it would be if his novel got a film adaptation. I joked that I could play our Ms. Femme Fatale, and then he literally said ‘Well, why not?’ Just got me thinking… considering it looks like everyone is stepping into new things. I don’t want to fall behind.” When Dan Feng doesn’t say anything, March starts fidgeting. “If you’re going to laugh, then just do it. Stop making me anxious.”

“Why would I laugh?” Dan Feng rolls his eyes. “It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Yeah, well, you—” March stops and stares at him with wide eyes. “What did you say?”

Dan Feng would've shrugged if he could. "It's just something I noticed. You have a natural talent for singing but you wanted to try dancing. When you got good at dancing, you wanted to try producing and writing your own songs. I don't know. I guess it's cool that you don't settle just because you're good at one thing."

March’s jaw drops.

“You look like a fish out of water,” Dan Feng continues.

“I, um, well… That’s…”

“Your face is turning red.”

She huffs.

“Now, you look like a blowfish.”

She walks over and gently pokes one of the needles. “Don’t make me stab you.”

“Ooh, I’m terrified.”

March moves in front of him, and Dan Feng watches as she gets at eye level with him. What is she doing? If only he can move.

“You know what I hate about you?”

Dan Feng holds her stare. “Everything?”

She sighs and moves closer. “...Yeah. Everything.”

A small smirk. “Well, you won’t hate me if you come just a little closer.”

“Sounds sus, but—”

It takes March a moment to realize that Dan Feng is kissing her… while lying half-naked on the acupuncture bed.

◆◆◆

When you finally see Jing Yuan, it’s late afternoon, Things have finally begun to settle down as he’d finished talking to reporters and took care of things internally to come out with a statement. But, most importantly, he still had the texts between him and his friend that proved his innocence. Now, all that’s left is to wait.

You, Blade, and Jing Yuan are having tea at Jing Yuan’s place when you say:

“I feel like I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Bet you didn’t think you’d be going through all of this when you first got here,” Blade says.

“It’s something I’ll never forget, that’s for sure. But… not everything’s finished yet.” You put your tea on the table. “I’m officially working with the media on an article exposing Star Rails.”

“Wait,” Jing Yuan says. “...But, you’re still working there.”

“Yeah… Won’t this get you into some pretty big trouble?” Blade asks.

“If you mean launching a new career, then… yeah. I suppose so.”

“A new career? You mean…”

You’re looking at Jing Yuan when you say, “If things go well… I might be offered a contract as a freelance journalist covering local news here." Jing Yuan feels his heart soar. "Of course, this is just the start… The more experience I get, I can start a newsroom here.”

Your words wash his fatigue away as he pulls you into a hug. “The best news I've heard all day. You’ll do so well, love.”

“Hm… Interesting. Perhaps we’ll even work together.”

“Work together?” you ask Blade as Jing Yuan lets you go.

“The university I work at is interested in building a small agricultural campus here. It's partly why I'm here."

“Are you overseeing this project?”

“That’s right. I’ll also be relocating here to teach.”

Your jaw almost drops. “Wow. I bet Yanqing will be happy to have both of his dads here.”

“...I asked Yanqing not to call Blade that anymore,” Jing Yuan says.

Before you can ask, Blade notices the time and says, “All good things have to come to an end, I guess.” He stands. “But, at least I still get to spend time with my favourite kid.” You and Jing Yuan walk Blade to the door. “I’ll drop him off later.”

Jing Yuan nods, and you and Blade say a quick goodbye.

Once Blade leaves, you jokingly ask, “Is someone being too protective of Yanqing now?”

Jing Yuan walks up, puts his hands around your waist, and leans closer. “I don’t want people to think you also belong to Blade.” The thought has never crossed your mind, but it makes sense… as Yanqing calls you Mom. Jing Yuan’s forehead is against yours when he says, “...You belong to me.”

Your mind goes into a daze when his lips meet yours. Soon, his hot mouth once again takes you on a wild, wild ride, unleashing a flame within that quickly spreads throughout your body. Your fingers weave through his hair; his grip around your waist tightens, and he pulls you even closer until your body is flush against his. Your teasing touches dance along his broad shoulders and muscular arms, fanning the fiery flames of desire that he can no longer hold back.

The world becomes a blur as Jing Yuan lifts you effortlessly. With his hands on your hips, your legs around him, you gasp as his sinful, delicious mouth travels from your lips to your neck and then to your collarbone, leaving a burning trail in its wake that makes you long for more. A soft moan. A quiet gasp.

Then, you feel his breath against your ear.

“Let me hear more, love…”

You breathlessly say his name when he finds that sensitive spot on your neck.

“...I’ve waited too long.”

Soon, his tongue teases and dances with yours, and he’s kissing you as if it’s the last. You pull the red ribbon, releasing his hair from its confinement. Then, with your hands cupping his face, you say:

“...Love me, Jing Yuan.”

Chapter 21

End notes:

Muahahahaha the smut has finally arrived. I really want to try upping my game when writing smut lol so let's see how this goes.

The next chapter is the last! I'm surprised I actually kept this within a reasonable length lol. My initial want of keeping this within 20 chapters wasn't too far off. *pats self on back*

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel @immahuman @queencybow @nqctre @grimreapersscythe @winterpein @asakenajustexistshere @sunsethw4

#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #jingyuan x you #jingyuan x reader #honkai jing yuan

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bestworstcase · 4 months

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something interesting that popped into my head re: maiden talk. objectively between winter, weiss, and jaune, winter is the one most committed to atlas the nation; her line to ironwood, "I have never wavered in fighting the enemies of this kingdom, and I won't start now" has always stood out to me and I find it... interesting. Winter has the winter maiden powers and is probably the most high-ranking Atlas official to survive the fall. Raven, in committing to her tribe, places herself squarely in Mistral. Cinder steals Amber's powers in Vale, a country historically against Atlas (notably in the Great War), therefore aligning with her own sentiments. I doubt there is actually anything to this, but it feels like more reason to believe the Summer maiden will be in and associated with Vacuo. also as I rewatch the ironwood fight, he says that he never expected Winter to betray him... I have to wonder if he groomed Winter into joining the Atlesian military, or planted the seed in her mind, thinking that if he could mold someone into the lieutenant he needed that he'd never have to worry because he would have been totally responsible for them. (as in, taught them everything and shaped their morals and scruples). we know that as head of atlas he is the headmaster of the atlas academy but what better way to make sure that your protege never gets any "ideas" by picking someone who is isolated and desperate to escape, who wants to be cared for and about by someone and especially someone like him? if they never go to the academy they won't have the distraction of "friends" and "teams" and "allegiances." this could in part explain why her sword and rapier (?) are like ironwood's bfg and due process- she modelled them after him. also of course must be mentioned that when James realized Winter had inherited the maiden powers, he says that the destiny he chose for her had arrived. he must have known that it means penny is dead, but that doesn't matter to him at all. i think that's part of why winter is so pissed when she says "you chose nothing. this was a gift." she has to grieve her friend and a man who stands before her claiming he feels betrayed doesn't even seem surprised or sad about the death.

…hm yeah. throws that on the "gillian asturias is the summer maiden" pile

the WOR episode on huntsmen implies this pretty overtly, as ozpin notes that atlas academy has been under increasing scrutiny for "indoctrinating" its students into the military and pressuring graduates to enlist as special operatives, and…

ironwood also personally invites weiss to enroll at atlas in V4, and he knows jacques personally--prior to the fall of beacon it's implied they were political allies even, so he certainly knows what kind of person jacques is and how he treats his children. and then the way he talks to the kids when he gives them their licenses in V7 implies an expectation of personal loyalty--he needs huntsmen he can trust at his side.

i think he probably saw it as himself opening doors and taking a personal interest in promising students, much as ozpin does--bc ironwood very much does view himself as ozpin's most important lieutenant and natural successor, based on his unilateral actions after the fall--without necessarily recognizing (or caring) how manipulative and exploitative this sort of behavior is. but 100%, absolutely he was surprised by winter's "betrayal" because he thought she was his perfect protégé, never realizing she could still think for herself.

the funny thing is, projecting absolute obedience and deference while keeping her true thoughts and feelings behind a faultless mask is almost certainly a survival skill winter learned to protect herself from jacques, and she slips seamlessly into doing that the instant ironwood begins to make choices she disagrees with.

ditto her decisions in V8: winter sees ironwood murder a councilman in cold blood, going past "martial law" all the way to "military coup," and she sees the ace-ops brace up and fall in line. so what does she do? quietly stays put and starts doing what she can to sabotage him. she lets JYR go, then--upon realizing that they must have been the ones to blow up the whale, and thus probably survived--immediately turns around and declares they're going back to ironwood, no searching for the hostages, they'll tell him something else blew up the whale in person. jumping in to "arrest" marrow before ironwood shot him wasn't the moment winter "came to her senses"--that happened when she saw ironwood shoot sleet. it was just the moment when she saw she could do more good by leaving than by staying to mitigate ironwood's excesses. & i would bet anything that is exactly how winter was with her siblings when they were children: appeasing jacques and presenting as the perfect obedient child, and using the relative freedom that gave her to make things easier for her siblings in small, quiet ways.

ironwood just never noticed that he'd burned through all of winter's trust and all the chances she was willing to give him.

as for his reaction to penny's death: another moment i think about fucking constantly is this:

the way her focus goes right to penny's sword. the pause before she responds "sir?" to ironwood's greeting because she's so caught up in her worry for penny. (watts being… watts, and silently gloating at her because he can tell how bothered she is. framed between ironwood and harriet, who don't see penny as anything but a weapon to get under control.)

there's a reason winter is such a storm of feelings when she lets JYR go to try to save their friend, and the reason is she's terrified and angry and disgusted by whatever ironwood did to penny while she was being fitted into that brace, unable to intervene or protest.

so a day later, when penny dies and ironwood shrugs? it's not just that he's indifferent. ironwood is directly responsible for penny's death--he made the devil's bargain with watts, he authorized that virus, he is the reason penny was forced to leave her robotic body behind, he made penny vulnerable to cinder--and winter knows that.

#also: saber and main gauche 👍

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vivi-the-goblin · 5 months

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Over halfway done with 5e. Not going to let WotC put a permanently unfinished series on my page, so this has turned more into a last walk to get my character ideas and design thoughts out before moving on. Btw I AM still making monsters, they're just going to be part of larger encounter videos like the last one. If you want to see a particular monster used or have some variant of it made, I'm open to suggestions!

youtube

Paladins are hard for me just because I HATE what they've done with oaths. What they did was remove alignment from the game, then basically give paladins thier own mini-alignment without any nuance. but with fewer and worse words. "You don't have to be lawful good we swear! you just have to follow this strict set of laws that're usually good or lose your power, and all flavor text will insist you're good!" Oddly enough, that is FAR more rigid than anything they were trying to replace, because you're bound to 3 specific rules instead of the tone of a god you chose. But whatever, WotC's solution to paladin alignment was just haphazardly ripping out random chunks of the problem, who would've guessed. My solution to this is to just make PERSONAL oaths. You make your character, and you make ironclad ideals that they strive for. ones that fit with whatever you've flavored the subclass as of course. and then have THOSE dictate your course. That little bit of nuance is a good compromise if we're going the self-made laws middleground.

Personally I think the paladin needs at least SOME law to follow. They literally get thier power by following a moral code, be it thier own or someone else's, so strongly that they manifest power. Or they operate like a warlock with a less binding contract. But I actually love adding narrative weight to mechanics. It gives the choices MEANING. Here's an example- Once we were stuck, an orcish army approaching but our concerns more focused on the lich nearby. As long as he and his necromancers lived, we lost no matter how the war went. Sadly I had spread bubonic plague through the black market slavers, and in doing so accidentally killed all the DM's info brokers and ways for us to find them. When he offered us someone who could speak to the gods, he mentioned that the closer the god was to this case the more info they'd have. We knew we had to butter him up though. but our group had a paladin, monk, druid, and cleric. this wasn't going to be easy. We made the decision to...ask the paladin to leave. Those of us remaining did something horrific in the eyes of the gods. We tricked people into cannabalism of a diseased corpse of someone they knew, while drunkenly cheering orcus's name. We got the info, but there was a cost. As a druid, I only had to argue partial neutrality. As this action was horrible but ultimately to prevent the collapse of the kingdom, I was able to argue I was not Chaotic Evil, merely neutral evil. The paladin escaped judgement. The monk had to go on a journey of self reflection to regain neutrality.

The cleric had to argue his case before the gods that this was the only way to prevent a greater evil. He eventually was bound in service to the king for repentance, but power restored. For all its faults, THAT is what alignment being bound to a class can do. That wouldn't have had the weight if it was just his standing amongst the local church. He was arguing for his soul and his class levels, narrative and mechanical stakes together. I see the oaths as a half-way point to that, but with far less narrative value and far too rigid in being 3 specific rules for the whole subclass. It's a worst of both worlds. but I think at least picking the rules you're sworn to is a nice patch to all that.

#dnd 5e #youtube #5e d&d #dnd #paladin #Youtube

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dailyadventureprompts · 2 years

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Monsters Reimagined: Celestials

BE NOT AFRAID

Angels and their kin have been a common request in my inbox for some years now, but It’s taken me some time to actually write this post in no small part because I needed to come to terms with how I wanted them to work in my own world.

The problem was finding a balance in the “all angels are good, if not nice” angel, and the “gritty, singleminded zealotry” angel that’s become the default as generation after generation of creator has pushed back against an oppressive religious culture and wanted to see the icons of that religion dragged through the mud as a means of validation.

As I’ve discussed with my post on fiends, I don’t like how d&d does alignments: not just as moral absolutes, but as universal constants that leave no room for debate or faith or contradiction, as belief is systematized and taxonomized, with each good and bad deed having a corresponding outsider and designated parkingspot in the great cosmic wheel.

Here’s my pitch then: Just as demons embody mortal vices gone awry, and fey embody the natural world, celestials embody ideals, pure concepts that exist one step removed from the practical considerations of physical reality. Not only does this allow you to keep your usual “justice”, “kindness” angels on theme, but it also lets you square concepts that would seem to be contradictory without making hard and fast moral judgements about things that can be good in some cases but not in others. An angel of feasting and good cheer might disagree with an enlightened master of ascetic self discipline, especially about whether their mortal wards should really help themselves to a third round of dessert, but neither would fault the other should the decision go their way. Good is not absolute after all.

That said, there’s plenty of different types of celestials, some of whom might disagree on that non-absolutist take, but to find out about my personal taxonomy, you’re going to have to keep reading under the cut

Angels: While all celestials embody some kind of ideal, the angels are out there being the good they want to see in the multiverse. Just like devils actively work to find fault with mortals or punish them for their transgressions, angels wish to extol and foster their virtues. Including angels in your adventure will typically have them picking someone (possibly a PC, possibly a side character, maybe even a villain) and nudging them towards their better nature. Some angels may even be created when someone’s goodness outlives them, or called into being when a collection of goodness coalesces over time. Angels are not the direct subordinates of gods, as gods exist in an even further removed state of idealization, they do however have closer contact with gods, more akin to that of a higher level cleric.

Fallen angels: just as medicine can become poison depending on the dosage, virtuous behaviour can become a vice if taken to its extreme. Righteousness can become wrath, love can become obsession, selflessness can become martyrdom. Little better than demons at their worst, angels that lose the ability to compromise or see other points of view are at risk of becoming something destructive.

Archons: Embodiments of laws by which people are governed, these celestials were placed in charge of mortals during the chaotic dawn age, in an attempt to give the fledgling cultures and civilizations they cared for a scaffolding to build off off. The arcons were despotic tyrants horever, caring little for the wellbeing of their charges compared to the enforcement of the systems they personified. These draconian despots have long been banished to their own little corners of the multiverse, and adventures involving them will likely revolve around an archon trying to reobtain power, or the unearthing of cruel artifacts they used to maintain it.

Lesser Graces: What could be called “Feral Angels”, these spirits represent minor or incidental forms of benevolence removed from coherency or greater morals. The Reverence of moths towards a lamp, a child’s dream of flying free, the protective spirit of a community of feral cats. These are the celestials most likely to be encountered by players in the early stages of their adventures, stumbling upon them incidently as they explore the untouched places of the world.

Psychopomps: Though often spooky or grisly, the shepherds of the dead play an important role in seeing the souls of mortal to their final destination, whether that be in the keeping of a god or the great resting place of the underworld. A party is most likely to encounter psychopomps after someone kicks the bucket, though minor spiritguides may linger around graveyards and tombs, looking to escort lingering souls and dismiss the undead.

Indescribable: From a distance the light of the sun warms the world and nourishes growth, but on a greater scale it can scorch a land to lifeless desert and at its maximum is it nothing but thermonuclear oblivion. Such is the case with the indescribable, celestial entities that take concepts like “purity” or “sanctified” and turn it to the absurd. Ethanol is pure after all, but that’s because it kills any microbial life that it comes in contact with. Indescribables tend to exist beyond the reality of the multiverse, or else carve off very specific territories within it, and adventures involving them likely involve some holier than thou idiot who’s decided to take an ethical system and drive it into an omnicidal ditch.

#archon #angel #celestial #alignment #d&d #monsters reimagined

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violentviolette · 7 months

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how do you tell apart violent impulses from violent intrusive thoughts when you get both? I know I have violent impulses because I acted on them before I had a better system for dealing with them and I know I have intrusive thoughts because I get sexual intrusive thoughts about things I never get impulses over. I know it doesn't make sense because I can tell sexual intrusive thoughts have no impulses behind them but the line is just completely blurred for me with violent thoughts. I always deal with them like they're impulses and get myself as quickly away from the victim and weapon as possible just in case but it always weighs on me not knowing if I really would have acted on that were my reins looser. When I acted on my violent impulses in the past I never felt guilt over actually doing it even if I wouldn't choose to repeat it but stopping myself from potentially acting on violent thoughts makes me feel like garbage

personally, and this is highly subjective and not like a universal Fact, but i generally seperate them by "impulse = rooted in feelings relevent to both the situation and my wants" and "intrusive thought = not triggered by or relevent to actual feelings i have outside the thought" so like, an intrusive thought *to me* is something like "pick up that knife and stab it thru their hand to pin it to the table" when nothing is wrong and im just generally chilling, this is not something i would actually enjoy nor get any real pleasure or satisfaction from doing

whereas an impulsive thought would be "punch that person whose irritating u in the face cause it'll make them stop speaking" cause that is actually rooted in something that would bring me pleasure or satisfaction to do, but i know is socially innopropriate and not a healthy way to handle the situation

but honestly, i think the difference isnt always important, especially when talking about how just having either of those thoughts makes us feel about ourselves. there is no inherent morality to thoughts. our thoughts simply exist, and they have no bearing on whether or not we are good or moral people.

i've had the urge/thought/impulse to hit my wife before. dozens and dozens of times actually. i never have and i never will, but the urge to solve all my problems by simply punching them is a strong urge that i dont think will ever go away for me. i get angry or upset and my instinct is to become violent over it. but simply having the thought to do so doesnt make me a domestic abuser or a bad partner. the fact that i have never once given in to that urge and continue to control my behavior is what makes me a good and healthy partner.

it doesnt matter what u would have done if u werent controlling ur behavior, what matters is that *u are controling that behavior.* u are doing the right and healthy thing by choosing not to act on an impulse or intrusive thought and taking measures to ensure u dont. that shouldnt make u feel bad, it should fill u with pride for urself. the thought is not the important part, it's what u DO with that thought that matters. people think all kinds of insane things all the time, triply so when u have mental illnesses. brains are weird and freaky and they think wild shit. none of that matters, what matters is ur actions and ur behavior and the fact that u can and do control urself to behave in healthy and appropriate ways is the sign of u being a well adjusted and mature adult and healthy member of ur social group.

dont beat urself up over ur thoughts, they are not what make u who u are. ur actions make up the person u are and its ur actions that matter. and the fact that u take action to ensure the safety and well being of the people around u is what determines that u are a good and healthy person making the right decisions, and thats something u should feel very very proud of urself over

#jack.speaks #anon #aspd #anger management #intrusive thoughts #thought crimes are not crimes #cluster b pd #cluster b personality disorder

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always-outlander · 11 months

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Outlander 7x01 Thoughts & Easter Eggs

Feel free to look below the cut, spoilers ahead!

First episodes are always interesting in that they have so much hype because the fans are starved for new episodes, but they rarely do more than set the table for the rest of the season. A hard thing to juggle and be able to hold peoples attention while also jamming a lot of context clues in there. I think overall this one served its purpose and I felt like it was a wise decision for there to not be a time jump between the last episode of season 6.

That said, we all need to keep in mind the parameters of season 7 going into the rest of the episodes of this first half. The first 4 episodes of season 7 were supposed to be a part of season 6. Then the rest of season 7 was filmed with the creators not knowing if they would be given a season 8, so they jammed 3 books worth of content into it. I don’t know about everyone else, but I certainly felt that pacing and quicker speed in this first episode. With a show and book series which historically takes forever for storylines and payoffs to come to fruition, it’s hard not to feel that change.

Opening scene and “vision” (? Or is it just a thought Jamie has?) of Claire being sentenced was impactful, excellent acting once again by Caitriona. I thought the internal monologue of Jamie knowing she’s not dead was lovely and a smart way to call back their vows. He does so twice in this episode.

Bree & Roger

Bree and Roger are such dweebs and their endless use of puns and 20th century references cracks me up. That said, if they keep it up I’ll get annoyed, sometimes it feels like a cop out for better dialogue and gives the impression that these two never share serious conversations between them. I understand their dynamic is different than Jamie and Claire’s, but there is a fear that the writers are solely using their conversations as the comedic relief points in the show.

Rogers preaching leads him to Indigo Donner (the actor is perfect, he’s a sneaky snake). The fact that Roger may likely have something to do with his escape is the ultimate irony. Especially given the time taken to find the date of the house burning in the future, and that he and Bree came back to try and avoid it.

Claire

Claire’s scenes in the jail cell are great, and the women in the jail were excellent character actors, especially Sadie. When Jamie and Young Ian finally reach the jail we see our first glimpse of vengeful Jamie and while I do sometimes get frustrated with Sam’s use of a furrowed brow, his anger and reactionary body langue is still in line with young Jamie. The continuity of the character has always been impressive to me, right down to his little finger movements and facial twitches.

Claire being a healer in action was so nice to see again, I feel like it’s been a while since she’s been actively healing others. Just like the books, her skills have granted her a literal get out of jail free card.

It may just be me, but I do feel like Claire is now capable of doing some bad things and has a bit more mischief in her eyes in her old age. Jamie is still a hot head willing to break every rule to protect Claire, and her moral compass is the only thing that keeps him in line. But the older she gets, the more Jamie’s willingness to bend the rules is rubbing off on her, and I really love that we don’t always know exactly how Claire is going to react anymore. She’s got a poker face now, and it makes her far more interesting to watch.

Major McDonald on board the ship is from the books but it’s also a great scene to help move the plot along. Governor Martin was a real historical figure and the actor who plays him is another great character actor. Forcing Jamie to gather men for the revolution and pick a side has been the trend of the last 3 seasons so it comes as no surprise that he’s once again being forced to swear loyalties to the crown (and finding a way out of it).

Tom Christie

Mark Lewis Jones as Tom Christie is a wonderful casting. He’s such a strong actor and his portrayal of Tom’s (very unfortunate) unrequited love is perfectly done. The scene where Tom tells Jamie his plan to free Claire was not shown in the books, just implied. Seeing that conversation was a perfect spot for Sam and Mark to wrap a bow around Tom Christie’s character and his relationship with Jamie. The callback of Jamie’s vow to Claire on their wedding night was also a very sweet bit of added dialogue. There are many moments where the show is able to add scenes and dialogue that seamlessly fit into the story, and this is one of them.

The way in which Tom was willing to lay his life aside for Claire was a beautiful thing. Jamie putting aside his pride to allow it was a big moment for him. I also loved the eulogy moment. Jamie giving Tom the eulogy he would have wanted and deserved was such a perfect way to close out their storyline.

The scene between Claire and Tom had so many lovely call backs to the books, and majority of the dialogue was straight from the text. The scene shed light on Tom’s brother, his wife, and the reasons Tom became the man he did. It also shed light on Malva’s upbringing and how that informed Tom’s shaping of his own motive.

Claire seeing through his lies actually reinforces why he fell in love with her. When he tells her that he loves her my heart broke for him, and for Claire. It’s not like she can do anything to persuade him, and she will never reciprocate. His life for hers is the ultimate sacrifice, and a debt she knows she cannot repay to him. I thought the acting of both Cait and Mark shined brightly in this scene.

Jamie

Jamie and Claire’s second reunion is cute, but this goes back to the timing issue I highlighted above. It feels off with all the abruptly cut scenes. In their first reunion, the two share a kiss and the scene immediately cuts to Jamie standing alone in the cabin with governor Martin. Then the second reunion, they meet on the docks and it immediately cuts to them laying in bed. You mean to tell me this man who just traveled for days and moved mountains to find his wife is given a literal peck of a reunion, then we skip their entire conversation and cut to them in bed hours later? It felt like they removed dialogue for the sake of run time and personally, I’d always prefer small talk with Claire and Jamie and a full two minutes of them staring into each others eyes than any B-Roll.

Third strange pacing and editing choice was when Jamie tells Claire to rest and she’s IMMEDIATELY asleep. It’s not even a minute later and he’s able to sneak out on her. At the very least they could have dimmed the lights and implied it has been an hour or so before he left.

But they redeemed themselves with the last scene between Jamie and Mr. Brown, that was great. Now that Jamie’s older and has greater responsibilities we see less of a fire in him. While his love for Claire is still strong, he’s not as reckless. But this scene shows the viewers that the fire is still very much alive in Jamie, along with his tactical mind. Having Ian go back to the ridge to implement his revenge was a great callback to young Jamie and his strengths. One of the best lines of dialogue in YEARS was:

“I’m also a violent man, any goodness that prevails in me is because of my wife. You tried to take her from me.”

THIS is what I hope we get loads of this season.

I’m optimistic after this first episode. Visually it was stunning as always, there was a lot of acting highlights for numerous characters, and the storyline and dialogue stayed true to the books when it needed to, and added more depth and context when necessary.

#outlander #outlanderedit #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #sam heughan #claire x jamie #jammf #caitriona balfe #james alexander malcolm mackenzie fraser #outlander 7x01 #outlander spoilers #outlander review #outlander ep: A Life Well Lost

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