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mayiwritesomething · 14 days

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Echoplex (One-Shot)

This is a oneshot from LIAUN Series (Masterlist here)

Wordcount: 2,3k

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Warnings: +18 MDNI, SMUT, teasing, sex (p in v, no protection), oral sex, cursing words, etc.

A/N: I wrote this a while ago while writing the chapters of love is an unfamiliar name (still 2 more chapters to go), i didn’t like it at first but anyway i decided to give it a chance haha. Considering the upcoming chapter 8 will be quite sad, let smooth things with a smut one 😜

Btw it fits somewhere between chapters 6 and 7 but can be read as a one shot on it’s own.

You jetted off to LA on Monday night. Since you and Pedro hadn't met before your departure, you kept exchanging messages. Back at home in your satin sleep dress, feeling gorgeous, you decided to send him a selfie lounging on your sofa with the caption: Movie night. Wish you were here 💔

Almost immediately, you heard the notification sound. It was Pedro. His response was, "Don't you tease me like that baby." Smiling and feeling a rush of heat, you replied with a picture in front of the mirror, the dress slipping from your arms, revealing the curves of your breasts, and the caption, "Or what? Gonna make me pay? 😇"

Forgetting that Pedro preferred calling over texting, you were surprised when he video-called as you returned to the sofa. He was eager to see you, and you wanted him right then and there.

"Oh my god... this looks perfect on you," he said mischievously, then added, "It makes me wonder so much about what's underneath it—why the fuck do you do this?"

"Well, I can show you if you want," you replied with a naughty smile.

"I do, baby... I really do want to see—fuck," his smile faded. "Baby, I have to answer this; it's my manager. I'll be right back."

"Okay," you muttered, frustration taking over as you sank back onto the sofa, scrolling through your Mubi main screen.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, but there was still no call from Pedro. You decided to watch Bowie's Labyrinth, a movie that always made you feel at home.

Nearly two hours later, Pedro finally called, his excitement palpable through the phone. "I've got a fantastic project opportunity," he exclaimed while you listened, intrigued and staring at the screen. "Sorry for the delay in getting back to you, baby. I had to sort a few things out."

"It's alright," you replied, feeling drowsy. "I understand we can't ignore a manager's call."

"Well, the good news is I can make it up to you in person," he teased, causing you to melt a little inside. "Are you free on Thursday?"

"I'll be working on some mixes in my studio, but you're welcome to stop by. I’ve seen you working much more than I’d like; now you can watch me do my thing," you said with a smile.

"I'd love to," he responded eagerly. His enthusiasm was endearing, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip in anticipation; you couldn’t wait to see him in person.

On Thursday morning, anxiety enveloped you as you meticulously organized your home, ensuring everything was precisely in place. Seeking distraction, you headed to the studio on the other side of your yard to begin mixing a song you were producing. A few hours later, Pedro arrived, bringing your favorite coffee in a thermal cup along with a pack of peanut butter M&Ms.

Engrossed in conversation throughout your mixing session, you were captivated by Pedro's curiosity and respect for your work. You knew that for someone not directly involved in music production, watching someone tinker with synthesizers and create sounds could be quite boring.

"You're like some kind of witch with this whole hocus pocus thing," he marveled, seated in front of you.

Walking over to him, clad in a tank top and sweatpants, your inner music nerd emerged as you explained, "It's not that complicated; I just piece things together and tweak transitions. I'm not sure if it's good yet; I'll have Tim take a look tomorrow."

Pedro rose, drawing nearer to you, his hands gently tracing your face. "Sometimes, a simple 'thank you' is enough when receiving a compliment babe," he whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead, leaving you feeling a bit sheepish.

"I'm sorry, thank you," you murmured.

"No need to apologize, mami," he reassured, cupping your face to kiss you tenderly. Chuckling at the new nickname, you kissed him slowly, feeling the desire building as he lifted you onto the wooden part of the mixing table. Craving his touch, you pulled him closer, kissing his neck and sensing his longing for you as well. While trying to position you on the table and removing his shirt, his hands accidentally slipped, nudging some buttons.

"Careful, man! This is some expensive shit," you cautioned between kisses as your hands fumbled.

"Sorry," he responded, stepping back. "Don't be mad at me, but I'd love to fuck you right here on this table, like right now." You felt a surge of conflicting desires—a battle between primal urges and rational thoughts raging in your mind. Drawing nearer to kiss you again, you reciprocated, feeling his intensity.

"I want you to fuck me now," you confessed, beginning to remove your top.

"Leave it," he instructed, laying you back on the table, as your primal instincts won this round. "Let's not rush," he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck, as you moaned softly, feeling him between your legs, yearning to shed your clothes.

In a frenzy, you attempted to reach for his pants, but he firmly grasped your hands and gently guided them back to the table.

"Come on," you pleaded in exasperation between kisses as he began to trail kisses along your collarbone, slipping a hand under your top to caress the softness of your breast. Sitting before him, his warm touch in the air-conditioned room momentarily stole your breath, causing you to gasp silently.

"We have no neighbors now, baby. I want to hear you; I know I haven't seen everything yet," he murmured, locking eyes with you as his hand continued to tease beneath your top. Your attempts to remove it were thwarted once more. "I told you to leave it," he gently reminded you, guiding your hands back to the table, leaving you burning with frustration inside.

"Seriously? This isn't some master and servant kinda shit," you snapped, annoyed.

"You can have your revenge next time," he whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he gently removed his hand from under the top and adjusted it on you, the fabric showing how stimulated you were. "These are your words, not mine." He said it ironically.

Frustrated and conceding defeat, you seethed, "I fuckin hate you," while he chuckled, slipping a hand inside your pants and teasing you slowly. Involuntarily, you parted your legs, moaning softly and closing your eyes as he continued to explore.

"Are you sure of that?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on you. "Cause your body is telling me otherwise... Or are you wet like this all the time?" You could see how he was enjoying his little torture session.

"Stop—ah—stop fucking teasing me," you protested, feeling a mix of pleasure and anger.

"One word is missing, baby. Where are your manners?" His voice dripped with lust as his touch alternated between pleasure and torment.

"Please," you mumbled, trying to resist the urge to give in completely.

"I know you can do it a bit louder; I almost didn't catch that," he taunted, quickening his movements before abruptly stopping, holding your jaw with his other hand. You couldn’t think straight anymore.

"Please... PLEASE… PLEASE DON'T STOP," you cried out of sudden, your hand gripping his arm as you bit your lower lip, urging him to continue. "Please, Pedro—please, baby, don't stop," you pleaded, a mixture of desperation and desire in your voice.

“I didn’t see that coming this fast,” he said, still holding your jaw with one hand, then kissing you as you moaned, grinding on him. Surprised and aroused by your response, he resumed his ministrations, and as the pleasure intensified, you could only whisper, "It feels so good... it feels so good—please," your plea trailing off. "Just like that—please keep going like that, baby," you urged, locking eyes with him as you kept moaning adrift in the moment.

"It's so beautiful to see you swallowing this pride of yours and begging like that," he remarked, cupping your face tenderly. "I'd do anything for you—fuck, you’re so wet—I want to hear you scream for me," he whispered in your ear, his words causing you to melt in his arms.

"You could start by letting me do what I want," you protested, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “What about that?”

"Today there's no negotiation," he laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Really?" This time, you drew him closer and whispered, "Not even if I ask you nicely…”Taking his hand from inside your pants and gently sucking his fingers. “Please?”

Once again, he maintained control better than you. "Not today, baby," he reassured, planting kisses along your neck and holding your face tenderly. "Just lay down," he instructed, gently guiding you onto the table and slowly taking your pants off, though you felt a pang of worry as your knee knocked against something. As you settled into a comfortable position, a sudden intrusive thought crossed your mind: There goes a $10,000 synth.

Letting the tought aside, you longed for his touch as he focused on taking you to new heights, his attention focused between your tights. Gripping his hair, you let go of any concerns about the noise of your pleasure filling the room as you were fully immersed in the moment with him. It was just the two of you, lost in pleasure, clearly enjoying the experience.

As you finally screamed his name and struggled to maintain your balance, he crawled closer, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss so you could taste yourself. He was so caught up in his own pleasure in between your legs that he didn't even notice you slipping off your top, the last piece of clothing remaining.

Drawing you closer, he whispered, "You're so perfect," his words a mix of adoration and desire as he gazed upon your exposed body, then kissing it as you tried to hold him closer. You wanted to feel him inside.

"Tell me something I don't know," you chuckled playfully.

"Your humility brings tears to my eyes," he teased, planting kisses on your breasts. Your hands roamed freely over his body, eliciting goosebumps from feeling him as he teased you before giving you what you wanted. Returning to kiss you, the sensation of him finally being inside you was fenomenal. Suddenly, your hand accidentally hit a button, causing a burst of bass sound that startled both of you, leading to shared laughter.

"I'm pretty sure I broke something this time," you fretted, concerned about the unexpected noise.

"Wanna go down?" he suggested, worried, ensuring he kept you close. You nodded in agreement, indicating the armchair where he had been seated.

Taking a seat, he maintained eye contact with you, holding you close. The desire burning in his eyes was a sight to behold as you gently pushed him back and cupped his face, a smile playing on your lips. "I want you inside again," you whispered almost inaudibly, your words filled with longing.

"Babe, please," he murmured in response as you trailed your fingers over his lips, settling on top of him to ensure you could move and fully feel him.

The way he gripped your hips left you with no control over your own movements; he was once again in charge after the brief moment of stillness you both shared. Your hands clung tightly to his back as one of his hands guided your hair gently, not forcefully, exposing your neck as you ground against him, feeling every inch filling you. Even the fact that he was controlling your movements didn’t bother you this time.

You wouldn’t let him know this easily, but he knew what he was doing. You loved to feel how harder he would grip you each time you moaned. His laughter ringing out, asking, "Does it feel good?" at every curse word that escaped your lips. How lovely he kissed your body, muttering “es tan rica” while hitting you firm but slowly. The way he touched you. How In those moments of almost silent, heavy breathing, your eyes locked in a wordless understanding as you both discovered the perfect rhythm.

The pleasure building within brought you to tears as you reached your climax. Right after hearing his voice calling out your name as he held you close tightly in his own moment of release, which felt so warm inside of you, a mix of cries, laughter, and trembling filled the room. Struggling to kiss him back, you felt his heavy breathing and sensed his shaking body as he rested his head against your chest, muttering words you couldn't quite make out.

Seeing his smile, you returned it, both of you trying to catch your breath in the aftermath. He tenderly kissed your chin as you held him close, both of you sweaty despite the air conditioner running. Without a word, you simply gazed into each other's eyes for a while, sharing smiles and kisses.

"If we keep this up, we could compete in Iron Man," you remarked with a chuckle.

"Sure," he agreed, clearly out of breath.

"You should quit smoking, old man," you teased, laughing. He shot you a playful yet judgmental look in response. "Don't give me that look; I’m aware of my glass ceiling," you defended yourself, a playful glint in your eyes.

“You destroyed me,” he laughed while kissing your breast, his beard tickling you and causing you to chuckle.

“Want to take a shower?” You asked shyly.

“Yes, we made a mess.” He adjusted your hair and kissed you, pulling you as close as he could.

“Consider yourself lucky because I’ve never had sex here,” you laughed.

“I’ll help you tidy things up,” he said, trying to be useful, “and we can check if everything is working because if it’s not, I—” You sensed his anxiety.

“Well, it’s nothing I can’t afford,” you said, kissing him. He just gave you a surprised look. “All I want is to have a shower and another round, if you’re up to it,” you teased.

“I think I can handle another one,” he smiled back at you.

"So, what are we waiting for?”

I can't believe that life's so complex

When I just want to sit here and watch you undress

This is love, this is love

That I'm feeling

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedrohub #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader #Spotify

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y-umiko · 2 years

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TOKYOREV BOYS WHEN THEY FOUND A SKETCH OF THEMSELVES, DRAWN BY YOU - Drabbles

CHARACTER(S): Bonten WARNING/S: none :P Request

a/n: sorry, it took so long. first time writing for Takeomi and Mochi.

Mikey was never the prying type, but when he saw the canvas-like notebook among your things, one he saw you always scribbling in during meetings, curiosity got the best of him. he flipped through the pages of the book, the content have him being entranced as early as the first page. sketches of the Bonten executives linger on every page, the details exquisite as it can get, among those sketches he found himself. It was not weird to find himself among the others but seeing that majority of your drawings were him, mostly sketches of him eating dorayaki or dozing off during a meeting, either way, you manage to find and capture an innocent side of him, completely different to his current dark life. a small rare smile spread on Mikeys' lips as he continue to flip through the pages, but despite his attention completely drawn to your sketches he didn't miss the way you entered the room, followed by a gasp as he turned to look at you. and if Mikey thought your Sketches were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, your flustered self was even more alluring, with rosy cheeks and an awkward smile as you fidget with the hem of your shirt. suddenly bowing as you apologized for drawing him without permission. gently closing your sketchbook before making his way towards the exit behind you, Mikey passed by you but stop midway as if thinking about somehing before slightly glancing back at you.

"come with me, we should discuss your new position as my 2nd secretary"

Sanzu scans the sketches you drew once more, a hum of approval escaping his lips as he spins around on the chair, your chair. he was just supposed to drop some document on your table when he accidentally found your sketches, and instead of being a good person, Sanzu chooses to pry, opening the sketchbook as if he owned it. as soon as he flips it open, Ran's face was what he saw, earning a scowl from him, flipping to the next he saw Rindou, Koko on the next. frustrated he flipped through the entire sketchbook, every page filled with his team members, and not a single sketch of him. he was so close to flipping and complaining at you when he happen to stumble to another sketchbook, after rummaging your desk, which he aims to apologize to you later. the new sketchbook was filled with only his portrait, raging from sketches from when he was fighting to his serious face as he discusses something with the others, either way, you manage to capture all his best sides and the fact that you dedicated a whole new sketchbook just for him erases all his earlier frustration. Sanzu can't help but take a selfie of one of your sketches of him and sent it to you with a very cute caption.

"I should just steal you from Koko and make you work for me"

Kakucho silently and seriously scans the document you handed him, courtesy of Koko, it was just a financial report as usual nothing out of the ordinary, numbers after numbers yet as he flips through the next page a cough immediately escapes him, his face feeling rather hot. somehow a sketch of himself was mixed among the report, his name clearly written on the bottom with unmistakably your handwriting. the paper was a little torn but still intact, and despite it all - the sketch was so detailed that he easily identified himself, the cute doodle of the heart on the edge of the paper sending his heart into a frenzy. Kakucho is known to always have a stern or serious look on his face making him seem cold, even he knew that. yet the sketch you had drawn him depicted him with a small smile, making him appear kind. he melted inside. that day, instead of his secretary, Kakucho personally returned the documents to you, making sure you received them before quickly scrambling away with a rather red face. and to your surprise, you found the sketch you made among the reports and before you can pray that he didn't see it, you fond words were neatly written on it.

"meet me later at the bar across the street - Kakucho "

Mochi had become more conscious of his appearance ever since Ran randomly blurted it out to him that you've been sketching the members. he was doubtful at first but after catching your gaze one time before quickly scribbling down into a piece of paper had him correcting his doubts that the very next day he showed up dress-up more than usual. Mochi was so conscious that whenever you're in the same room as him he becomes stiff as he overthinks whether he should pose or not for you. this goes on for a few more days, the sudden change in his personality exhausts him and after a very meaningful and serious talk with Takeomi, he decided to just confront you about it. and sure enough, he found you sketching once more, with his powerful stature, towering above you had him freezing on the spot as you look up from your curled up form, his eyes catching the sketch you were currently doing, the person on the sketch unmistakenly his.

"So I heard you drew me…any chance I can see it over a cup of coffee?"

As much as Ran was amazed by your drawings, he was more astonished by your embarrassed state as you stood in front of him, face red, and avoiding eye contact as he smirks at your predicament. much like Sanzu he accidentally stumbled upon your sketchbook as he decided to forgo privacy and search your desk for some stapler but instead find something more valuable. he can't stop his lips from grinning as he flips through every page to find his portrait from various angles, only frowning when he found sketches of his fellow executives. but he was too lost to the high to keep lingering on them. his favorite of them all was his half-body sketch, you captured even his downturned eyes-his short hair that is styled slicked back even his earing, you captured down to every detail. although almost looking perfect there was one minor detail he notice, his tattoo stretching from his nape and collarbones down to his torso was lacking, possibly because of the fact that you haven't seen him without his shirt-which, he quickly propose a solution to you when you walk in with him grinning from ear to ear, your sketchbook on his hand.

"so how about it? drawing me like one of your french girls?"

Rindou already knew you were drawing him, it was hard not to when he always caught your stares during meetings, your wandering gaze coming up to his face as if memorizing every detail of his face and Rindo always felt warmth shot to his cheeks every time. when he would ask you, you always deny it claiming you were taking down notes. so when he caught you in the act, he didn't let the chance slip by. a satisfied, annoying smirk playing on his lips as he snatches the sketchbook away from you, he was ready to tease you or give a witty remark. but upon a closer look at the sketch drawn on the blank canvas, his black and purple hair standing out and bringing the whole sketch into life had him getting speechless. the familiar warmth creeping up his cheeks as he opens and closes his mouth, not finding any words to say. Needless to say, he love it very much that he also got you many more sketchbooks with a clear demand.

"Only fill them with my portrait"

Kokonoi has always been curious about what you've always scribbled, the sound of the pencil running across the paper always reaches his ears whenever you are around. his interest skyrockets when you refuse to show him the book when he asked for it, even though you work for him. he had no choice but to catch you off guard one time and sneakilly snatch the sketchbook on your desk. to his surprise his pair of black eyes stare back at him, his white hair flows with so much detail that it looks so real. the sketch itself shows the elegance of his lifestyle, the jeweled earing he was earning, the gold chain hanging on his neck, and even his favorite expensive bottle of wine in the background. he can only fathom how much time it took you to draw him and makes him wonder of other possibilities you can do, he didn't waste any more time as he staked the whole hideout to find you and make a very tempting offer.

"how much do you want for it?"

Takeomi always felt your stares, but when he would turn to look, you would already be buried in your sketchbook, eyes focused only on the paper in front of you. Takeomi is smart but he had no evidence so every time he would suspiciously narrow his eyes at you. and somehow he manages to take hold of one of your sketches of him, thanks to his strong connection with the Bonten members. he huffs a puff of smoke, a cigarette between his fingers, as his eyes focus on the sketch you made. the most noticeable on the portrait was the scar running down his eye, though many claims it made him look scary, somehow you manage to capture it in an angle that made him look more serene. was this how you see him? Takeomi didn't waste any time looking for you, quietly handing you the now folded sketch, a small smile decorating his lips as he watch you curiously unfold the paper, a look of recognition passing your eyes before your face grew red. you were about to fold it back and bury it somewhere he will never find, but he was faster as he quickly took hold of your hand to stop you and stood almost threateningly in front of you, a smirk on his lips.

"I didn’t know Koko's little secretary thinks of me that way"

#tokyo revengers draken #tokyorevengers #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revenger x reader #bonten x reader #mikey x reader #sanzu x reader #kakucho x reader #mochizuki x reader #ran haitani x reader #rindo x reader #kokonoi x reader #takeomi x reader #bonten rindou #bonten kakucho #bonten sanzu #tokyo rev fluff #tokyo revengers rindou

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tillthelandslide · 7 months

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Insufferable Arsehole Part 12 : (When In Rome) : I'm Just Fine 'Cause I Know That You Are Mine Insta AU (pt.1)

a/n: hiiiiii everyone, this is a little sneak peak into the next chapter of IA I guess (i'll probably post it tonight <3) hope you enjoy.

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @theoriginalwhatsername @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk @you-muppet @moodyyyychickx (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊)

Series Masterlist

Previous Part

thisislou:

thisislou alexa play 'oh daddy' by fleetwood mac

Liked by charli_xcx, mynameismia, rass1975, trumanblack and 439,102 others

trumanblack you're insatiable

↳ thisislou you love me

↳ trumanblack i do

mynameismia ew gross...

↳ thisislou just block me at this point

charli_xcx i swear to god, this rat better count himself lucky

↳ trumanblack i do, trust me

trumanblack:

trumanblack Amore mio @thisislou

Liked by thisislou, jamieoborne, rass1975 and 672,198 others

Comments on this post have been restricted

thislou I love you so much Mr Healy

jamieoborne poor bloke had to silence his comments

↳ trumanblack too many comments saying she's too good for me... as if I dont already know

↳ thisislou ignore them my love, you're perfect for me

rass1975 come back, starting to miss you both over here

bedforddanes only one worthy of her is you mate

1975adam <3

healytymd you think you're cool for writing the caption in Italian... have to agree with the haters that say she's too good for you bro :P

↳ trumanblack 🖕🏼

thisislou:

thisislou the only one worthy of my love is you, you have redefined love itself and exceeded every fantasy i ever had of true love. You are my person, always. They don't know the Matty I know, the Matty the boys know. The Matty that loves his friends so deeply, the Matty that worries about his fans and whether they got home safely after a gig, the Matty that wishes he could call his mum more or visit her and hug her more. The Matty that hugs his brother too tight every time he sees him so he doesn't forget how it feels. The Matty that loves me, so fiercely every. dam. day. That's my Matty, the one who deserves my love @trumanblack

Liked by trumanblack, rass1975, bedforddanes and 891,284 others

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rass1975 our matty

bedforddanes we love you mate

healytymd love you bro

densie_welch thats my boy

1975adam couldn't have said it better

trumanblack you're the best of me, my love

trumanblack:

trumanblack my beautiful girl

Liked by thisislou, 1975adam, charli_xcx and 568,129 others

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thisislou missed opportunity for the caption: you share my shirt, looks so good

↳ trumanblack not using my own lyrics as a caption love

↳ thisislou booooo bad boyfriend

↳ trumanblack you're annoying but I love you

the1975updates GUYS SHES WEARING A RING ON HER RING FINGER OF HER LEFT HAND. THIS IS NOT A DREAL

↳ trumanblack it's flipped, I promise you we didn't get engaged or married (much to my disappointment trust me)

charli_xcx you lucky lucky man

thisislou via her stories:

caption: my love @trumanblack

thisislou:

thisislou Italy has been one of the best experiences of my life. This moment right here was a beautiful one, Matty and I saw an old couple on the beach with this really old camera (he went on about how cool it was and how it was rare... I didn't care but he rambled and it was cute). The couple came over to us and (despite the language barrier) explained how they took some photos of us and how they wanted to gift them to us... We gave the address of the place we were staying at and two days later the photos arrived. This is our favourite. I'll never be able to truly thank the couple for this moment, it was beautiful. They said our love is L'amor che move il sol e l'altre stelle: The love that moves the sun and the other stars. I loved that. To my Matty, I love you more than words can ever describe, thank you for the best holiday ❤️

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trumanblack I love this so much

trumanblack I love you

mynameismia the best couple

bedforddanes this is cute... cant wait to see you both

#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x oc #matty healy fan fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy instagram au #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #insufferable arsehole matty healy series

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garadinervi · 6 months

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For her, poetry is a social act, by Mickey Fridman, «San Francisco Examiner», December 7, 1977 [Constellations of Black feminism in UC Berkeley’s archives – Stories of UC Berkeley Library. Carton 6:50, Barbara Christian papers, BANC MSS 2003/199 c, The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley, CA]

(transcription)

For her, poetry is a social act

By Mickey Friedman Examiner Photo by Katy Raddatz

(Image description) June Jordan is seen in front of a chalkboard, looking toward the camera. (Image caption) June Jordan: The New York Times wrote: 'Whatever becomes of poetry in English hereafter, Jordan's poems will likely be a conspicuous part of it'

While many who write poetry do so for private self-expression, poet June Jordan feels that inner satisfaction is only half the story. For her, a poem is a social act. "If you hope to deserve the attention of anyone other than yourself, you're serving a social goal," she says.

At 41, June Jordan has published 10 books. She is black, politically active, a native of Harlem who grew up in Brooklyn's Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood, where she was a member of a gang called the Royal Bops. She is divorced and has a son at Harvard. Her latest book of poetry, "Things That I Do in the Dark" (Random House) is a selection of her work from 1966 to 1976.

Of the book, Hayden Carruth wrote in the New York Times Book Review, "Whatever becomes of poetry in English hereafter, Jordan's poems will likely be a conspicuous part of it."

Jordan does not talk about other people understanding or empathizing with her poems. What her readers can do, she hopes, is "use" her work, implying an active partnership between writer and reader. "If you write a love poem, if it's a good poem, you've depicted your feelings with accuracy. If other people can use it, they come to a better understanding of their own love," she says.

Along with poems on blackness, politics and a gamut of other topics, a section of "Things That I Do in the Dark" is devoted to love poems — some of them passionate and lyrical, others, like "About Long Distances on Saturday," slightly wry:

he calls me from his house and the timing seems bad and I offer to call him back later but he says "no" I'm about to split for the weekend so call me yeah early next week or sometime and the answer is that the question is (isn't it) where are you going baby without me?

Jordan, very much the conscious artist, does not write in the "confessional" mode that "dominated poetry in the '50s," she says. "I feel that confessional poetry was a part of my life in my late teens, at a time when I wasn't really interested in other people," she says. "Most of us stop being teen-agers, and want other people to care about what we're doing. During the '60s, the civil rights movement, the peace movement and the women's movement served to propel us out of the confessional mode into a more political posture. In the context of these three movements, poetry received an enormous boost in interest."

Since language is one of Jordan's basic concerns, she has been empathetic about preserving the nuances of black English and not teaching black children that their speech is wrong. She has written, "… as a black poet and writer, I hate words that cancel my name and my history and the freedom of my future; I hate the words that condemn and refuse the language of my people in America." In her own poems, the cadences of black speech are often evident.

Jordan says she became a poet "as a result of reading Shakespeare and the Bible when I was much too young to understand them. I was influenced by the music of the words." She was also strongly affected by hearing recordings of Dylan Thomas reading his poetry: "It had a tremendous influence on me. It was almost as if he were speaking Spanish in English, it was so musical. My other big influence was Shelley. He's also mellifluous and musical."

One of Jordan's most pressing concerns at the moment is the deterioration of language. "This is one political struggle I hope I'm a serious part of," she says. "If we don't retrieve our language so we can trust it, the possibilities for interaction are gone. There isn't an alternative to words." Mentioning George Orwell's essay, "Politics and the English Language," Jordan says that political figures have been prime offenders: "The guiding principle that has been inculcated in our leaders is that they should only deal with one idea, and reiterate it over and over," she says. "Most things are more complicated than that. This is a public style of dishonesty that comes from the misuse of our language."

In these days when rhyme and meter have largely gone by the board, it is sometimes hard for the layman to judge what constitutes a good poem. Can objective standards be applied? Jordan says emphatically that they can, and sets forth guidelines in a series of questions: "First, find out what the poet was trying to do. What is he trying to have you see, feel, smell? Then, ask yourself if he has done it. Are the images hackneyed? Is there consistency in the kind of language that's used? If not, does it add to the impact of the poem? Are the verb tenses consistent? Do you feel the voice inside the poem is clear?"

Jordan is currently working on her second novel, "OK, Now," which will be published in the winter of 1978. "The idea is an enormous idea, in the Utopian tradition," she says. "It's written with a somewhat proselytizing attitude. It's about a commune, and land reform in Mississippi. I have to take it through good and bad times, enough so people don't feel I've loaded the scales."

How is writing a novel different from writing poetry? "In a poem, you can contain two voices at best. But in a novel, you can encompass a likely variety of contemporary Americans."

After the novel, Jordan wants to write a book of poems "that will involve getting to know this country. I think it's ridiculous to call yourself an American poet and all you know is New York." To help her learn the country, Jordan is considering moving to the Bay Area, where she would teach at UC Berkeley. "In New York, everything is so expensive and so dense," she says. "I want to come out here and see how people live when the environmental stress has been drastically reduced. I'd like to know how it feels to be able to park your car next to your house."

Page 22—S.F. Examiner Wed., Dec. 7, 1977

#graphic design #poetry #newspaper #june jordan #mickey fridman #san francisco examiner #barbara christian papers #the bancroft library #university of california library #1970s

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rae-gar-targaryen · 2 years

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swallow you like sunshine when i smile [mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!reader]

A/N: For Fanboy’s fangirls, I present some reunion sweetness with Fanboy and his cielita linda. Thanks for your patience. More fanboy is coming soon! (Remember, reblogs make the world go round!)

Pairing: Mickey ��Fanboy’ Garcia x fem!reader aka Fanboy x Cielo (no use of y/n – my readers are written ambiguous, but with a latinx!reader in mind.)

Word Count: 8.6k (WHY OH MY GOD THIS WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 2K OF SMUT NONSENSE) of reconciliation, of promises, of cotton candy clouds and sweet nothings that mean just about everything.

Warnings: My writing is its own warning, smut, so 18+ ONLY – p in v sex, the vaguest bit of somnophilia, the vaguest bit of breeding kink, touching, biting, vaginal fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving), my usual odd attempts at dirty talk, the barest hint of angst.

Summary: When all the drowsy metaphors about love and fruit have been peeled and devoured, there's just you, your love, a bowl full of summer peaches, two parentheses with nothing in between (just space) ...for the tongue's imagination. AKA you reunite with your love Mickey on his leave. He’s intent on making up for lost time with you. Every moment with him feels like home.

The line crackled in your ear. A tangible noise, a manifestation of the distance and the dated technology that separated you.

He was calling you from a landline. In some distant airport you weren’t sure you were allowed to know exactly where… But the words before the pause, before the crackle, had made your heart leap in your chest.

He was coming home.

“Did you hear me, cielo?” His voice was soft, murmured through the lines and slightly garbled, towers, oceans, and mountains between you. From his mouth, across countries, to your waiting ears. Always low, keeled, and beautiful. No exception, even in spite of the transatlantic call.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I can’t wait, Mickey. I can't wait to see you."

He can't help himself. He smiles into the receiver, though you aren't there to see it. He knows you'll hear it in his voice, picture this exact smile as the one he reserves for you, graces you with it whenever he sees you.

"Hasta entonces, mi alma."

—

"You're walking a little taller than usual," Reuben teases, walking in stride with his co-pilot up the ramp and into the airport’s gate area. "Excited to see anyone in particular?"

Mickey scoffs, rolling his eyes at his partner, nudging him with a teasing elbow as they close the distance between their plane and the gate. “Don’t hate, I’m sure she’ll give you a hug, too, Payback.”

“I’m just saying, man, you’re glowing. Isn’t he glowing, Bradshaw?,” Reuben asks.

“Radiant,” Rooster snickers from somewhere over Mickey’s shoulder. “Practically skipping.”

Reuben takes the moment to hold up his phone and take a quick snap of Mickey’s face as evidence. “See? Goofy-happy. Aaaaaand that one’s going on the story,” he types a quick caption that Mickey is sure he’ll see later before swiping on his screen and settling his phone back into his pocket. “You’ll thank me later. You’ll have a memory of this moment to cherish forever,” Reuben’s eyes flash, face lighting up with his toothpaste-ad smile.

Mickey grins at his partner’s antics, playfully flipping him the bird and shoving him once more as they walk through the sliding glass doors and into the gate area with the rest of the Dagger squad, careful not to crush the small bunch of fiery, sunset-hued marigolds clenched in his fist. His gift to you. A paltry peace offering for all of his time away, he thinks, but they’re your favorite flowers. And fitting.

Marigolds represent power, inner-strength, remembrance.

And not just anyone would wait for him as you have, he thinks. Not any woman would have that fortitude. And you’re his own personal sun, fiery as the blooms in his hand. His day rises and sets on you – the first and last thing to cross his mind each day – especially when he’s away. And he’s thrilled, it’s true. Here he is, seconds away from seeing you, from having you back in his arms … when an unwelcome little twinge of anxiety shoots through his chest, splicing his ribs to take root somewhere to the right of his heart.

What if you weren’t there? What if you’d changed your mind? What if it was all too much? What if, what if, what if —

“M!”

All feelings of anxiety are banished at the sound, and Mickey can’t help himself… The happy shriek shatters his thoughts.

Mickey looks up from the flowers he’s clutching just in time to catch the veritable blur that is you as you jump into his arms and lock your ankles around his waist, burying your face into his neck. The telltale wobble of posterboard met his ears as you dropped the sign you had been carrying, letting it sweep to the floor in favor of twining your arms around his neck.

The force of your body against his was a welcome jolt. And Mickey was alight. Elated at the feel of your person against his once more. If it wasn’t for you in his arms, keeping him to the earth, he thinks he might just float away back into the skies he’s just left.

But you were always good at that – making him feel simultaneously good and grounded, while also feeling like he swims amongst clouds. One of your many confounding abilities, he supposes.

He feels the quick press of your lips to his neck as you’ve burrowed there, and it’s like lightning has cracked through his body at the site, your lips like silken petals along his skin that result in tingling peals. Another confounding thing. Always novel, even if he's felt them on his body hundreds of times. Never enough. Never, ever enough.

Quick as you’d kissed his neck, you untuck yourself from the space beneath his jaw, reveling in the feel of his warm palms bracing against you, keeping you aloft, as you untwine your arms from their wrapped bow around his shoulders. Electing instead to cup the sharp curve of his jawline. And allowing yourself to truly take in the face of your beloved, the man you've missed for months on end…

Allowing yourself to recognize his eyes, swimming in warmth and mirroring your own enthusiasm (you hoped). To trace the features of his face, the curves and angles of his jaw, his cheeks – prominently angled as his mouth curved into a grin.

Granting yourself just a moment longer to bask in the radiant sunlight of your beloved’s smile, equal only to the summery golden-warmth of his honeyed eyes. For what was one more moment when you’d spent so many apart?

And you were glad you had. For you were sure your smile mirrored his own in enthusiasm, though few could smile as brightly as Mickey Garcia.

You trace the curve of his fine-boned cheeks with your thumbs before finally, finally allowing your lips to meet his own.

It’s a feeling he’s gone months without, wants to bottle. Like cheap, sticky soda kisses on a summer’s day at the beach – orange syrup and sunshine promise. Or the feeling of dragging your fingers through warm, soft sand … tingling and comforting, silken. Of the sagebrush scent of summer rain, clean and clear, sharp and sweet. Of sunsets and summer peaches, hued and happy.

He’s just as lost in the feeling of you, as you are in the feeling of him, your lips brushing as though they’ve always been meant for the other’s, facile and complete. His plush lower lip finds its way between yours, and he allows his mouth to smile (always, always smiling with you, isn’t he?) against yours.

As for you …It wasn’t fair, really, how he always made you feel as though you were adrift in the blue-green depths of the ocean. Untethered in cool depths, save for the feel of his hands, his arms wrapped around you – your soul escaping to the sea, ever beneath his blue skies as you found yourself reunited with your aviator.

Far, far too soon, your lips part. And was the resulting sigh yours? His? Or collective and colloquial, the both of you finally relieved? In tandem.

“You’re here,” you breathe against his lips, your forehead resting against his. “You’re actually here.”

“I’m here, cielo,” he murmurs, lips perpetually curved into a smile as they meet yours once more.

A wolf-whistle cracked through the air and the moment, causing you to break apart from your beloved once more, a laugh slipping from your lips as as Reuben’s voice met your ears,

“Get a room, you nerds."

Brushing your nose along the slope of Mickey’s, you press your lips quickly to his once more as you slide from his arms, allowing your feet to meet the floor. Back on solid ground.

You turn toward your approaching friend, and the current source of your playful ire, swatting Reuben’s arm before he swept you into a hug.

“Good to see you back, Reuben,” you say, his frame dwarfing your own as he gave you a playful squeeze.

“You too, pequeña,” he smiles as you wrinkle your nose at this – Mickey and Javy’s ‘little’ nickname for you having stuck, apparently. “You didn’t have to rush to him so quickly, ya know? You could’ve hid a bit. Taken your time, made him sweat. He needs to be humbled,” the teasing lilt of Reuben’s voice warm and pleasant to your ears.

“Don’t be cruel,” you chide your friend. “Or I’ll stop sending you sheet-masks.”

The pilot drew his hand to his heart, as though shot. “Don’t hurt me,” he gasps. “You know it doesn’t have to be like that.” He glances a wink at Mickey over your shoulder as you giggle at his antics.

“Don’t worry, Payback, you know I come bearing gifts.” And you’re rummaging through your purse now, finding the orange-red wrapper you were searching for.

It crinkled as you withdrew it from your purse and dropped into Reuben's waiting hand – a 100 Grand bar. A running joke between the two of you at the expense of his callsign.

“Don’t spend it all in one place, babe,” you reminded as you also plucked a folded piece of notebook paper from your bag and slipped it in his hand to join the candy bar.

Reuben smiled at the sight of the cartoonized version of himself you had sketched onto the paper – a battle-ready look on his little likeness’s face as he flew their spaceship into a dotted, sketched little asteroid field.

“The next edition of ‘Fanboy & Payback?’” he asked, mouth quirked.

“Just a little sneak peek at what awaits them next,” you shrugged, glancing over his shoulder and raising your hand in a small wave as Javy, Natasha and Bob walk by. "The two of you have to blast your way outta that asteroid field to escape the wretched Florgs. Think you're game, ace?"

Reuben laughed.

"Always," he breezed, his confidence seamless, as easy as breathing. Though you knew he'd approach real danger as smoothly, as boldly as your proposed, fictional peril.

You patted his hand that clutched your gifts.

"Thank you, Reuben," you murmur, locking eyes with your love's co-pilot – who, in many ways, felt like he was your co-pilot, too. Your voice cracked with the burbling brook of welled emotion inside of you – the feelings of fear every time you say goodbye clashing like waves with the feeling of relief that your beloved was back, safe before your very eyes.

"Thanks for keeping him safe up there. And getting him back to me. This isn't enough to say thank you, but …" when had your eyes started welling?

"Hey," Reuben sweeps you into another hug, "it's nothing, alright? We keep each other safe. Nothing to get bent outta shape about, okay?”

You nodded, Reuben patting your shoulder as he releases you. Mickey, ever-patient as you greeted his friend, is quick to fill the space, pulling you into his side with an arm over your shoulder.

“Thanks, pequeña. It’s good to see you. Do me a favor and keep an eye on this one for me while he’s home, yeah?” Reuben juts his chin in Mickey’s direction before leaving the two of you with a departing smile, already unwrapping the chocolate bar you had gifted him.

“I won’t let him out of my sight, sir,” you called after him, mock-saluting, before turning and burrowing into Mickey’s waiting arms once more, greeted with the sight of a bunch of orange-hued blooms held in fine-boned hands.

“For me?”

Mickey’s nodded, offering you the fiery marigolds, insides warming at the look of adoration on your face at his gift.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmured. “They’re perfect.” You took the hued florals in a bunch and held beneath your chin to frame your face, striking a bit of a pose for your beloved. “How do I look?”

“Like an angel, mi alma,” Mickey smiled, admiring the sunset-hue of the petals against your skin, its contrast to your smile. How had you only been back in his arms for mere minutes, and it’s enough to make him feel like he’s never left? That’s the atmospheric pull of you, he supposes. So like his very own sky.

You’ve wrapped your arms around his neck once more, reveling in the feeling of him against you, thanking him for the flowers and basking in this moment together, when…

“Told ya,” Rooster whispered into Mickey’s ear as he breezed by the two of you, “Marigolds are her favorite.”

Mickey nodded in thanks at his friend as he passed.

“Good call,” he mouthed.

Rooster grinned before plucking his aviators from the front of his uniform and sliding them up the bridge of his nose,

“Adios, you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You waved at Rooster’s exit, gently holding the flowers as Mickey slung an arm over your shoulder, his duffel in the other.

You bent quickly to scoop up the absconded posterboard, tucking it beneath your arm and tucking yourself back into your boyfriend’s side.

“What did it say?” Mickey raised a brow at you, nodding to the posterboard under your arm. Was that the Star Trek font?

“Ah,” you shook your head in mild embarrassment, flourishing the board before the two of you with a hollow, reverberating wobble to allow him to see your greeting of “World’s Sexiest Pilot!” in loud, block letters that did indeed match the Star Trek font – and matched his helmet, in screaming electric blue, embellished with silver streaks.

“It’s a bit much now that I look at it,” you lamented with a sigh. “But I know how the guys get. Egos, and all. I didn’t want there to be any question that it was for you.” You were adorably sheepish about it.

Mickey, meanwhile, tossed his head back with a laugh.

“It’s great, baby,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Though you’re right. Hangman would definitely ignore the design if he thought you meant him.”

“Oh, well, if you think Hangman would like it…” you made to leave Mickey’s hold, making a show of looking around for Hangman, only to turn back to your besotted boyfriend, shrugging in feigned resignation and easing back beneath his arm. “Don’t see him. Guess you’ll do,” you pecked a kiss to his cheek, your own insides warming in kind as you delightedly take in the flush that blooms across the apples of his cheeks.

Mickey guided you toward the airport’s exit, savoring the feel of your side pressed to his once more as you walked, steps in-tandem as always.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered into your ear. “I can think of a few things I don’t think Rooster would do that I’d sure like to.”

–

If you had thought your greeting for your longtime boyfriend was enthusiastic, your golden retriever had put you to shame. Artoo had bowled Mickey over the moment he stepped through the door.

“It’s my fault,” you choked through your giggles as your boyfriend looked up at you from his place on the floor, as your dog relentlessly endeavored to clean Mickey’s ears. “I told him you were coming home today. And you know that I think he can understand us.”

It was silly, Mickey thought, watching you watch him play with the dog, to have been worried in the first place. The anxiety of traveling, of seeing you again after so long. The annoying, persistent little jab of fear that he wouldn’t be able to gel back into your lives – that he had missed too much while he was away… that you had developed a routine without him…. Learned only how to live with the absence of him instead of with him… But it was incredible, he thought – How you were able to make it all melt away as you guided him into your shared space. Into your forever home, together.

Your beachside home smelled just as he remembered it – sun-warmed earth, coffee grounds, and the clear smell of ocean air. The accent wall in the living room was the same earthy, terra cotta color you had picked to remind yourself of gardening all year round, offset by the sweet creme color of the remaining walls and the slate blue of your overstuffed couch. The mirror that hung along one wall still caught the late afternoon sun as it poured in, dazzling the room with beams and prisms of natural light. Your laptop was set up at your workstation in the corner of the dining room table, haphazardly-tossed sketchpad teeming with design proposals. You had left the blender out on the kitchen counter, likely in your haste to get to the airport – the vestiges of your morning protein shake congealing at the bottom. It was lived-in, comfortable, comforting. A space that you had made a home, waiting for him to weave his way seamlessly into when he returned.

“So?” you padded behind him, having left him with Artoo while you had taken his duffel to the bedroom and waited for him to kick off his boots by the sunroom door. You rested your chin on his shoulder and took in the living room from his perspective. “Does it pass inspection, Lieutenant?”

Mickey snorted, turning and guiding your arms to wrap around his waist. “I’d need to see the rest of the premises, I think. Specifically, our bedroom?”

Our.

You quirked an eyebrow at your boyfriend. At his sweet smile and swirling, Bambi eyes. The curls you loved to lose your fingers in, loved to braid on lazy mornings together were long-gone, shorn and replaced with a regulation buzzed-cut that you still loved, even if it meant you wouldn’t have hair to tug when… well….

And you'd pondered on the kind of love you'd read about in novels. The sort of novel a sixteen-year-old girl would sneak beneath her pillow, the better to dream of romance with. Like some sort of amorous osmosis. The fact that the man before you personified that rosy, sunny feeling you’d hoped one day to feel – that you’d found something you could recognize in another. Well, you meant to capitalize.

“Aye, aye, sir,” you lilted, propping forward on tip-toes to brush your lips along Mickey’s. “You’re not going to make me beg for it, are you?”

“That all depends on you, cielo,” he rumbled, taking in the sight of you before him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Now lead the way, cadet.”

With that, he gently patted your rear, ushering you forward, down the hall on slippery-stockinged feet to your shared bedroom that he hadn’t seen in months. You were biting back your lilting, champagne giggles as he chased you down the hall, pulling you into your room with him, and toppling the two of you onto your cloud-like, powdery comforter.

“Baby,” you gasped as Mickey rolled himself over you, meeting your lips with his own in a firm, honeyed kiss.

This feeling, so sweet, that you could almost taste it when your beloved slipped his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss, a true saccharine sacrament. And just what type of sweet it was, and how could you describe it…

Mickey kissed like …. Like the feeling of warm honey meeting your tongue when you take your first sip of well-loved tea. Or the feeling of sugar between your teeth as cotton candy dissolves on your tongue – cloudlike, yet textured.

All was sunset-hued as his lips moved over yours, his hands coming up to cup your face, to trace every bit of you, to feel you as he tasted you, caging you into the cotton softness of your comforter as his warmth rolled over you like a summer storm.

And you knew he wasn’t home for good. A sad reality that made you want to savor every moment he was home with you, that made you resolved to taste him, to feel that sugared sweetness as often as you could –

But, as your beloved trailed his hands to your hips to toy with the hemline of the soft cotton t-shirt that you had tucked into your jeans, you knew you had to stop him… at least, momentarily. Lest he get ahead of you when you had planned for your surprise.

“Baby,” you gasped again, palms flat against the starchy front of the uniform Mickey had been traveling in, “I know you’re gonna kill me, but you have to give me a minute.”

With that, you gently pushed, causing his warm lips to part with the skin of your neck – and when had they gotten there?

“Cieloooo,” Mickey groaned, part in exasperation, part in warning, as his hands cupped your waist, his warm skin burning through the thin material of your t-shirt. He brought a hand back up to caress your jawline with the backs of loving fingers, elongating your neck so he could press another kiss there before tucking your chin down to allow his eyes to search your own. “What could be so important?”

“I promise,” you skimmed your hands over his cheeks in kind, drawing him in for another full kiss before gracefully extricating yourself from beneath him. “It’s worth it. Get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

With that, you closed yourself into the en suite bathroom, your reunion surprise for your beloved tucked into a fabric drawstring bag you had left for the occasion.

You changed into the lacey lingerie that you pulled from the bag, shimmying your way into the straps and lace that adorned your curves.

Once you were satisfied that everything was in place, you fluffed your hair in the mirror, eager to see your beloved’s reaction.

Before walking through to the bedroom, you rested your ear gently along the door to see if you could hear him, only to be met with the silence of your home.

Perhaps Mickey was patiently (impatiently) awaiting your return with a warm expanse of newly-exposed tanned skin and bated breath. Perhaps he would gasp when he saw you, bedecked in your soft, floral lace. Perhaps he would let you take control, guiding his hands to where you wanted – no, needed them most after months with nothing but your memories of him, your own hands, and the occasional clandestine, dirty FaceTime call. Perhaps he would let you ride him, his hands clasped to your hips, guiding you both to your respective peaks as his mouth trailed every part of you he could reach.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

But what greeted you on the other side of the door was not any of your supposed perhapses.

Instead, your Mickey, having shucked his stiff uniform, which now lay pooled at the foot of your shared bed, had tucked himself into the comforter in preparation for your arrival. His bicep bulged where he had tucked his arm behind his head, all the better to see you with when you emerged from the bathroom…

And there he was, asleep.

You chuckled to yourself, gazing adoringly at the sweet sight of Mickey’s chest, gently rising and falling, his eyes closed, enviable eyelashes fluttering against pretty, prominent cheekbones. You scooped his uniform quietly from the floor and into your closet hamper before turning back to him.

Funny, you thought, as you eased your way in beside him – all thoughts of racy, lacey fun with Mickey slipping from your mind as you allowed yourself to curve around him and bask in his warmth. It was funny how he called you cielo, alma, angelita… when he was the one who looked so like an angel as he slept.

Your last thoughts were of him as you drifted off. And weren’t they always? But the very real feeling of him next to you, of his chest beneath your stretched arm, breathing easily in the restful sleep of someone comfortable at home … It was perfect. As you held him and cuddled into his side, you were struck with how this was so much better than what your mind could conjure in your nights alone.

This was tangible, palpable, genuine.

You closed your eyes against the late afternoon sun and allowed the warm, cinnamon scent of him to invade you, visions of marigolds and planned sunset beach picnics dancing in your head as you gave in to the static fuzziness of sleep.

–

You dreamt of him.

… Were you dreaming? Or was it real?

He hmms into your neck through the smile you know to be there in the darkness of your bedroom – a sweet and honeyed little noise, like the tufty soft buzz of bee's wings. And there, now … you feel his lips part, warm, silken and amorous, before pressing against the column of your throat. Loving the feel of his kisses along your skin, as only his could feel. Radiant and true. You were sure it wasn’t just a dream now…

For you could feel him everywhere. Through your haze of sleep now rapidly-fading. You were swaddled in the dim lighting of the room and the veritable TV static that was the prickling vestiges of your sleep, and your own climbing, buzzing pleasure at Mickey's attentions.

Your love, on the other hand, was wide awake. Surging over you like a wave at sea, gentle at first, and then all-consuming – as though he were a slave to your moon's gravitational pull. No choice but to cover you, devour you in loving sweetness.

His warmth surrounded you as he pressed tender kisses into whatever skin he could find in the darkness of your room during the witching hour.

First was the skin of your wrist and the minimalist sun inked there – a tender question placed at the site of your matched dedication, something to gauge your wakefulness against his own desire. At the pleased hum emanating from your dreamy throat, he continued… trailing his way up your bared arm with intentional, insistent presses of his lips. Urging you into ever-present consciousness with his lips.

Mickey's nose skimmed the regal curve of your shoulder, along your collarbone. Delighting himself in the way your skin felt along the velvet warmth of his own – something he could never fully appreciate in the depths of his own imagination when he was away.

Nothing like the real thing, baby.

And he was content to repeat the process, allowing himself to slide down to begin anew with the skin of your hip, kissing along the ridges of your ribs and allowing himself to drown once more in the feel of you.

Was he the ocean, or were you? Desirous, greedy, wrathful as it was…

Mickey brought himself up to you, chest-to-chest, as you stirred, reveling in the feel of your chest meeting his own with every heaving inhalation. The soft lace of your lingerie brushed his chest, catching the curves and edges of his skin, tickling and teasing as though you meant it. And perhaps you did, your smile coy, sleepy, sweet.

��Is this for me, my love?” Mickey murmured in the low-light of your bedroom, toying with the bra strap that had slid down your shoulder in your sleep, admiring the contrast of the white lace against your skin. “Te ves como un ángel.”

“It was your surprise,” you breathed, urging yourself ever-into wakefulness as Mickey bent to kiss your neck, trailing his fingertips from your arm, over your clothed breast, and down, down, down, to rest on your hip.

Mickey's fingertips are honeyed. They drag along your skin, sticky with desire … leaving a tingling trail where he's touched you, enough to drive you to absolute madness, fully awake now.

With no thought but the desire to see if he tastes as good as he makes you feel – thick honey and cloves, sweetly heavy when you grip his wrist and bring his fingers to your lips, taking them into your mouth – nectar.

Mickey groans as you suck on his fingers. He is devotional, devout, and ever-enamoured with you, and if the kissing and touching to urge you into wakefulness didn’t leave him half-hard already, the sight of you, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep and stardust, lips pouty and sinful with the feel of his fingers in your mouth, warm, wet, enticing … was enough to get him the rest of the way. And it had been so long since he’d had you, how a man could be expected to wait, he didn’t know.

He smiles into your skin – million-watt, apparent to you through the curve of his lips against your skin.

"I love it. You're pretty," he murmurs. "So pretty, mi cielita linda."

You released Mickey’s fingers from your lips, pressing a kiss to his open palm, and make to guide his hand down your body, your eyes adjusted to the dark of the room now, appreciative of the curve of your love’s body above yours, the curve of his biceps, the feel of his torso against yours. And it had been so long since you’d felt his touch rather than imagined it. How you could be expected to wait, you didn’t know. The promise of his touch against your skin, of his kisses to your neck and shoulders in the darkness of your shared bedroom, was enough to dampen your panties, to urge in the slow, pulsing ache between your legs.

You guided Mickey’s hand down to your center now, allowing his fingers autonomy to explore you. And for his part, the resulting groan Mickey emitted at the feeling of the damp fabric as he slid a finger over your clothed slit, was enough to cause you to shiver.

Pleased with himself, and more than a little turned on, Mickey rolled his hips into the bedspread, to alleviate just a little of the tension he was feeling. The two of you had barely touched, and he was ready to bury himself in you, to die if it meant it was with you.

Gently pushing the white lace aside, Mickey stroked his way along your now-bare slit, pleased at the way your hips involuntarily rolled into his touch, the way your chest heaved just that little bit more at his touch.

Your silken slickness is a direct contract to the pulsing ache you feel. And he adores you, he abets you, encouraging the pent-up want with pressing, pretty kisses along the line of your throat as he eases a long finger inside of you, beckoning you to him from inside as he curls his finger, allowing you to buck yourself, your clit, against the heel of his hand, your eyes rolling back at the saintly, sinful feel of him.

“Gotta taste you, amor,” Mickey breathed, pulling down the lacey cups of your bra to kiss along your breasts, sucking your nipple into his mouth as his fingers continued to play with your center.

You arched your back, urging him down as he kissed his way down your torso, awash in intentional adoration. Chuckling at your chagrin as he withdrew his fingers from your center to pull your panties down your legs, kissing your hipbones as he went.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Mickey rewarded your (im)patience as he kissed along your thighs, the oceanic pull of you rendering him senseless in his singular desire as he urged himself closer, closer to your center, caught in your orbit, the waves of your desire (or were they his own?) washing over him as he kissed you.

You yelped at a particularly invested nip of his teeth against the skin of your thigh.

"Sorry, sorry, amor," he breathed, sweeping an apologetic brush of his lips over the offending spot, not-so-secretly marveling at the minor indentations of his teeth now adorning the fullness of your thigh – all glittering, mischievous nightsky eyes in the low light of your bedroom. Another sincere, soft kiss to the spot, belying his remorse. "We can stop if you want."

"D-don't you dare."

It was so easy, Mickey thought, to give you what you wanted. To kneel before you and acquiesce to your every demand – simply because you didn’t demand.

It was easy for him to, he knew, when your gratitude was reflected in starry, wan eyes as you gazed down at your beloved, your expression one of idle worship that he drank in.

It was easy, when you asked so pretty, breathy moans of “please, please, please,” meeting his ears as though you were inside of his mind.

It was easy, because you were beautiful. And beautiful people have a way of getting what they want, and Mickey understood you were beautiful – made beautiful as you were, and moreso, if he asked you, because he loved you.

It was easy, Mickey knew, so easy to give you anything you wanted … simply because he would do anything for you.

Mickey gripped your thighs now, pushing them apart to better bare yourself to him. He buried himself in the cleft of your thighs, the flash of his hot tongue like electrostatic shock, jolting through you from the very center as he licked a long, loving stripe along the seam of your cunt.

And if you’d thought the first taste of his mouth on you was heavenly – And how was that, when it was him who was tasting you? You were falling in love with him all over again, with every bit of attention he showered you with as he licked you, wriggling his finger once more inside of you and rendering you senseless at the feeling of him pulling you into his depths.

The feel of him was like the slow drip and drizzle of honey in tea – warm, sweet, tingling.

Your fingers scraped their way along his scalp, lamenting once more the lack of hair to tug. Nevertheless, your keening moans in the room sounded unfamiliar to your own ears, but you knew, distantly, that they were coming from your own mouth, building within the finite space of your room as Mickey urged you closer, closer to your peak.

And the feel of his mouth, of his fingers, is divine… wretchedly and wrathfully so. You cursed your own fingers in comparison, cursed the ache you felt in the months of his absence, for they could never quite match the exquisite feel of his. And yet, and yet, and yet…

It wasn’t enough.

You needed more. As your chest heaved in tortuous pleaser, as you groaned at his attentions. You realized –

You need all of him.

“Mi cielita linda,” Mickey breathed, sitting back on his heels and taking your thighs with him in warm, prayer-like palms, to continue to press kisses to your legs. "I'm wild for you, amor … Does it feel good? When I touch you like this?"

A villain.

“Please, M,” you keened at Mickey’s tickling kisses. “Please. I c-can’t… I need you.”

He chuckles darkly, like the slow pour of golden-dark, honeyed syrup, slow, low, and full of the promise of something.

"You're sweet," he murmurs into your thigh, trailing his lips to where he knows you want him most, before withdrawing once more. "So sweet."

With that, he releases your thighs, guiding them down to the soft bedspread on either side of him as he lifts himself to his knees, sliding his boxers down his legs and slipping out of them. You made to assist, slipping your hands down your body and to your center, gathering some of your own slick onto your fingers and onto Mickey’s hardness, stroking him with the evidence of your own desire, reveling in the choked noise that caught in his throat. The way his eyes fluttered shut as he paused in his movements.

“Goddamn, cielo,” He surged forward, caging you with his strong arms as he fell forward, capturing your lips with his own, the taste of you as much a tease as his own mouth.

Mickey broke from you far too soon, as you continued to work him, leaning past you to your bedside to shuffle in the drawer for a condom when you stopped him.

“It’s fine, baby,” you assured, urging him back to you as you wrapped your legs around his tapered waist, your hand cupping his jaw and guiding his lips to yours once more.

“Are you sure, baby?” He asked, wanting to make sure he understood your intention behind the decision to forego protection.

“Of course, corazón,” you assured. “I just want to feel you."

And you didn’t have to tell him twice.

"Have I told you today I love you?" he asked, aligning himself with your entrance, teasing you with his length along your slit and causing you to buck, chuckling at your impatience, your impertinence. That wild streak he loves so much.

“I love you,” you urged. “Now, please, M, c’mon. Don’t you wanna show me how much you missed me?”

And that did it.

Mickey slid himself into you, rejoicing in the slick feel of you, in the snug warmth of your tightness, ever as though you were made for him as he began to thrust into you, measured, keeled. In the way he knew you liked.

"Shit, baby," Mickey groaned. "Fuck."

And he’s so desperate, desperate to feel some part of you that he’d mimic whatever gets him closest. But he needn’t mimic. Because, truly, there was nothing like the real thing. Like the very real feel of you wrapped around him, squeezing him ever-tighter.

Of the feel of your thighs around his waist, your ankles locking behind him, urging him for more, more. Your nails along his back, and your breathy moans in his ear, begging, begging – he swears, for him to fuck you harder.

“Oh, fuck, you undo me, Mickey,” you sighed, relishing in the honey warmth languidly sweeping its way through your veins with each of his thrusts. Following the swirling pathway of Mickey’s attentions, the heated, silken traipse of his body along yours, inside of yours.

And Mickey whispers in your ear, incoherent, dirty little nothings as he fucks into you, his body curled over yours, one hand on your neck, his face pressed into the side of yours and his full lips gently brushing the shell of your ear.

And you were an angel, the way you took it, took him. A silver-screen siren, a hazy dream, sent straight from the kind of grainy, overfiltered pretentious indie flicks he'd loved in college.

Mickey’s thrusts urged you closer, ever closer to the edge as he rolled his hips into yours, the thrust-and-drag of him heavy inside of you, his fingers circling your clit as you resorted to incoherent murmurings for “more.”

Selfishly, you prayed, he’d give you an ache you'll remember long after he leaves again – never mind the one in your heart that's sure to follow– but you couldn’t dwell on that now as the staticy pleasure of your orgasm started to sweep through you, tingling your toes to your scalp.

You felt your release surging through you, a wave of pleasure pulling you back to your love, his arms wrapped around you just as you tightened around him with a sweet sigh, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he kissed you, coaxed you through it.

His own release followed after the feel of him emptying himself inside of you one you would never tire of, the anchoring sound of his satisfied groan like music to your ears as you guided him to rest alongside you, pleased at the sweat-sheen glow adorning his warm, tanned skin. Pressing a kiss to his bicep, his neck, and his lips once more.

Out of habit, you made to sweep his hair from his eyes, the soft pads of your fingertips meeting the side of his face instead, admiring every inch of your man in the low light of your bedroom.

"You've got galaxies in your eyes, love," you whispered to him, your thumb brushing a soothing, sweeping line over Mickey's prominent cheekbone. “Always in the sky.”

“Yeah?” he breathed back, his eyes sweeping your face, taking you in in-kind. “You have the sea in yours.” He brought your wrist to his mouth to place another kiss to the sun there. “I’m sorry I fell asleep before. I'll make it up to you tomorrow once I’ve had my coffee.”

You tore your wrist away gently to swat his bicep, the little thwack resounding in the relative silence of your bedroom.

“Oh, don't be silly,” you chided. “You know you were good.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey puffed his chest a bit, pleased at your praise. “Then I’ll take power-naps every time before.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him. Noting his hum of agreement.

–

You lie together, Mickey in your arms, legs tangled, as you gently scraped your nails over his scalp.

“The curls, I miss,” you confessed, the tickling buzz of short hair a strange prickle against the pads of your fingertips. “But this is cute, too.”

Mickey’s eyes were closed at your attentions, contented. You were almost certain he was moments away from purring like a large jungle cat, a panther, with inky dark hair and eyes made for targeting its prey (he was good at that, after all, being a WSO…).

“Glad to know you approve, seeing as I didn’t have much of a choice,” Mickey sighed, taking the opportunity to admire your features in the soft lamplight of your bedroom, the two of you caught in the witching hour, the lurch of a late-night-come-early-morning – grey skies dotted with the final holdouts of twinkling, winking stars.

“Does your C.O. know how cute you look with the curls, though?” you pondered. “Should I write to my congressman?”

“You’re too much, cielo,” Mickey hummed, his lips turning in a half smile as he gazed up at you in moonlight adoration.

“You love it though,” you replied, bending to press a kiss to his cheek, your hands never ceasing in their movements.

“I do,” Mickey groaned in satisfaction at a particularly rewarding scrape of your nails through his cropped hair. “I hope our kids end up with one-tenth of your tenacity – ready to take on the entire U.S. Navy over a haircut.”

You brought your hands down from his scalp to his shoulders, kneading the muscles there as he rested against you. What he assumed was a gift for him – the massage– truly a gift for you, as you took every opportunity to feel his skin against yours. A reminder that he was here. He was home.

You quirked your lips as you worked.

“Our kids, huh?” You queried. “And when is this happening?”

“As soon as you’ll let me,” he laughed, the radiance of his smile a secondary source of light in your bedroom, blindingly dazzling, as always. “If it’s a boy, he’ll be a Jedi like his father before him,” he said, voice bold, assured.

“You seem to have thought a great deal about this. And this boy’s name?”

“Vero,” Mickey replied, not missing a beat.

“Ah,” you kneaded a particularly stubborn knot of muscle in his shoulder, causing him to let out a deep groan. “Great hero, a warrior. Good name for a Jedi. And if it’s a girl?”

“Valencia,” he said, sitting up and turning to face you now, allowing your hands to fall from his shoulders so that he could take them in his own. “Our gift in winter. Something we’d share.”

And you could envision it, you could. An entire life with the man before you, packing school lunches together, planning summertime road trips. Backpacks, bonfires, the whole nine yards. There was never any question that you wanted your life to enmesh with his – to share everything together.

Still. Wasn’t it always nice to hear that he felt the same?

“I see,” you murmured, voice hitching a bit with the tenderness of the moment, “And you see that in our future, do you?”

Mickey’s eyes were dark, searching as he gazed upon you, appreciating the filtering purple-grey of twilight through your window and how it played upon your features. You truly were his dream girl.

“Of course,” Mickey replied, voice emboldened with confidence and warmth. Pressing his lips to yours before confessing, “I’m going to marry you, cielo.”

–

A few short hours and one doggy walk later found you and Mickey in the morning drive-through queue, waiting to pick up your coffee at the pick-up window, Artoo contentedly sprawled along the backseat, gnawing on his favorite Nyla-bone as the two of you hummed along to your current playlist.

Mickey laced his fingers through yours, resting your joined hands on the center console as the song changed to Sam Cooke’s sweet warble, begging Cupid to pierce his lover’s heart with his arrow, promising to love her for eternity.

“A lot of motown on this playlist,” he mused. “Any particular reason?”

“This one,” you sighed dreamily, “… This one I made when I was thinking of you.”

Mickey turned to look at you, the sunlight glancing off of the lenses of his flattering, wire-rimmed glasses. His worn San Diego Padres hat fit more loosely than you had remembered, thanks to his closely-cropped hair, and the distinct lack of voluminous curls that he would typically need to wrestle in order to fit the hat to his head. He smiled at your admission, sparkling and cruelly-perfect.

“Sam Cooke makes you think of me?”

“A lot of things make me think of you,” you retorted. “Be grateful I don’t serenade you with ‘Lovefool.’”

“You know I don’t mind your singing, amor,” he breezed, bringing your joined hands to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of yours. “Even if you sound like a bag of angry cats in a hurricane.”

You arched a brow at Mickey as he took his foot off the brake, inching you forward to the pick-up window.

“I seemed to recall you saying you’d be nicer to me once you’d had your coffee,” you chided, swatting the brim of his hat and causing it to fall over his eyes.

“Well, I haven’t had my coffee yet, amor,” Mickey adjusted his brim and eased his foot onto the brake, rolling down his window before greeting the barista. “So there’s still time.”

He winked at you before collecting your coffees through the window.

You scoffed, toggling your playlist over to Curtis Mayfield and rolling your eyes in mock-consternation at your beloved, grabbing the cup with your name on it with greedy fingers and taking a deep, appreciative sip.

The two of you drove off in the easy silence borne of enjoying your respective beverages.

At the next stoplight, you offered your cup to Mickey, per your tradition. The two of you swapped cups, him taking a swig of your coffee as you sipped his overly-sweetened cold brew.

True to form, Mickey visibly grimaced at the pungent taste of hot, black coffee on his tongue, shuddering and causing you to giggle at his overwrought reaction. It never changed, and yet he insisted on sipping your extra-shot Americanos, even though he hated them.

“Cielo, I say this because I love you… Is, like, is your stomach lining okay? This is SO acidic. I just don't understand how you can drink something so bitter.”

“I have all the sweetness I need right here,” you leaned across the console to peck his cheek. "Mhmm," you nodded. "Super-sweet."

"Corny," Mickey chuckled, pressing your coffee back into your hands and navigating the two of you back home. "So, is tonight a movie night?"

"Of course," you replied. "The projector is up and ready. You decide – Alien or Predator?"

Artoo sighs in the backseat, settling in for the drive home.

Mickey glances over at you, savoring the sweetness of the cold brew on his tongue, though of course it has nothing on the sweetness that is you.

On this, you both can agree – coffee is nice. But nothing quite makes you feel alive as the person next to you.

"You're perfect, cielo."

–

Time is cruel. It passes quickly in joyful moments, slipping like cool water through cupped hands in the desert. In moments you wish would pass, it somehow stagnates, stuck like boots in mud during an uphill climb.

Mickey’s two weeks home seemed to fly by – no pun intended, really, because you knew he’d be flying away soon. And you didn’t want to resent it. Really, you didn’t. You knew he lived to fly. When you stared at the night sky when the two of you were apart, you’d imagine him up there, watching over you. If you’d catch a falling star out of the corner of your eye, you’d wished for more time. For the sky – beautiful as it was – to stop calling your love to its endless vastness. To allow him to stay on the ground with you, for even just a touch longer.

But the sun rose and set, the same way it ever does. And it rose again on the morning Mickey was to leave.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder as the two of you lay in bed together – content to never move, to bask in this moment forever.

His words hang heavy on you, weigh even more heavily on your heart. An ache borne equally of love and pain. Of the promise of a future (which he was clearly planning for), but devoid of togetherness in the present.

"I miss you when you're gone," is all you manage to choke out, voice soft so as not to belay any of the fissures in your heart that are making their traitorous way up to your lips.

Mickey laces his fingers through yours, giving them a gentle squeeze as he pulls you back into the bed, into the warmth of his embrace.

“I know, cielo,” he sighs into your hair, gifting you with another kiss, this time to the top of your head as he takes in the warm, rosy paint of your bedroom walls. “I don’t want to go.”

“Mickey,” you break from his hold to look at him, to cup his cheeks, the sheets swishing as you turn to face him. “Of course you do. And that’s okay. You’re supposed to love your job. And you… You’ve got your head in the clouds."

Mickey made to protest, to tell you that he doesn’t love it more than you, when you press your finger to his lips,

“It’s okay, love. I’ll always be here when you get back. We have plans for our anniversary, remember? Disneyland.”

Mickey had always thought you like the ocean to his sky, parallelled, but so different. Turbulent, soft. Untameable, endless. When, really, you were always with him.

He removed your hand from his lips, gently guiding it next to his own and holding your wrists together so as to admire the two suns inked on your respective wrists.

(“Like the twin suns of Tatooine,” Mickey had joked – quick to silence his laughing when you reminded him this was supposed to be a metaphor for your love, and did he really want to equate it to the most uninhabitable planet in Star Wars? You delicately chose to ignore Mickey’s rejoinder that Hoth was the most uninhabitable planet in Star Wars, content that your point had been taken.)

And whether it was the suns adorning your wrists, or the bunch of fiery marigolds in water next to your bedside, or the theft of his favorite ballcap, you knew Mickey was with you each day. Even if he wasn’t. He was part of your day each day, just as you were part of his, when he affirmed –

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” Mickey rested his head against yours, eyes never leaving your wrists. “We have these because you’re in the clouds with me, remember? You're mi cielo."

Tagging: @withahappyrefrain @spidervee @andallthatmishigas @thegirlwhowritesfics @xbamboowishesx @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @abibliophobiaa @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @thematthewmurdock @mrshipsmcgee @p3mybeloved @decadentpaperduck @letmeplaytheliontoo @vestrangel @moonlight-prose @aphrogeneias @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @2clones-1kamino @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @ilovepretttystuff @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @shakira-sasha @siriusfahey @hopefulinlove @s-u-t @Criminalmindsandmarvel @joaquinwhorres @gingerbreadandpaper @jakexfmc @the-navistar-carol @alexxavicry @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid @buckyytorres

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genericpuff · 1 year

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Ladies and gentlemen... we got 'em.

Every now and then, Rachel will post a sketch to her IG story or her page, oftentimes accompanied with a caption that states how hard at work she is.

Now, some of my pals and I in the UnpopularLO Discord have been taking note of the time stamps of when these get posted, so we could keep an eye out for when they inevitably show up in an episode. Normally I wouldn't be hyperanalyzing a creator's posting habits like this, but there's been a unanimous suspicion among the LO community that Rachel's buffer for LO is only a couple weeks ahead at any given time. So, we waited. We kept our eyes peeled for these panels to show. And hoo boy, are the results of this little experiment pretty damning.

The sketch on the left was posted to Rachel's IG about 4 weeks ago. It showed up in Episode 219, posted last week on October 29th.

The sketch on the right was posted to Rachel's IG story on October 27th. It showed up in this week's episode, November 5th, just a little over a week later.

I'm not gonna pretend like we know all the facts from this evidence alone, but again, people have been suspicious over this for a while now so seeing these finished drawings show up in the new episodes anywhere from a week to a month later tells us a lot. To lay out some of the brunt of it:

Whatever buffer Rachel has is small and shrinking fast. There was a 2 week break at the start of the season to "rebuild LO's buffer", and from cross-referencing the HxP make-out sketch and when the episode went up, we know that the buffer at one point was around 4 weeks. Most Originals creators are encouraged to have a buffer of 9-15 episodes, not episodes in progress, but actual finished episodes that are ready for posting, so that the series can still update with new episodes even if the creator needs to take a break for a week or two or if an emergency arises in their life. With the proof of last week's sketches showing up in last night's episode, I think it's highly probable we'll be seeing another 2 week break by the time December rolls around, but it will likely be presented under the guise of a "holiday break".

Rachel does the roughs at the last minute and nothing more. It's basically been confirmed at this point that Rachel's only contribution to the comic is the roughs and script. From former interviews and Patreon chit chat posts that allude to this, to the fact that the only progress pics from Rachel that we ever see are roughs, to the credits in every episode that feature upwards of five separate assistants working on each episode but somehow the comic still manages to have incredibly inconsistent plot threads and art that looks like it's been rushed, Rachel is basically just doing the roughs for her comic, writing/drawing one panel at a time, and passing them along to her assistants to finish at the last minute. This would account for the art being so inconsistent (Rachel's roughs likely aren't very polished and don't feature any sort of referencing or direction for the team), every episode now being made up of mostly copy+pasted panels, as well as it feeling so rushed, because the assistants literally don't have time to draw different shots or put the episode through any rounds of clean-up before submitting it.

Considering there are ALSO sketches of HxP fluff that haven't made it into an episode yet*, Rachel may as well be working on fluff content before she works on anything else. Just because that H x P panel was drawn 4 weeks prior to it being uploaded doesn't mean that's the buffer. She could have just as well drawn it first because it's what she felt like drawing and either shoehorned it in somewhere or just saved the 'boring' stuff for last. So either her buffer was only a month ahead of time at one point and has since shrunk back down to 1-2 weeks, or she's working on new episodes a week at a time and saves the 'boring' stuff for last hence why each episode ends up with so many repeated copy+paste panels and drawn out dialogue. Both scenarios are terrible and indicative of a creator who is both clueless and doesn't give a shit.

Rachel spends an absurd amount of time on social media. Between her Instagram and Twitter (both of which are often chock full of re-shared fan content that has the Lore Olympus hashtag on it) her new Tiktok account, her VERY strictly moderated FastPass FB groups (that she is an administrator for so she can lock any thread that has a hint of criticism in it**) and her Discord, Rachel seems to spend the majority of her time stalking her favorite hashtags and retweeting them (I've literally had some of my own fanart pieces retweeted within SECONDS of me posting them). But she'll still put out Tiktok videos talking about how behind she is and how hard she's working - literally working on episodes the week they're due as we've proven - videos that she's clearly spending time away from her comic to make and that she's sticking around in afterwards to check the stats and respond to comments from her fans. It's great that she's sharing fanart from her readers, but not so great if she's doing it so much that it's eating into her time to develop the very comic they're creating fanart for.

Hot take, but I can't help but feel that Rachel can only afford to not give a shit about her workflow and how she manages her team because she's in the top 1% of creators. Believe me, I've seen the stress building up in the WT Originals community from creators who are being vastly underpaid and overworked. None of them can afford to be so lazy with their work, because a single week without an episode for them means not paying the rent that month. They don't get mid-season hiatuses, they don't get 2 week 'buffer build' breaks, it's a constant grind of 12-18 hour days because if their series doesn't perform well, not only will they not get renewed for another season, but they likely won't even receive any FastPass revenue due to not hitting the 'threshold' they need to hit to receive it. This is not a problem for Rachel who is someone with millions of subscribers and thousands of regular readers checking in each week but also someone who we speculate got in on the FP program before they introduced the Minimum Revenue Threshold around 2020. Hence, she likely does not need to hit that threshold in the first place to receive her earnings. Every other Originals creator who is subject to the MRT system has to work their ass off and hope that Webtoons will give them enough promotion to draw in traffic to hit that threshold and not get cancelled - but those beneficial front-facing slots are often given to Lore Olympus every time it updates, often for an entire weekend at a time, while its creator fucks around on Twitter, gets mad at 'haters', talks about how busy and 'behind' she is, while she visibly miffs around with non-comic-production-related-things like making memes or rigging Vtuber models.

Let's just say, there's a reason why whenever there are Webtoon controversies concerning the state of their working conditions, you never see Rachel say a word. She is simply not affected by WT's current state of affairs so does not feel the need to speak up against it. I'm willing to bet the only time we'll ever see Rachel talk 'bad' about Webtoons, it will be after she's inevitably driven her own image and comic into the ground.

Concerning *: Here are some sketches that haven't made it into any episodes yet. It's hard to tell if they will, I can assume the one on Twitter will show up but the other two could very well just be Rachel faffing about for fun. Either way, these exist and are still publically viewable, so if they DO show up in any future episodes, we can cross-reference them later.

Left: Oct 28th Middle: Nov 4th Right: Oct 29th

The following Hades panel will very likely show up in the upcoming November 12th FastPass episode. If it does, that not only tells us Rachel truly is only working on these episodes 1-2 weeks ahead at a time, but also that she's working on them out of order as this FINISHED drawing showed up BEFORE the UNFINISHED Persephone sketch from above showed up in her IG story - with its respective finished drawing showing up literally a week later.

Concerning **: Rachel is literally an administrator in the official LO FastPass group on Facebook, which wouldn't be an issue if she weren't so anal about any perceived slight against her work. She will literally lock any thread that doesn't make her look good.

And her own interactions with these fans posts may as well be borderline psychotic. She'll either immediately refute any amount of fan theories on the spot (destroying any semblance of discussion or fun theorizing to be had) or just... comment really messed up shit that says a lot about her and how she writes her precious cinnamon roll protagonist.

Fun fact, she got banned from a FB group that memes on LO because she tried to harass the administrators of the group to ban all criticism. The admins banned her instead. It's not really relevant to this post but I wanted to say it anyways because it's fucking hilarious.

***EDIT TO ADD: She didn't just get banned, she was so butthurt over it that she apparently bitched about it in her Patreon, which her cult accepted as permission to go after members of this same FB group. All just for not kissing the ground RS walked on. Literally psychotic cult behavior.

Let's Play creator mongie has done similar things, so this seems to just be a general attitude among the top-earning creators on WT (yikes), but that's another topic.

Concerning the actual topic at hand, the last thing I'll mention is, save for the credits at the end of each episode, Rachel barely ever gives her assistants credit when she goes on rants about how "busy" she is or how "successful" she's become. You'll never see her thank her assistants or give them credit for how easy they're making her life that she can get away with doing the roughs at the last minute and spend the rest of her time talking about her dog, showing off her new gel nails, or talking about how much of a workaholic she is. But she sure as shit will throw her assistants under the bus whenever she has to come up with an excuse for the sloppy inconsistent art.

TL ; DR: Rachel is not 'busy'. She's just incredibly bad at managing her deadlines and team of assistants and would literally rather whine about how behind she is to make it sound like she's pressed for time. Which, she absolutely is. But it's not because of Webtoons or because LO is a hard comic to put together, it's literally her own undoing. You know what they say - it takes way more work to pretend to look busy than it does to actually do your job.

Rant over.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #i literally bet you $50 that we're gonna see another 2 week break soon #this has been such a fun game for us lmao

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vocalsynthbdays · 8 months

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happy birthday rana(vocaloid 3), natsuki karin(cevio ai and synthv studio), daisy(alter/ego), and recu(utau) !!!!!

rana(v3)

natsuki (cevio)

daisy

recu (song)

rana is a japanese synth originally developed by We've Inc. in collaboration with Internet Co., and released on 9 sep 2014. her vp is Ai Kakuma, and illustrator is Shindo Kamichi. rana was originally only available through a japanese magazine called "Vocalo-P ni Naritai!" (which translates to "i want to be a vocalo-p" i think), due to this she was only available in japan. however when her v4 released on 1 dec 2015 she became accessible to users world wide. shes also available on the mobile vocaloid editor. rana was intended to be a beginner friendly vocaloid, as the vocalo-p ni naritai magazine was designed for begginers. rana is 0yo, and 150cm tall (153cm with shoes). her character birthday is the same as the vps birthday, sep 9

Natsuki Karin is a japanese synth developed by TOKYO6 ENTERTAINMENT in collaboration with AH-Software, and released on 13 apr 2022. her vp is Miyu Takagi, illustrator is Teshima Nari, and 3d modeler is tumidango. natsuki was released for both cevio and synthv on the same day. she is also available in pitagoe. her character birthday is sep 9. she is a third year student of the ficitonal Otaru Shiokaze High School, which would make her around 17-18yo, though she doesnt have a canon age. she is 164cm tall. her plush companion is called Ekaterina

daisy is an english and japanese synth released on 9 sep 2015, as was alter/ego itself. her vp is Crusher-P, and illustrator is Pixoshiru. daisy was the first vocal released for alter/ego. she was later retired by crusher, who holds daisys copyright. the original download link for daisy has been removed, and Bones replaced her as the default vocal for alter/ego. crusher has said to be uncomfortable with users still using daisy

RECU is a japanese synth released on 7 nov 2015 (or maybe 17th, his website says this but vocadb and utaudb say 7th). he is voiced and manged by yauta. recus illustrated by yauta, G.M.kimchee, and 夜千世 (help sor idk what it is in english), but i have no idea who drew which art

i was going to write more, specifically about daisy and recu, but i hit the discord text limit and i write all my captions in there, so ples look into them all on their wikis and sites if you have time !!!

ranas companions Sacchan/Sakiko and Jasmine Kenkyuuin

ranas companions Morio Shishou and Kouhei

logo

natsuki synthv

Ekaterina

logo

daisy in chipspeech

recu talk and tachie

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4evasummer · 10 months

Text

" last online: 15/11/2011 " (itto)

plot: you and itto were online friends back in the day where games like club penguin and wizard 101 were very popular, and always played and talked together online. however, one day you've never heard from him again.

notes: setting is modern au around 2009-2011 alongside present day. also i'm writing this at almost 3am help

content warning: angst, dialouge that screams early 2010s

~ 23/4/2010 (3:35am)

xxTheOneAndOnixx: hey there! wanna play some club penguin? :3 angelofdarkness1995: sure! but before that i need to show you my new hairstyle xD!!!! hint: it's what we talked about last week!!

xxTheOneAndOnixx: lemme see lemme see!!!!!!!!!!111!!!!!!111!!!!1!1 *angelofdarkness1995 sent an image* xxTheOneAndOnixx: WOW. that cut is so dope!!!!!!111!!!1! 0_o HOW DID YOU DO THAT????

angelofdarkness1995: had my big sis help me out :p. it was messy but worth it ;)

~ 1/6/2010 (12:04 am) angelofdarkness1995: HAPPY BDAY BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

xxTheOneAndOnixx: thx!!!!!!!

angelofdarkness1995: i made you a lil shoutout video on youtube!! it has your favourite song in it!

xxTheOneAndOnIxx: now this is what i'm talking about!!! this video is fire!!!!!!!!!!!!!

angelofdarkness1995: omg tysm itto!!!! took me almost whole day to make it tho 0_o!

xxTheOneAndOnixx: hey, hey! there's no need!! let'z go play some moviestarplanet!!! i need to show off my new wardrobe to you ^^ angelofdarkness: YESH LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

~ 12/9/2010 (3:30 pm)

xxTheOneAndOnixx: srry i've been inactive for a while :<. i had to move to a new town and i ended up breaking my computer in the process ;; angelofdarkness1995: is okay! a ton of stuff has happened lately! have you heard that the shogun just created a myspace account? :0

xxTheOneAndOnixx: REALLY??????!!?!?!?!!?!? THAT'S NUTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

looking at older messages gives me comfort, despite the second hand embarassment. but the real thing is...why does time have to change? i looked at the last post itto sent in that forum we posted in everyday. it was a blingee of an anime girl dressed in emo clothing, captioned, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I GOT SCAMMED IN CLUB PENGUIN FOR THE 7TH TIME THIS YEAR :((((((((!!!11!!!! SOME1 HELP ME :((((((" many users responded to his post, asking him how it happened and offered solutions to rectify the issue. others made fun of him for his gullibility.

the cursor on the screen seemed to lead itself to the chatrooms, and clicked the chatroom between myself and itto. i read the latest messages we exchanged. ~15/11/2011 (9:00pm) xxTheOneAndOnixx: wow that mario kart sesh was hella dope 0_0! how do you have such insane drifting skillz???

angelofdarkness: it was blood, sweat and tears lol?\. xxTheOneAndOnixx: welp grandma is calling me down for dinner. see ya later alligator :3 angelofdarkness: see ya! :p last online: 15/11/2011 "i wonder where he is now" i ask myself as i open twitter and create a thread regarding itto's whereabouts.

welp that was my first tumblr fanfic ever. if you read this thanks so much and consider reblogging, liking and following! it's very appreciated :3!

#gigifics #genshin impact #arataki itto #arataki itto x reader #genshin itto #itto x reader

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daddyy333 · 1 year

Text

Hurt | Joseph Quinn x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

Word count: 2.2k

warnings: reader gets mugged, reader is stabbed, being in the hospital, mentions of sedatives, reader tases her attacker, Joe beats the attacker up, ?

idk how to feel about this one I don’t really like it but I’m having like a wee bit of writers block so yea

summary: uhhh?

When Joe rose to fame because of his role in Stranger Things 4, so did you a little. Fans quickly noticed there was a certain ring always on his left ring finger, when the others changed every now and then that one stayed. And you two weren’t very good at hiding the relationship, considering you never had to.

Within a month after the release of Volume 1, Joe had to post a few pictures of the two of you with the caption “surprise 😁”. One was of you on your wedding day, another of you two drunkenly singing karaoke on his birthday, one from behind the scenes of Stranger Things, a picture Jamie got of you two sharing a sweet kiss as you cuddled up on the couch.

A few others as well, but now everyone knew he had married the most beautiful woman in existence and were obsessed. You quickly went from having 12 thousand followers to 5 million in the blink of an eye. You were a pretty skilled nail tech, people traveled to have their nails done by you but you had been doing less work since Joe started traveling and you joined him.

With your new found fame also came threats, mean comments, uncomfortable touches in public, a whole list of things. Of course, Joe would never let anything happen to you and nothing really got to you because you know they are just mindless people who have nothing better to do than bother you.

But, whilst you were walking back to the hotel after meeting up with a friend to do her nails, you felt like someone was following you. You sped up but that did nothing, as you were shoved into the alley a few seconds later. You yelped and whimpered as your pepper spray was knocked out of your hand, the taser you usually carry in your purse which was across from you.

He kicked you and said “give me all your money. I know who you are, and I know you have some” “stop!” You cried as he kept kicking you, punching you when you tried to get up. You gasped and groaned, curling to the side as you clutched your stomach, unable to breathe from the harsh kicks to it.

“Come on, you stupid bitch!” He said and turned you over, slapping you. You grunted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Stop fighting!” He said and pushed your head against a wall, kicking you in the back so many times you thought it’d break.

You tried screaming for help, but he grabbed you by your hair, lifting you up so you would look at him in the face. You couldn’t breathe, you could barely see, and you felt like your hearing was muffled. “Pl- P- Please, s-sto- ahhhh!” You screamed as he took out a pocket knife and pressed against your ribs, the tip piercing through your skin.

“Give me your fucking money!” He said and you sobbed, trying to reach for your purse. He threw it at you and your shaky, probably somewhat broken hand opened it and reached inside, moaning and groaning because of the pain. You found the wallet and gave him the 300 dollars you had with you, trying so hard to regulate your breathing.

He snatched the money and grabbed your purse, taking out your phone and smashing it. You sobbed, coughing Jo some blood. He scoffed and said “your jewelry. Give me your jewelry too”

You took a few gasps of air, squeezing the button on the taser you snuck out of your bag and taser him in his leg. You got up and were starting to get away when he grabbed your ankle, making you fall and shoved the knife between your ribs, making you black out for a second.

Once you were conscious again, you managed to tase him right in the balls. He screamed, falling to the ground. You used whatever strength you could muster up and sat up, tasing him in his stomach and neck, and crawling out of the alley.

You stumbled back to the hotel, grabbing onto buildings and cars and street lamps, your phone wouldn’t turn on so you couldn’t call anyone. You just wanted to get to the hotel before he got to you again. You felt weak, you knew you were bleeding internally but it didn’t seem to have gotten to your heart so there was that.

You walked into the hotel and everyone stared but you didn’t care, you got in the elevator, shaking like a leaf. Your ankle hurt really bad and one of your heels was broken, so it was even harder to stand. You limped and nearly tripped on your way to the hotel room.

You were digging through your bag trying to find your hotel key, and you found it snapped in half. You broke, falling to the ground as you cried, weakly knocking on the door hoping Joe was there. “Jo-…mmh, oh g-god- Joe!” You said, losing your voice from the screaming and the pain.

He opened the door and gasped, he’d never cried so fast in his life. “Oh my- oh my god…how- oh my god y/n!” He said and you whimpered, spitting up blood. He gasped again and said “I need to get you to a hospital!”

He ran back into the room, grabbing one of your bags that he knew had toiletries and some clothes in it as well as his phone and keys and ran back out. “N-no…no hosp- hos- hospi-ital…” you said and he shook his head.

He got you to sit against the wall and said “y/n, there’s a knife in your chest and you probably have countless internal injuries that are going to kill you I don’t care what you want, I want you to live” He scooped you up, biting his lip when you yelled out from the pain.

“You’re okay, you’re okay…try to breathe sweetheart, please” he said, you were still gasping for air, the stab wound wasn’t helping much either. He got you to the car and didn’t care if blood or anything got on the seat, he’d light this car on fire if it meant you’d be okay.

Everything was hazy from there, he remembers panicking when you passed out, speeding so fast he was sure he was going to get arrested and then getting to the hospital. He remembers the nurses asking your name and what happened but instead he just broke down in sobs.

Eventually they gave him a small dose of a sedative to calm him down and he gave them your name and told them he was your husband and you just showed up to the hotel room like that. He really hoped that they didn’t think he did this to you, god he would never do anything even remotely like this to you.

The sedative made him sleepy and they gave him a blanket and pillow and he fell asleep, even though he didn’t want to. He was woken up by the same nurse, 8 hours later at 5am. “Hi, sir…Joseph, right?” She asked and he cleared his throat, sitting up.

He nodded and she said “your wife is okay. She has some broken ribs, a concussion and the stab did some serious damage so she had surgery to correct it and she should be okay. Her wrist on her dominant hand was injured but not a sprain or a fracture or a break, she’ll just need to refrain from using that hand. She has a sprained ankle which she'll wear a brace provided by the hospital to correct. She’s got some major bruising but she’ll be okay. She needs to give her statement to the cops and give them a description of her attacker but she’s really struggling and her heart rate is really high, we’d like to see if having you there might help”

He nodded, biting his lip as tears filled his eyes. She brought him to the room and you were crying, curled into your side, the monitor beeping fast and the cops trying to calm you down whilst another nurse tried giving you oxygen. “Hey, hey, shhh it’s okay…relax, sweetheart it’s okay” he said as he walked over, pushing past the cops and slowly reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear.

“babe, you’ve got to calm down,” he said, grabbing the oxygen mask from the nurse and putting it over your nose and mouth. He stroked your hair for a few moments, calming you as your body twitched from how bad your anxiety was, and helping you regulate your breathing and form a few clear sentences.

“Who did this to you huh?” He asked, he’d sneakily grabbed the question sheet that the policemen had and set on his lap to look at. “I-I don’t know, Joey…I swear” you said and whimpered, still in a lot of pain. He blinked away a few tears and said “I believe you, y/n…I do. Can you describe what he looks like? Like, hair color, eye color, facial features and stuff?”

You did pretty okay and it was enough for the sketch artist to get a good idea of what to draw. He asked you all the questions and the police wrote the answers down, waiting patiently for you to get through having to relive it in your head.

“You did so good, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you, y/n, you’re so damn strong” he said and you bit your lip, covering your face with your hand as you sobbed, you felt so scared and so anxious. It took some time, and some sedatives but eventually you calmed down and were about to go to sleep, still trying to fight it for Joe.

“Baby…just close your eyes,” he said and you groaned, his fingers making the motion a few inches away from your face. One was already closed practically, it was swollen and bruised and looked so painful. He sighed and rested his head on the bed, playing with your injury-free hand. You sighed and said “fine…but promise you’ll be here when I wake up”

He wrapped his pinky around yours and kissed his hand, and you weakly brought your hands up and kissed yours. He smiled, and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes and quickly falling asleep.

He stroked your palm and up your arm as he said “I’m gonna find who did this to you…and I’m gonna make him pay”

And that he did. A few days later, police found out who he was through security cameras and put a warrant out for his arrest. With some googling and some searching Joe found out his address, and went straight there. He beat him up, worse than what he had done to you before calling the cops and leaving an anonymous tip.

He went home and he said the redness on his knuckles was from hitting his hand on the car door. You believed him. You had no reason not to. The police called some time later and said they had caught him and you broke into tears. He held you as you cried, gentle of your wounds and you sobbed into his chest, all your pain and anxiety and stress spilling out.

“He’s not gonna hurt you anymore…he can’t sweetheart. You’re safe” he said, kissing your head.

Things got better, you went to therapy and your body healed and eventually your mind as well. You stopped working completely for about a year, and Joe was okay with that and supported it. He made enough to support both of you, which was something he’d wanted to do for you since you were teenagers.

All he’s ever wanted was to see you happy. So he works hard so you can stay home where you feel safe, where you can heal. He doesn’t want it any other way. He loves you more than life itself.

But when things got really good you got back into working, and Joe then threw around the idea of you being an actor as well. You did the stupid school, and the plays that made you feel like an idiot just to make him happy, but then you started getting attention from agencies, and directors were reaching out themselves directly to you.

“I told you you were good!” Joe said. You got an agent and did a few small projects and then Joe practically begged on his knees for you to do this movie with him so you did and oh my god people were obsessed. They loved the two of you together, and you two also play a couple in the movie so it was the best of both worlds for the fans.

It was crazy that that one tragic night changed your life in not only a negative way but a positive way too. You never would’ve even considered acting if you hadn’t been looking for a new kind of job. Now you are happier than ever, at the premiere of your biggest project yet with your husband gushing over you to millions of people around the world.

Joseph Quinn, you angel. He was the only reason you were happy right now. You wouldn’t be anywhere without him.

Taglist: @kellysimagines @readsalot73

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Joseph Quinn

Jamie Bower

Steve Harrington

Robin Buckley

Eddissy

Maya Hawke

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

#stranger things #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn oneshot

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