#eventually he met and fell in love with brandy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thisisarcanereverie · 1 year

Note

Hi! Hope your having a great day/night! Could i request a #11💔 with a dark Moonknight system x reader? Thankyou x

My Angel (Dark Moonknight x FEM! Reader)

A/N: There may be a few plot holes, I wrote most of this at 2 am with no sleep.

Word Count: 5k+.

Warnings: DARK THEMES: (murder, kidnapping, manipulation, toxic personality, hopelessness, grief.)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sometimes you wonder how you wound up here. Not physically, but in this situation. With the man before you who was not your husband, but donned the ring nonetheless, whose last name(s) are attached to you; whose bed you share.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You used to know the host, Marc Spector. You met when you were kids, you tried to be kind to him after noticing the bruises that littered his arms and how scared and angry he seemed to be. He seemed to like you, but as time flew by you began to realize that the bruises on his arms didn’t stop there; and that they weren’t from rough-housing or by being clumsy and careless on playground equipment. You didn’t piece together exactly what was going on until you were around 14 and walked past his house where you heard his mother. You tried telling your parents, but all they said was that it wasn’t any of their business and that getting Marc help was more trouble than it was worth.

After realizing that no one was going to help Marc you tried to, you offered him to stay over at your house when your parents went away on weekends, and invited him to dinner most nights to make sure he had something to eat. Little by little he became a large part of your life, he was your best friend and much like you knew him; inside and out, he knew you. While you may have taken care of him, he showed you what it was like to live on the edge. He was always an adrenaline junky, balancing himself on top of the monkey bars, or sneaking out late at night to a party you were definitely forbidden to go to. But despite him going from a messy haired, angry little boy to someone who caught eyes from people passing him on the street; you never felt that way towards him. The bond you both shared ran deeper than that, you’ve held his hand as he cried and accepted all of him, and he’s seen you during the worst of your depressive episodes, the ones were you don’t shower for half a week and your room becomes nothing but heaps of laundry and unwashed dishes.

You didn’t realize how much you came to love and depend on him until a month or two after you both turned 18 and you hadn’t heard from him in a few days. Ever since the day you both met the longest you had gone without speaking was a day, and that was because you were in one of your episodes and Marc had been forced away for a day trip to his grandparents. Something had been wrong and anxiety gripped you, you went over to his house, only to be greeted with his father. Mr. Spector, he wasn’t someone you liked so much. You asked what had happened to your friend Mrs. Spector came into view with a whole bottle of brandy in her hand.

Her hair was matted and eyes rimmed red, she smiled and the overwhelming scent of alcohol invaded your sense of smell. She told you she was celebrating because her “jealous demon” of a son was finally gone. At first you panicked, thinking by ‘gone’ she meant that she finally beat him too hard and killed him. But Mr. Spector clarified that he had joined the Marines and left after packing a single duffle bag, showing you the letter they had received announcing Marc’s enlistment.

You cried for a few days, Marc had left without telling you anything. Had you truly meant so little to him that he could just leave and not tell you?

Eventually you moved on, you moved out and started learning how to live your life without him. You made new friends and fell in love time and time again until you met Lukas.

He was the definition of a tall, friendly giant. His hands were gentle and his words kind. You came to love the blue of his eyes and the blonde mop on top of his head he called hair. He was from down south and was raised by a mom who taught him how to treat a lady. You couldn’t even remember the last time your hand touched a door knob that wasn’t for the bathroom. He laughed at animal videos and when your depression got bad, there he was, your ray of sunshine and all that was good in this world and he washed your hair, he changed the sheets, he kissed your forehead and put on your favorite tv show. Lukas would whisper how much he loved you, even when he thought you were sleeping.

At some point the ache and whole that Marc had left grew smaller and smaller, until you rarely thought about him. Occasionally you would see someone with dark curly hair and a hook nose and be reminded of Marc, but then you would move on. He tried reaching out a few times with letters, they were addressed to your parents house. They forwarded it to you and you responded a few times but eventually the letters became less and less until eventually they stopped.

You were reminded of him about a year ago when figuring out the guest list for your wedding with Lukas. His guest list was full while yours was pretty scarce, you invited a few family members and your friends. But unlike Lukas who had always been a guy who made friends easily, you were the opposite. You were content with the few friends you had and weren’t close to many extended family members. It wasn’t until Lukas said something about Marc that you thought of him. You had heard through the grapevine that he moved to London a few years back and had gotten married himself. After a few calls you got an address and a phone number.

Lukas excused himself for you to call him, knowing your past with Marc and how much he had been a part of your life, he thought this should be a private conversation.

You looked at the number for a while, debated it in your head. Marc hadn’t invited you to his wedding but at the same time you both had drifted apart and you really don’t know the circumstances surrounding it. It took place in Egypt and you couldn’t have attended at the time anyways, even if you had known for months. Then the blip happened and you have no idea if he had been blipped for those years or not.

At some point you just pressed the call button.

Beep

Bee-

“Yeah?”

You cleared your throat for a second, this voice was deeper, rougher than the Marc you knew.

“Is this Marc Spector?”

“Depends, is this (Y/n)?”

Your eyes widened wondering how he knew.

“Yeah, it is- how did you know?”

“Your voice hasn’t changed that much since the last time we talked Angel.”

You laughed, of course he would remember your voice meanwhile his nearly gave you a heart attack from the shock. You both talked for a while, and you asked if he was free to come over to the U.S in a few months for your wedding. You swore his voice shifted but didn’t press, reasoning it to be a connection glitch. Marc accepted the invitation before you both said your goodbyes.

Lukas had been happy for you, reconnecting with Marc. When you started to have doubts saying Marc probably felt obligated to since he didn’t invite you to his, he assured you that probably wasn’t the case.

After that days became a blur of planning, semi snarky comments from family members (you know the ones), and texting back and forth with Marc. You both kept in consistent contact since that day, when Marc couldn’t sleep he’d text you. Sure he’d go a few days without texting but he explained about letting Steven take over a little more. Letting him have his own life in a way. You remember how he struggled with Steven growing up, how he developed him to cope with the loss of his brother and the abuse and neglect from both parents. Marc had resented him the last time you saw him face to face, but after hearing that you were happy for him, that he no longer resented the best parts of himself.

It was a month before the wedding when Marc came into town. You didn’t even know until you heard a knock on your front door and you opened it. At first you didn’t recognize him, but then he opened his mouth.

“Can I help you?” You asked, your hand still firmly placed on the door. He laughed before his lips turned upward into a crooked smile and placed a hand over his chest.

“Ow, I’ve been wounded,” Marc said dramatically, “first I suffer from jetlag and now my own Angel doesn’t recognize me.”

“Marc!” You gasped, finally recognizing him. He may have a few more gray hairs in his head and stubble littering his face, his eyes harder than they were in his youth. But sure enough, it was the same curly haired adrenaline junky you had befriended all those years ago. He opened his arms as you threw open the door and hugged him. Sure his shoulders may be broader and his chest more toned, but he still smells like coffee and fabric softener, and he was still warm. In that sense it was like no time had passed.

“I can’t believe it, aren't you supposed to be in London right now?” You asked as you gently pulled away from him and ushered him inside.

“I’m here on a business trip,” he explained as he looked around your apartment, “it’s going to last past the wedding date so I figured why not ambush you when you least expect it.” you laugh as you hug him again before putting the kettle on for tea.

You talked for hours, it was like no time had passed, your heart only grew happier as you saw Lukas coming in the apartment. You stood up to greet him, giving him a peck before introducing him to Marc.

“Lukas, this is Marc Spector.” You said, you could see his eyes widen as he took in Marc, you look to see a certain look in his eyes, one you remember seeing a few times but never knowing why.

“The Marc Spector, well I’ll be damned.” Lukas extended a hand and Marc took it, Marc was a decent height but even he dwarfed next to your fiance.

“You must be Lukas,” Marc said, a forced smile donning his face, not that you could tell.

“Bunny here has told me so much about you I feel like I know you already.” Lukas wrapped an arm around your waist, a comfortable weight there. You don’t notice Marc’s gaze sharpen or the strain in his voice.

“Same here,” Marc had always been a man of few words, at least when it came to other people. You never understood why you were different.

The rest of the evening was spent drinking a few beers and talking. You sat in the loveseat with Lukas while Marc sat on the plush chair across, it wasn’t until after 2 that Marc called for a cab and left you and Lukas.

“Hey Bunny?” Lukas began his voice slightly garbled by the toothbrush in his mouth, you spit out the cinnamon flavored past before turning to him.

“Yes Babe?”

“Is Marc always like that?” You looked over at him confused.

“What do you mean?” Lukas spit out the paste before answering.

“I don’t mean anything bad about it,” he explained before putting his toothbrush back, “I’m just getting the vibe that he doesn’t like me.” You put a hand on his arm in assurance.

“Marc’s had it pretty rough, he hasn’t been shown a lot of kindness so he just comes across like that to new people. It’s not that he doesn’t like you, he’s just feeling you out is all.” you kiss his cheek before continuing, “not everyone can be as kind as you I’m afraid.” His cheeks flushed as a smile spread across his face. You went to bed that night not thinking much of it.

You should have.

You shouldn’t have made excuses for Marc, dismissed every backhanded word or the glint in his eye. You should’ve listened to Lukas, you should’ve run far, far, far away while you still could’ve.

What followed after that night could only be described as…odd.

Things started to go missing, weird things like your hairbrush or an old shirt you’ve worn since forever, things like that. You chalked up to stress from the upcoming wedding.

Everyday Lukas would show up a little more disheveled than before. First it was a potted plant landed right behind him, then a car nearly ran him over, then he swore one day that someone was following him. The stress was getting to him as well, you could tell. You didn’t know why these things were happening to him and you didn’t know how to make it better. So, naturally you vented to Marc. He would assure you that things are just hectic because most things are just before a wedding. “I would know,” he would tell you. Marc vented to you as well, about how the divorce settlements were going with Layla.

Eventually the day came. You were dressed head to toe in white silk and a thin veil, excitement and nervousness burned through your veins. You hadn’t seen Lukas since the previous day, claiming it was ‘bad luck’ to see the bride before the wedding. He had always been superstitious so you didn’t find it odd, why would you?

Once you were ready you compulsively glanced at the clock, and with each second that passed past the original time you were supposed to walk down the aisle the buzzing in your veins turned sour and racked you with uncertainty. Everyone tried calming you, assuring you that he was just running late because of traffic or saving a kitten from the side of the road. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that.

“I’m sorry, is there a Miss. (Y/n) (L/n) here?” You turned to look at the door, two men in uniform stood in the archway, looming like ravens in an abandoned cornfield.

You stood up and made your way to them, preparing yourself for the worst, but holding on to the smallest, most irrational bit of hope you had that everything was alright.

“I’m her.” You said, you tried not to delve deep into the sad, uncomfortable look in their eyes as they cleared their throats.

“I’m afraid we have some upsetting news, could we have a minute alone?” You nodded towards everyone as you ushered the men inside. Sitting gently on the couch, still holding on to that smallest scrap of hope even as the cops sat in front of you with that unmistakable look of pity in their eyes.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, especially today, but Lukas Whitehall was caught in a hit and run an hour ago.” Tears prick your eyes as your entire body felt like it was submerged in freezing water, “He died as he was being escorted by ambulance to the hospital.” You struggled to keep composure as the hot tears in your eyes burned.

“Do you know who did it?” You asked, your voice shaky as you looked away from the officers, not being able to bear seeing them anymore.

“The license plate number traced back to a man in north Wisconsin, he reported the car had been stolen months ago. Forensics found a car not long after the hit and run matching the description in a ditch, we are currently in the process of running tests to see if we can get a match on anything.” You nodded numbly as the officers promised to keep you and family posted on anything that may come out, before apologizing again and leaving. You sat there, as you sat here smiling and laughing an hour ago Lukas was suffering and you had no idea. In a matter of minutes you went to a nervous, blushing bride. To a would-be widow.

Your dress suddenly became too tight as you finally allowed your body to react, you stripped yourself as you tried desperately to breathe. But no matter how many gulps of air you consumed it was knocked out of you with every breath you took. Those held back tears burned like hot iron cascading down your cheeks, as the crushing weight of grief finally takes you. You could swear you could hear your heart shattering, every fragile, little piece of your heart that belonged to him was breaking.

They say you can’t take anything with you when you die.

That’s not true.

The day Lukas died he took those shards of your heart that broke with him. It didn’t take long to plan the funeral. Lukas was cremated and his ashes were spread back home, underneath his favorite apple tree as per his request. Sadness had passed days ago, now there was anger. It was dark, and seething, it was like the rumble of thunder before a storm; threatening and ominous, and promising destruction in its wake.

Legally speaking, since you were never married to Lukas you were considered his ex-fiancee and not his widow, so all information about the hit and run case you had to hear second hand from his mother.

They searched the car and found nothing, not one hair or fingerprint that could trace to someone or something, he wasn’t dealing in anything illegal or dangerous. They marked his death accidental and the case went cold.

You sold your honeymoon away to someone else, gave everything used for the wedding away. You didn’t want to be reminded of it.

With the money from the honeymoon plus what you had saved you didn’t have to worry about getting back to work so soon. Besides, Marc extended his trip indefinitely and held up in your apartment with you and had promised to take care of things while you grieved.

He held you as your body wracked itself exhausted from your sobs, fed you even when the food tasted like ashes in your mouth, he washed the grease and sadness from your hair.

Day by day he tended to you and the guilt of him being so kind to you while you were a mess started eating at you. Why has he stuck around? Why does he take care of you?

You asked him once and he simply replied.

“I got you and you got me, like how it’s always been.” and that was that.

After a month you slowly got back on your feet, the anger still there simmering under the surface; you’re not sure if it will ever go away. But life moves on, with a heavy heart you know you can’t afford the apartment Lukas and you shared without him and Marc can’t stay with you forever. So you began looking into smaller, more affordable apartments until you finally found one not far from there. After going there and taking a look at the place, it wasn’t too bad. It was much smaller than the one you were living in, but you, yourself didn’t have much; most of it had belonged to Lukas. After agreeing to take a look and signing the lease tomorrow morning you went back to the apartment.

Marc had just got done preparing dinner when you walked through the door.

“Hey food’s ready, just have a seat.” He gestured to the seat at the table, Marc was a hardened Marine man and suffered badly from resting bitch face so to anyone who didn’t share a home ec class with him, it would be a shock that Marc had a secret talent for cooking. He had cooked homemade pizza, the scent of the sausage and melted cheese made your mouth water as you gladly sat down.

You both had been a few bites in when you spoke.

“So I went to see an apartment today.” You said, Marc looked up questioningly.

“Why?” He asked slowly.

“I can’t afford this place by myself and this apartment is too big for me.” You took another bite.

“I can help,” Marc said, “I can be your roommate, already am sort of.”

“Marc,” You said seriously, dropping the slice of pizza, “you can’t stay here.”

“Why not.”

“Because you have Steven to worry about,” You said, “because I can’t keep depending on you for everything, because you have a life of your own to get back to, because I have a life as well that I need to push through despite how much I don’t want to, because-”

“None of that matters.” Marc interrupted, “Steven will be fine, my affairs in London are settled, there's no need for me to go back there,” Marc's hand reaches out to you, “and you can keep depending on me because I want you to depend on me because I love you.”

“I love you too Marc, I understand, but you nee-”

“No,” Marc said, his eyes narrowing in on you, “I don’t think you do.”

“You know what,” You say getting up from your chair, wiping your hands on your napkin tired of Marc interrupting you, “I can’t talk to you when you’re being like this.” You walk all about three steps away from the table when you feel Marc's hand wrap around your wrist firmly, turning you around and pulling you towards him. You were about to yell at him when his hand moved swiftly from your wrist to cradle your face as his lips descended on yours.

There was only one time you wondered what it would be like to kiss Marc, and that was when you had a girls night in, in highschool and everyone was gushing over him, daydreaming about kissing him and how he would be as a boyfriend. The girls had a bet he tasted like rebellion and cherries.

Now you know he tasted like bad ideas and pepper.

A part of you, the one that missed the physical comfort that Lukas provided wanted to give into it. Even if it was just one kiss. The other had a sick gut feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

You pushed him off of you when you processed what was going on. You resisted the urge to slap him as you saw him regain himself.

“I’m so-”

“Get out.” You glared at him, the sick feeling growing the longer he stood there. You went to move past him when you found yourself pinned against the wall, immediately you started thrashing but to no avail, he was stronger.

“Listen,” he said quietly, “please just listen.” You stopped thrashing but his hands did not waver. “When we met, my brother had died and no one wanted to help me, everyone blamed me for what happened to him. Everyone except you, you saved me. My Angel, you saved me. I may owe an Egyptian god my soul, but I owe you my life.” His forehead pressed against yours, “Every burn, every cut and bruise my mother gave me you made me better. You accepted me for who I am, all parts, even the ones I was ashamed and resentful of. After I left I did horrible things, things that keep me up at night. My life literally became hell without you, I tried to do right by you hoping one day the blood on my hands would be cleansed and I could finally hold you again. I even married Layla because I owed her that after getting her father killed, hoping that maybe if I did his blood would wash itself away.” He leaned his head back, eyes studying you, “I know now that that's impossible. No matter how many evil people I kill, that blood will still be there,” a single tear falls, “but I still want to hold you. My Angel. I was about to give up completely, let Steven take over fully when you called. You have no idea what that call meant to me, to hear your voice, your laughter, even if I couldn’t see you it revived me. I’ve spent months since that call trying to get back to you. I had hoped Lukas was not as great as he paraded himself to be….sadly he was. It hurt me to kill one more innocent person but,” Your blood ran cold, “what is one life compared to the one I get to share with you?”

“You…” You swallowed thickly, “you killed Lukas.”

“He didn’t suffer,” he assured with only one hand gripping you now, “I made sure of that.”

“I regret saving you.” You glared, “I should’ve listened to my parents and let you drown.”

“You don’t mean that Angel,” You feel the sharp prick of a needle against your throat, “you don’t have one cruel bone in your body. That’s how we got here in the first place.” The outlines in his face blur until everything goes black.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

When you woke up you weren’t in the apartment but somewhere else, you didn’t know where exactly but you knew for sure you were far away from New York. Marc came later and explained that he agreed about needing to move on from your apartment, just not without him.

It was a few months in when you finally asked him why, and how he could do the things he did.

When the Marines didn’t work out for Marc he turned to the life of a mercenary, he crossed one of the men he was working with trying to get the archeologists to safety; which didn’t work out for him as he had hoped. The archeologists died anyway and he was on his way as well when a voice claiming to be the egyptian moon god Khonshu offered him a choice. Live and become his Avatar, his fist of vengeance against evil doers, or die. Obviously he chose life, he carried on like that for a few years, even during the blip. But despite all those years, even through his marriage and divorce with Layla he thought of you, he even showed you the ratty photo he carried around in his wallet. It was you, you must have been eighteen in the picture, smiling as the sun hit you. He kept that picture with him, even looked at it as he was dying the first time, promising himself that one day he would see you again. He was going to wait until his service to Khonshu was done, but then you called. He was about to give up control completely to Steven, the grief of his mother dying overwhelming but you brought him back. After the call he had to have you, he went on the first flight to the U.S which happened to land in Wisconsin. He claims he doesn’t remember stealing the car but he didn’t care because the next thing he knew he was on his way to New York. He stopped along the way quite a few times, Khonshu’s justice and all that. But finally he made it to you. It wasn’t until Lukas showed up that night that Marc forgot you had a fiancee. Marc had tried to get Lukas to leave, first trying to blackmail him (which didn’t work because he had nothing to hide.), then he resorted to threats. He didn’t want to kill Lukas, just harm him enough to get the message but he always came back, until eventually the wedding came and Marc did what he “had” to do. And in your lowest point he was living the life he had always wanted. He bathed you, cared for you, and you depended on him. And as for Steven, well, one look at his “dream girl” and he was on board. Tired of being lonely. And a third alter, one you had never seen, Jake Lockley, well he was more than pleased with the chain of events that led you here. Marc had planned on taking things slow, working you until he had you completely dependent. He didn’t expect you to put up a fight so you accelerated things.

By the time he was done you were in a daze, like everything around you was underwater and out of reach. This man in front of you was not the boy you grew up with, the one with bruises and sad eyes; now he was terrifying and grew into the name that everyone called him in your neighborhood.

A monster

You didn’t talk to him for weeks, choosing to instead stare out the window at unfamiliar surroundings. That was so close and yet so out of reach. You once laughed a little when you thought about how sad you were that you would never get to see another person other than Marc, Steven, or Jake again. It was funny to you because you, the introvert, actually miss seeing people.

One day while still staring out that window Steven came into the room, excitement evident on his face. He was holding a piece of paper.

“Look darling,” he said, handing you the piece of paper.

Marriage Certificate. You read further down to see Marc’s name next to yours, only instead your last name was his.

(Y/n) (M/n) Spector.

You felt nothing as you handed the piece of paper back to Steven, who started to ramble from all the excitement. You didn’t wonder how he made it possible, or if it was a legitimate piece of paper. You felt nothing as you continued to stare out the window while Steven continued to ramble before finally leaving with a kiss on your temple.

That’s how life became for you, you didn’t speak, even as Steven cried and begged you to you didn’t. Even as Jake threatened and got angry. You just stared outside or stared at the floor, you refused to look at him.

Meanwhile Marc, he watched you. Once you’ve made up your mind that was it, and he knew that. But as time drew on and as he took care of you like one would a precious doll, the weight of what he did to you was started to don on him.

About six years after he first brought you home he finally asked you the question that had been eating away at him since the very beginning.

“Have you ever loved me?” he asked, voice rough and tired. Then for the first time in six years you finally looked at him, your once bright and loving eyes devoid of all feeling and life.

“What does it matter now?”

As your eyes went back to the floor Marc finally understood what he has done and what he has to do now. He spent one more night with you, he bathed you and dressed you in the nightgown he thought you liked most, and laid you down on the sheets he washed that morning. He held you close, his tanned and war worn skin contrasting drastically to the soft, white gown you wore. He breathed you in, the smell he’s come to love all his life. The smell of roses and honey, and hummed you your favorite song, the one you used to sing to him as children. He talked about all the good times you had together, he talked through the night while you didn’t say a word. And when the first rays of morning came he reached into his drawer and grabbed one syringe. You didn’t move as he pressed it against your skin, you just stared at the ceiling, a small smile donning your face as your eyes slipped closed. Marc sobbed and wailed openly for the first time since his mother’s death.

He could feel Steven and Jake fighting, even Khonshu was going ballistic, tearing him apart from the inside. But Marc knew this was the price he had to pay, he didn’t deserve an angel like you. He had clipped your wings and kept you to himself, even as you were in pain he kept you.

He knew better than to reach for the second syringe Khonshu wouldn’t grant him that mercy. So finally he did it, he gave up control, accepting his punishment as a fly on a wall forever.

#marvel #x reader #mcu #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader smut #moon knight x reader angst #mcu moon knight #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader smut #marc x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector angst #x reader angst #mcu angst #oscar issac #dark marc spector x reader

96 notes · View notes

demxters · 1 year

Text

—𝐚 ’𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥’ 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛: 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬

robert ‘bob’ floyd x f!reader (specifically dad!bob x f!reader)

wc: 827

warning(s): fem!reader, kids, one mention of bad home life

part of the ‘fall’ series

a/n: been thinking about these two lately and missed writing for them so here’s a self indulgent little thing i wrote after some not so great family functions these past few days.

Then: Age 10

Your cheeks, still sticky with dried tears, glistened in the glow of the fireplace. Your parents had yet another argument that left you in tears. Mr. Floyd was kind enough to pick you up from your house after overhearing your phone call with Bob. Once you got there, he had told you to stay put and you were beginning to grow impatient.

If it weren’t for Amanda being put down for her nap, you would’ve already stormed upstairs to ask what was taking him so long.

The pattering of Bob’s footsteps put on high alert as he waddled down the stairs. You could only see the top of his head over the stack of blankets and your brows quirk curiously.

Bob drops the stack messily at your feet with a toothy grin on his face. “Help me get the chairs in the dining room.”

“What? Why?” He had already walked off before the questions fell from your lips. “Bobby?” You whisper into the dimly lit dining room as you follow him.

“We’re making a blanket fort,” he lets out excitedly.

That pulls a smile to your face. You’ve never built a fort before but you have seen pictures in your Highlights magazine. You help Bob bring the chairs to the living room as quietly as possible, giggling every now and then when they would make a sound against the hardwood.

“Now what?” You ask with your hands on your hips.

Bob puts the chairs in formation as he directs you where to drape the blankets. When the fort is finally put together, you throw yourselves under the canopy. Soft giggles fill the night air as you and Bob lay on your backs in the fort, smiling ear to ear as you pretend to be pirates out at sea.

“Does it even snow out in the ocean?” You turn to Bob with a frown.

He rolls his eyes. “Just pretend, Brandy. It’s Christmas.”

“Alright, alright. Sorry,” you apologize half heartedly. Though the smile on your face lingers at your best friend’s antics.

Eventually, the night of make believe wears you down and you find yourself drifting in and out of sleep.

“Brandy?” Bob’s groggy voice rings out.

You hum from where you lay on your side.

“Can we do this every year?”

“We can do this forever,” you wistfully sigh.

The two of you drift into a restful sleep then, filled with dreams of forever blanket forts and pirate ships.

Now:

“Okay, now get that corner and drape it over the other side of the chair. There we go. And secure it with your clip.” Bob instructs Tommy while you and Delilah fluff the pillows in the fort.

You collapse with an overly dramatic sigh and your daughter follows your lead.

Bob peaks his head from around the corner with an amused quirk of his lips.

“What are the two of you sighing about in there?”

You scrunch your nose with a grin as Delilah gives you a mischievous smile.

“Daddy we’re so tired!” She drawls with a hand over her forehead.

“Yeah, honey, you put us hard at work down here!” You mimic Delilah’s motions and she hides her giggles behind her hand.

“You’re tired? Daddy and I did all the work!” Tommy pouts, coming around the other side of his father. “Right dad?”

“That’s right, buddy.” Bob proudly grins at his son.

The two disappear to give the fort one last look over while Delilah moves to snuggle in your lap. “Mommy, tell me the story of how you met daddy.”

“Again?” You look down at your little girl with a small smile. She loved that story just as much as you did. Delilah absolutely idolized her father and loved hearing about what he was like before her and Tommy were born. “Oh, alright…”

“Wait for us!” Tommy exclaims, running into the fort to sit beside Delilah.

Bob follows suit, throwing himself across your laps. The two kids giggle at their father’s antics, while you playfully roll your eyes. Your hands immediately go to his hair that has grown out since his last deployment. He purrs into your touch making the kids laugh again.

“Daddy and I met when we were little kids. Not as little as you guys. We were maybe just a bit older.”

Two hours pass of you and Bob sharing stories from your childhood that make your children laugh until their stomachs hurt. Eventually, the two pass out from the excitement of the night and you and Bob tuck them into their makeshift beds.

You stand at the entrance of the fort, watching as Bob places one last kiss on Delilah’s forehead. He looks at you with a soft smile on his face before coming over and wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his lips against the crown of your head.

“I told you we’d be doing this forever,” you whisper into the crook of his neck.

series taglist: @gretagerwigsmuse @marantha @mountainrooster @gcidrvsh @smoothdogsgirl @pr3ttyboysmakemecry @steve--harrington--gal @t-nd-rfoot @marrianena @joaquinwhorres @cdauni @harrycherrylove @blue-aconite@maddiethebanished

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x f!reader #robert floyd x f!reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x y/n #bob x brandy 🍂#—through the seasons

110 notes · View notes

sorcerymuses · 2 months

Text

Bruce, Vacay Hearthrob

Height: 5¾" Hair: Violet Eyes: Blue Notable Features: Small non-functioning bat-like wings Birthday: May 7

Branch's second oldest brother, he was once a member of the family band, Brozone. While in the band, he found himself almost obsessively maintaining a fitness routine and the physical appearance that was seemingly expected of being known as 'the heartthrob' of the group. Eventually, when they failed to perform a Perfect Family Harmony, the group went their separate ways. Spruce escaped Bergen Town in the dead of night and eventually found Vacay Island, where he changed his name to Bruce and redefined his lifestyle.

He late met and fell in love with a Vacaytioner named Brandy. The two married and in a shocking turn of events (they still don't know how it works) they had over a dozen kids. To support their family, Brandy and Bruce run a cantina on the Island...

#(Bruce) good vibes only 🍸#verse: the beat goes on #about the muses #post: interest check #secondary muse #Mutuals only! 🛑🛑

1 note · View note

witchfall · 3 years

Text

messages from broken bottles

"Messages from broken bottles fall on black sandy beaches. Ink in vein across the page now run from morning dew. Hands which chance upon it lead to eyes that strain to read; Hearts which pound from love long overdue; Lips which press together stifle rhythmic heavy breaths.

Oh how she smiles from vicarious love from the one he writes about. She must have been so glad for him to throw it out."

-black sandy beaches, the dear hunter

Perhaps daughters are born fools.

//Lyna&Exarch, WoL/Exarch, named miqo'te WoL

//3558 words, rated G.

//5.3 spoilers. References to familial loss. ao3 link in the reblogs

~~~

When her recruits ask her about the Warrior of Darkness, days after night finally comes to Lakeland, Lyna lies.

Did you know it was her, when you first met? What did you think of her? Did you know she would change everything?

She tilts her head, ear twitching beneath the sun. She smirks. She asks them to run a mile wearing full regalia. And then, when they're little more than clanking chain on the breeze, she turns her face to the wind and closes her eyes.

The lie is in the obfuscation. The lie is to herself.

---

Of course, Lyna had long thought of what she would say.

She could lie and agree that it happened upon first sight of the mystel who would take on the mantle of Warrior of Darkness. It would be a side-stepping sort of lie. She had no thoughts regarding the red-haired woman who had approached their gates, leering with nameless intent, except that she was too confident for one who was traveling alone.

Such baseless confidence was a threat. Lyna blocked her way.

She only realized something had shifted when she saw her grandfather -- the Exarch -- running toward them. When had she last seen him run? She had forgotten that his body could move like that, even with the youthful visage he wore. He stopped suddenly, a gash of crimson in Lakeland's cool horizon, and though his voice rang out with steady warmth, there was something wholly too practiced about it. He dismissed Lyna near immediately.

No. Do not lie. She dismissed herself.

She had no choice, seeing what she saw. The breathless way his hands curled into and out of fists. The way his body leaned in toward the newcomer in strange collusion. The way his gravity shifted. By the time Lyna managed the words to remove herself from the interaction, she suddenly understood what it felt like to be dismissed from the Stairs at closing hour. Go home. Try, in your drunken stupor, to remember where that is.

She walked brusquely to her post and stood so straight her guards fell silent.

Some other evening, many days after that meeting, Lyna visits him. The furious clawing in her stomach would not rest, no matter her application of calming tea or woody brandy. She feels like a child, knocking tremulously upon his door, and perhaps something in her face spooks him; he throws the door open wide and gestured her inside despite her stony silence.

"Something is different," she admits eventually. She pointedly sets upon his table a loaf of the cinnamon-raisin bread he so liked to buy (and that she, as a child, so liked to steal tastes of before he’d share it with her openly). "I do not know what."

"In truth?" His pause is heavy. "Our salvation may come at last."

She shoves aside propriety. "Then why do you sound so dour?"

Gods, she hates when he smiles like this.

His mouth turns in such a way that she sees his timelessness like dust motes in a shard of light. He existed long before her and he may, gods willing, exist long after her, and this smile emphasizes his strangeness so wholly that she must squint at him as if looking through a foggy window.

Worst of all, this is the smile he once wore when she'd spy on him reading one particular letter in his study, all alone.

Like he's somewhere else, far away from her. Like perhaps he'd rather be there.

"Change is an oft painful thing, my dear," he says. "No matter the good that comes of it."

"I don't think it must always be thus," she says, petulant. Like a teenager again. Frustratingly, he just smiles and tears off a piece of the bread to hand to her. Ever patient with his charge.

The guard captain takes the bread as well as her leave, preferring the frustration to the fear she feels, hearing him speak this way. Something is different. Her question is answered well enough.

She stuffs her mouth with the sweet bread and tries to forget.

---

The first hint to the truth is when Lyna sees the Warrior in battle.

The Warrior’s voice rises clear and high above their heads as she fires arrows into their enemies. Lyna has the frightening sense that she could hear the voice if she were malms and malms away, like it’s bigger than the very air it rides. The Exarch holds the van for them at first, but later when Lyna and the Warrior fight side by side, the guard captain is shocked at the ferocity with which the young woman approaches her enemies. She is a flash of blood red and cherrywood, teeth bared, as she slashes her knife across the neck of a soldier who came too close.

Lyna is reminded of peculiar epithets from her grandfather’s stories: the Bow against the Dark. The Red across the Sky. The Song upon the Wind.

She thought it a coincidence at best. At worst, her grandfather’s power wove together a woman that fit the stories he’d tell because he couldn’t find anyone suitable here in the city he made.

The Warrior wrinkles her nose when Lyna and the Exarch both refer to her as such. “Please. It’s just Izzie. Not...whatever that is.”

Frankly, Lyna is miffed that such an...informal woman is apparently the answer they’ve all been waiting for. She also, unfortunately, likes that about Izzie very much.

But perhaps daughters are born fools. The answer regarding the Warrior is the simplest version of all events, as answers tend to be.

Lyna simply did not think it possible.

---

War befalls them. The guard captain is busy. She prefers this, despite circumstances.

Then the worst happens. The contingency plan she never thought she’d enact snaps into action; whole lists of instruction painstakingly left by her grandfather, her Exarch, run in her head like a broken orchestrion, over and over like a prayer for his return.

The key to the Umbilicus makes her palm sweat even under heavy gloves. She takes a patrol to clear her mind while the Warrior languishes in her room. The plan won’t matter if the Warrior, the woman named Izzie, never wakes up, so she has this bit of time to herself. To mull.

The children tell old stories, even now under the garish return of light. She overhears them in the Musica Universalis surrounded by the scent of baking bread and she stops for a moment to listen in, comforted by the familiar normalcy -- how she as a child had heard and told many of the same stories still in heavy circulation today, right here surrounded by the hubbub of adults. Perhaps this is why change makes her so uncomfortable; so much about the Crystarium has prolonged in sameness until now.

...and then she, the Bow against the Dark, looked upon the Crystalline Tower and grinned back at the adventurers. For they had done the impossible, and cleared it of every monster left by the empire of eld...

She is throttled back through memories. A million points connect in her head like distant stars.

...the way he had ran. Like he’d been waiting...for...

She speed walks, half mad, to her grandfather’s study. She hears nothing but the beat of her heart pulsing through her long ears; only years of training keeps her face neutral as her lungs stretch for breath. She’s supposed to give this key to the Warrior, whoever she is…

But Lyna knows this may be the last chance she’s ever given to find the secret at the edges of her grandfather’s long life.

It comes as no surprise that the entrusted key is a skeleton key of some sort, unlocking every door in the tower and every drawer in his ancient desk. She hunts, papers flying, for the ancient piece of parchment she knew her grandfather kept most hidden, akin to the way he treated his heart. Gods, that should have been hint enough. That should have told her everything.

She finds it buried purposefully deep. Below stacks of tax documents and Mean inventory records, as if he knew whoever may go seeking it would be repelled by such tedium. She knows it is the letter she seeks because it is on a type of paper she’s never seen made in the Crystarium -- and because she recognizes its shape from too many shadowy memories.

How long had he hidden this paper from her. The youthful thrill of discovery is tempered harshly by too many truths and too many years.

It is no deep revelation of the Exarch’s past. It is no piece of any puzzle finally found hidden in the dust. It’s not even a sickly love letter. The parchment is thin from overhandling. The ink is smudged. It’s a hastily scribbled out note with many words crossed out in deep blue gashes, as if the writer was embarrassed but in too much of a hurry to linger long.

[a heavy scribble out of a word and then] G’raha,

They’re sending me out to deal with Ramuh finally, though I don’t know what good I’m gonna be if he’s one of them primals that talk? Or whatever? I don’t know. I’m not a scholar. You know.

A nice primal...apparently. ???

Anyway I had to go fast but I wanted to leave you this note just so you didn’t think I was running out on our duties or anything. You don’t get to hold that against me. Okay!

In the meantime why don’t you practice playing Triple Triad with Rammbroes? Maybe get good enough that I don’t feel pity every time I beat your ass? Hehe. I will get you to the Gold Saucer at some point to start your own deck. It’s fun! You need more fun in your life.

But don’t have too much fun without me.

See you later.

L[and then a long scribble here that somehow missed the L, since L on its own doesn’t make sense as a valediction],

Izzie

Izzie.

Lyna stumbles out into the Ocular, which spins strangely in her vision. The weight of the realization wets her eyes and turns her feet to lead. Lyna had never heard the Exarch speak his true name, but the convention was like nothing of their lands, just like...just like this Izzie…

This woman who fits his every story about a hero from his long-lost homeland.

The woman who brought a spring to his step no one had seen in a century.

The Warrior. Sprung not from dream, but from his heart.

---

Lyna finishes her patrol. She takes on another shift and goes to the highest spot upon the lowly Lakeland fortress lining the Crystarium outskirts and stands at attention under the glaring Light.

No matter how hard she clenches her fists behind her back, she cannot shake the unrepentant shadow hounding her every thought. She walks as an imposter in her own memories.

What didn't she know? What shades have been cast, knowing the depth of that which he has hidden? What had he been thinking all those years, when she asked for story after story about the hero of his homeland?

She should have known from the moment she saw the Warrior of Darkness that it would mean the end of the world as she knew it. She should have known that the moment the sky turned black with night. But the truth of it is this: She refused to understand it until her heart could bear it, and by then it was too late.

Because it was not the Warrior of Darkness she met that day in Lakeland. It was a woman named Izzie, who had hair the color of fire and who signed her name like a scrawl in the dirt.

A woman who called her grandfather...G’raha.

A name Lyna found hidden in the dark of his desk, buried so deep he planned to die before he’d tell her himself.

---

Lyna is unsure how much time passes before the Warrior herself appears before her. Lyna startles to attention, worried for a split moment she’d summoned Izzie from her ponderings.

“You’re awake,” Lyna sputters. She is relieved, despite everything, for it isn’t Izzie’s fault that the Exarch held many secrets in his life from his charge.

Izzie crosses her arms over her chest protectively. She looks askance so her loose bang curtains her eyes. “For whatever good it’ll do anyone.”

Lyna is struck by a wild thought: The Warrior of Darkness looks...young. She reminds Lyna of a teenager thrust into battle who grew around the ruin of wartime, like so many of the youths she grew alongside. And yet her eyes belie a hardness to her, honed over years of all the stories her grandfather used to tell.

All the stories that must have been true.

“Lyna,” Izzie says suddenly. “I’m. I’m really sorry...I...should have stopped him somehow.”

The pity rankles her, even if it is exactly what she wanted Izzie to say.

“I don’t think you could have,” Lyna says.

Izzie’s mouth thins but she doesn’t say anything.

“Walk with me,” Lyna implores.

Izzie follows her off the parapet in silence, her mystel ears pinned to head as if Lyna is walking her to her execution. There’s something very funny about this situation. If only she had the energy to laugh.

They walk down the barren path into the Crystarium. The city is hunkering down for disaster and so they had the privacy of the open road. “You knew him,” Lyna says. She slows to a stop so that Izzie eventually stands parallel to her. “Before.”

Izzie doesn’t jump, per say, but her ears and tail flick upward so fast she might as well have. “How did you...know that?”

“I didn’t know for sure,” Lyna says, “until I found this.”

She hands Izzie the crumpled, thin piece of parchment and the woman gapes at it before she seizes it in her strong hands, eyes running over it until--

She cringes so hard Lyna almost laughs on the spot.

“He saved this?” she mutters, her eyebrows knitting together. Her mouth turns downward. “Oh gods.” A choked laugh. “I just wrote, ‘L, Izzie’, like that made sense.” Her hand goes to her forehead, eyes running over the words again and again. Her voice turns low and dark. “Why was I so stupid?”

The reaction is...confusing.

“He read it constantly.” Lyna straightens herself. “Over and over.” Izzie should know it. She may not have the answers her grandfather would never give, Lyna realizes heavily, but if Lyna doesn’t hold the most important spot in his heart, the woman who does should at least be aware.

“Every story we were ever told,” Lyna says, “was about you. You were the Song Upon the Wind. The Bow against the Dark. It was always you. Everything.”

Izzie’s face turns to a horrified mask.

Lyna presses on regardless, even as she feels like she is skittering against gravel. “But he never...he never said anything about his life when…”

Izzie grabs her by the upper arms, stilting the rest of her words.

Tears shimmer in Izzie’s eyes. “Lyna. I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was him.”

How, Lyna thinks to ask, could you not have known? The way he hovers around you?

But she knows exactly how.

Lyna closes her eyes. Perhaps there is no helping this. Everything, including the sky, is unraveling -- and so must Izzie and Lyna become unraveled, too. The key is heavy in her pocket as she remembers it and remembers what she must do.

She knows her grandfather well enough to know that whatever Izzie may find in the Umbilicus was not meant to be found while the man was still alive. She thinks about how he allowed no others to live in the Tower with him except herself because one day, he said, it would no longer be there.

Perhaps Izzie is the harbinger of this. Lyna wishes that fate on no woman -- especially not this one, looking at her with such deep wariness.

Especially not this one, who clearly loved her grandfather enough to be moved to tears by the thought of his love in turn.

“He left something for you,” Lyna says.

Izzie finally looks away, like she can’t bear it.

Someone has to, Lyna thinks. He must have somehow known that, too. Even Lyna is a gift for Izzie, in the end. But Lyna is thankful that he trusted her with this -- what could be the salvation of the world, if his faith holds true.

---

The world is indeed saved. All of their work -- his work -- comes to fruition. Hope alights in her breast so bright she can scarcely breathe for the promise of it.

But her grandfather does eventually disappear, like he swore he would one day. At least, the part of him that mattered to Lyna.

This is the way of all parents and their children, says a small voice in her head. But not them. Not her Exarch. Not her grandfather. He was supposed to be eternal, and she was supposed to be a special memory to him, one that mattered. But now she’s not sure how much is true, and they were separated before either could figure out how to talk about it.

And of all the people who understand the most, it is the woman his grandfather chose to spend the rest of his strange life with.

Izzie grasps the soul crystal between her palms with a gentleness Lyna has never seen from her; in fact, Lyna realizes she's barely ever seen Izzie outside of battle. She carries herself like her bones fit in her body, for once. The blistering air about her feels pleasantly cooled, like Ahm Arang before twilight. Lyna’s glad that perhaps she will get to see more of this Izzie. It isn’t all loss this day.

“I didn’t ask him to do this, Lyna.” Izzie’s voice is small but intent. “You know that, right? He didn’t...he didn’t tell me until…”

Her words trail off. Familiar repetition, felt across the lives of two women.

A strange peace comes over Lyna, then. Like a goodnight kiss, steeling one against separation. “Grandfather loves his secrets, does he not?”

Izzie smirks, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You think he’d learned his lesson the first time.”

“The most stubborn of men, I’m afraid.”

Izzie, the Warrior of Darkness and Light both...giggles.

Lyna understands suddenly the woman his grandfather might have fallen for upon a time. But her face falls before Lyna can store it long in her memory.

“When my Da died,” Izzie begins, her voice measured, “his friends came to the funeral, of course. That was good and all that. They talked with my Ma all about stories of my Da before...before I knew him. You know.” She scratches her ear. “Um. You know how lalafell...er, dwarves here, I guess...you know how gossipy they can be, right?”

Lyna blinks. “Your father was a dwarf?”

“I was adopted,” Izzie says briskly.

Lyna suddenly understands...much. She puts a hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder.

“Anyway,” Izzie continues, as if startled, “I...I was full-grown when he passed but it was the first time I’d ever thought of him as someone who could have been as stupid as me.” A flash of a smile, but she sobers quickly. “Once upon a time, he was someone who didn’t know me. Even though he’s the only Da I’ve ever known. And that really got to me for a while, that once upon a time he was a person he didn’t tell me much about.”

Lyna looks away, eyes misting.

“You know what I’m saying, right?” Izzie tilts her head to try and meet Lyna’s gaze. “You know a different G’raha than I do. And I’m really glad he had you, Lyna. Really glad. I think you kept him sane.”

“You do not have to say that,” Lyna says automatically.

Izzie’s brows furrow. “I’m saying it because it’s true. And you know it.”

Lyna takes a steadying breath, but it doesn’t stop her voice from breaking. “Sometimes I do not.”

Izzie extends a hand to grasp Lyna’s shoulder. They both ground each other in a maelstrom of loss and hopes newly made, right before their paths must split for a time.

“Me either.” Izzie sniffs. “Lyna, I don’t know if you know this about me, but I was a huge pain in the ass as a child.”

And Lyna laughs.

“And you know what, so was your grandfather, back in my day. Did he ever tell you how we met?”

They sit for a time up in one of the highest spots in the Crystarium, looking over the fluttering lavender of Lakeland while the wind blows their hair from their faces. They share their stories like breaking bread -- a strange, warm sort of memorial for the strangest, warmest man Lyna would ever know.

His soul flickers like a heart between them. And Lyna swears she feels his contentment on the air, if she quiets for long enough. It reminds her, strangely, of cinnamon bread.

Even if it is a fancy, she thinks, it is one I do not mind so much.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fic #crystal exarch #wol x exarch #g'raha tia #g'raha/wol #ffxiv lyna #izzie nenelori #kathryn writes #otp: upon an eternal wind

21 notes · View notes

oh-take-this-longing · 3 years

Text

Prompt 1: Foster

Koriah hadn’t ever seemed a part of the family. Not really. She seemed more mythical creature than Elezen noble to Adelaide. Even the circumstances of her birth, which Adelaide vaguely recalled her parents gossiping about when she was 3 years old, was outside the norm for the family and more like a supernatural gift, like a fairy child being bestowed upon the family rather than the product of nature or love. Her parents would speak all the time about how imminent it was that her aunt and uncle would soon be the first Azmeriens to sever their ‘eternal bond’ and that they hadn’t so much as opened a door for one another or said a word in kindness to each other in the 2 years since they’d been wed.

Then one day her aunt and uncle showed up at her parents’ door holding hands. Holding -ungloved hands-. Holding ungloved hands with their skin touching for everyone to see. And they were smiling. And they were laughing. And they said such scandalous and, frankly, uncomfortable things as “I love you” right in front of everyone! That wasn’t a phrase Adelaide heard all that often outside of children’s tales. It wasn’t something her family ever said. Not in public, not in private, not even in jest, not ever.

And then they did it. They kissed. Still in full view of the whole family! And this was not the usual polite kiss on the cheek or kiss on the back of (gloved!) hands for which Adelaide was so familiar. They kissed each other on the lips. They tilted their heads, smiling, and then put their lips together and 3 year old Adelaide saw it and -frankly- it was weird and she didn’t understand it at all. What was the point of that? She thought maybe it looked kind of gross. When she looked around at the rest of her immediate family with their jaws dropped and their eyes quickly darting away to look at something, anything!, else, her 3 year old thoughts were confirmed. That was definitely weird and gross. If it wasn’t her family wouldn’t react that way. Right?

And it was after that kiss that the announcement had been made. Her aunt was pregnant! And she and Adelaide’s uncle were -happy- about it. Oh, there was plenty of gossip about how the kid must have belonged to another man because she’d been having an affair and the whole lovey-dovey thing was just a public display to squash exactly the rumors that the lovey-dovey display had actually instigated instead. There were teams of couples who’d come over for weekly card, chess, or mahjong nights who would spend the evenings drinking expensive brandy with her parents and betting on who the actual father was. But to everyone’s great astonishment, when Koriah was born she already had a crop of bright red hair the exact same color as her father’s. As she grew up she shared the same striking green eyes as her father as well. Of course, by that point all the gossip had moved on to other couples and their possible infidelities and short-comings and the shock of Koriah’s arrival and the affection between her parents had completely been disregarded.

But not by Adelaide who carried that with her as one of her first memories and would continue to reflect on it as she grew older.

And as her cousin Koriah did not.

The sudden announcement of Koriah’s death when Adelaide was 25 and Koriah was 22 came as much as a surprise as the announcement of her arrival had.

Maybe it shouldn’t have. Koriah Azmerien had always been warm and sunny in personality (or what her detractors would call: ‘frivolous in demeanor’). She didn’t take anything too seriously. She wore what she wanted to. She went wherever she felt. And she genuinely did not care at all about what people said to or about her. When Adelaide would be stuck with insecurity regarding what she should say to someone (or -not- say to someone) at public events, Koriah never understood. She’d say, “If you introduce yourself and they are unimpressed, they are the problem not you. So why worry about it?”

Well, Adelaide worried about it because her mother worried about it. And her sister worried about it. And two of her brothers worried about it. And she’d heard plenty of gossip that told her that she should worry about it. Why didn’t Koriah worry about it!? She’d one day be heading her family’s estate as well, shouldn’t she want to make the right impressions to the right people? Wasn’t she as stuck in this stifling, rules heavy society as Adelaide was?

That answer cleared itself up fairly quickly. At 19 Koriah said she was going off to see the world outside of Ishgard to learn what she could about other places. She longed to see other venues, other people, to taste other foods.

What she really wanted to do was see the Limsan ocean. She’d stared longingly at painted pictures of the ocean since she’d been so small she teetered and fell down more than she actually walked. The bubbly child would get quiet and listen with rapt attention to any story that featured dashing rogues and pirates by the seaside or that told tale of giant sea monsters or seductive sirens. Koriah’s parents eventually tired of buying their daughter stories about the ocean, perhaps wanting her to focus more on Coerthan tales of might and adventure instead, but the ocean had Koriah’s heart. So when her aunt and uncle stopped providing the books… Adelaide found a way to sneak books to her young cousin about high sea adventures instead.

And as Koriah grew older, her taste for the seafaring stories grew as well. Moving past the usual children’s tales, her book collection became… rather more ‘adult’ in nature-- much to Adelaide’s sheltered embarrassment who until her cousin had showed her the collection of erotic and romantic Limsan pirate and rogue stories had not even thought such a thing had existed. By that age, late teens, Adelaide had, of course, known that kissing was a thing. That touching was a thing. That the common folk would sometimes disappear into dark alleys and do… things. But she’d been raised by a very strict mother who had made it clear that such things were ‘crass’ and ‘unladylike’ and that as the future head of the Azmerien household, the future of the Azmerien name, she had best not ever think of such things.

Being told not to think of such things and then being shown books that wrote -exactly- of such things of course meant that Adelaide would rebel. She thought about ‘such things’ frequently. But she’d never -buy- such a book. She’d just borrow them. Where did Koriah even find those? Wasn’t she embarrassed to be seen with them?

No. The answer was no. She said someone had taken the time to write those things so someone might as well take the time to read them. She didn’t make it a point to read them in public and she hid them in her room so they weren’t immediately on display-- but she did not hide that she purchased them herself. “And if someone were to take time to read them, that someone ought to purchase them herself rather than sending out a servant to do it for her.”

So when Koriah said she was ‘off to see the world’, Adelaide knew that she was ‘off to see the ocean.’ And when she imagined Koriah out in Limsa Lominsa she imagined her capturing hearts and scandalous kisses the same way the heroines in her books did. She only wondered if it’d be a pirate or a rogue that she’d end up running away with in the end.

It was a rogue, apparently. Letters from Koriah came back regularly… until they didn’t. Koriah’s parents and younger brother received the boring letters that spoke of Limsan gossip and fashion. Adelaide received the letters that spoke of the things her cousin actually cared about.

And the things she loved.

And the boy she loved.

And that boy’s goofy little brother.

The boy was named Lysander Winsome and he was a key figure in some sort of thieving gang based in Limsa, but it wasn’t the life he wanted anymore. He wanted out. He wanted to save enough to buy a ship-- his dream was an airship because his heart belonged to the sky as much as Koriah’s belonged to the ocean-- and he wanted to get away with only what mattered most to him: his brother and Koriah. She thought it’d be easier to buy a ship they could sail on the ocean. That’d be a dream easier and quicker to reach and while they worked on the ship they could have adventures and save enough for the airship. But what if-- what if one day they had a ship that functioned as both? Wouldn’t that be amazing? Would Adelaide want to come to visit on a vessel that could both sail and fly?

Adelaide wrote that of course she would. But honestly, it was all a little hard to believe. Koriah’s letters sounded as much fiction as any of the books she’d left hidden in her bedroom. Maybe these letters were just fantasy. Maybe they were meant as fun reads when her reality was really just the boring letters about Limsan gossip, sales prices, and fashion that she sent to her immediate family. And she continued to think this until the letters became more sporadic and then stopped all together.

And until she met the goofy little brother.

Adelaide had assumed that ‘Winsome’ was a made up last name. No one was named that. That was an adjective, not a name. But when the 12 (or was it 13?) year old boy with chestnut colored hair, the oversized @dumb-hat swallowing up most of his face so that she could hardly see his amber eyes, looked up at her and then grinned so wide that what she saw of his eyes lit up, and told her that was his real last name… Adelaide knew that it was both an accurate adjective and a real last name.

Koriah’s last correspondence to her family was a letter that Evander clutched in his hands, written in her hand, beseeching them to care for him if he arrived without her and making clear that she gave him all rights to her property-- including her inheritance-- and that her final wish was that he be treated as the family that he was. She had married the boy’s brother in secret and in the absence of her and Lysander-- Evander Winsome was all that was left of her and should be treated with the same love and courtesy that she had been treated when she was there.

She never said ‘alive’ or ‘dead’ in the letter. But everyone knew what it meant.

What Evander did not know and would not ever know, was that a week before he arrived to Ishgard without her cousin, Koriah had written Adelaide a letter too. That letter contained two notarized copies of a will that made legally official and binding that Evander was her heir and was to receive all her property and inheritance. It was sent to Adelaide to ensure that the one person in the family that Koriah trusted as much as herself would have it and could speak up for the young boy in the unfortunate possibility that Koriah’s family would pretend they had never received a letter of their own and tried to wash their hands of Evander.

The letter also read:

“Adelaide,

The storms in Limsa have made the ocean more alive than ever. It thrashes and dances with such exuberance that it makes me want to dance as well. The white sea foam reminds me of the lace hems on the dresses you and I loved so much as children: the ones that would twirl when we’d spin. I wish you could see it.

Lysander and I plan to make our escape soon. I never told you before because I didn’t want to worry you, but the gang did not take it well when Lysander made it clear that he wanted to strike out on his own. In fact, while we don’t speak of it because we don’t want Evander to overhear it, we’re fairly certain they plan to retaliate. As of now we plan to board a trading vessel that will take us out of Limsa Lominsa-- maybe even out of La Noscea entirely. We’ll head somewhere new and see the ocean there. Lysander wants to try his hand at opening a jewelry shop. He thinks he’d like to be a goldsmith. But his dreams and ambitions change as much as the sea does- so when we get to the new place he might decide to do something else entirely! I look forward to it. We both do.

But on the off-chance that we never see that dream come true and that the Limsan ocean is the last one we see, I will pay for Evander’s trip aboard another vessel with a few people I trust and see that he gets to Ishgard. Please welcome him. I don’t know how long he’ll choose to stay-- but I hope he gets a chance to foster new relationships, experiences and a new family while there.

And on the off-chance I never see you again: I love you. I know that’s not a thing the family says. But sometimes it has to be said.

The books belong to Evander now. But you let him know I said that you can keep borrowing them.

Koriah.”

Thank you to @dumb-hat for letting me use his character and his backstory NPCs here! This timeline is certainly not 100% correct, but rather than stressing myself out trying to work out the exact ages and whens and whats-- I’m reminding myself that this is just about getting some writing out there and that I can fix the details later!

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #Foster #Prompt 1 #ffxiv rp #Adelaide #Evander #Koriah #Lysander #Limsa #Ishgard

25 notes · View notes

astrognossienne · 3 years

Text

tragic star: keith moon

“If you don't like it, you can fuck off!” - last words of Keith Moon

This one was a long time coming, but frankly, it took me a while to get interested enough in the subject to actually do this analysis, let alone finish it. At any rate, Keith Moon, like most of the drummers from the rock ‘n’ roll period that we still read about today, led a self-destructive lifestyle. A close friend of his once said the drummer was “like a train ride you couldn’t stop.” Not only was his drumming chaotic – so was his life. According to some, he was at his core a kind and generous soul, but to others, he was lost, lonely soul, and terribly immature throughout his adult life. Perhaps it was the sudden success, upon joining the rock band The Who, when he was only 18 (although plenty of others of the same era were as young, or younger, and survived just fine), but Keith was so eager to please and make everyone laugh that he eventually became the “Moon the Loon” character that he was portrayed as in the media. It got to the point where he wasn't sure who he really was. A true Leo, he made a circus out of everything and he wouldn't walk into any room and just listen. He was an attention seeker and he had to have it. He used amphetamines, tranquilizers, drank way too much alcohol, destroyed hotel rooms and friends’ homes, threw TVs into swimming pools, set fires, and the list goes on. He was ultimately unable to outrun or outlast his demons; whether it was the wife and child he drove away, the friend and chauffeur he accidentally killed in early 1970...whatever else haunted him, it ultimately caught up with him just as he was finally trying to improve his life. Friends were well-acquainted with the many sides to Moon’s strange personality; one minute he was insulting, exaggerating, joking – the next minute he’s a wide-eyed, innocent-looking drummer boy. The public Keith Moon was The Who’s manic drummer and hellraising, daredevil comedian; a man who only ever lived in the moment. However, the real Keith Moon was a son, a brother, a father and a deeply insecure man. A man of extremes, his was a complete shitshow of a life.

Keith Moon, according to astrotheme, was a Leo sun and Cancer moon (the moon is speculative). Moon was born to working class parents in Wembley, London, England. He was a hyperactive child by nature and a mediocre student at school. His art teacher said in a report: "Retarded artistically. Idiotic in other respects". His music teacher wrote that Moon "has great ability, but must guard against a tendency to show off." At the age of 12, he had joined the Sea Cadet Corp and was given his first musical instrument, the bugle. He left school by 15 and was in his first band, The Beachcombers. While performing with the Beachcombers, he used to attend concerts of a band called The Detours. At that time The Detours were planning to sign a deal with Fontana Records and for this deal, this band required a new drummer. The Detours changed their name to The Who in 1964. When Moon learned about the band’s need for a new drummer, he approached them for an audition. After the audition, he became their new drummer, and performed with The Who for the first time in 1962.

From the moment he joined, musically the band was complete, although adding his already volatile personality to those of the other three equally headstrong members meant that the early years of the Who's career were fraught with drama and violence, despite their almost immediate success. Much of the tension came from the fact that Keith readily joined in on popping pills with guitarist Pete Townshend and bassist John Entwistle, while lead singer Roger Daltrey (with whom Keith was never particularly close) didn't. After sacking Roger for two weeks in mid-1965, he was reinstated, band relations improved, and the Who continued to release a string of successful singles and albums before a downturn in their fortunes in 1968. However, the release of the album Tommy in 1969 turned them into international megastars overnight and from that moment until the day Keith died, they would remain one of the top rock bands in the world. Running concurrently with the Who's rise to stardom in the 1960s was Keith's relationship with his wife Kim. She first met Keith in 1965 when he was 19 and she 15, and while they fell in love rather quickly, he exhibited twin streaks of jealousy and insecurity and Moon was occasionally violent towards Kim. While his mental issues, which would now be readily (and correctly) diagnosed as a combination of ADHD and BPD, reared their ugly heads on innumerable occasions, Keith's true personality shone through enough that Kim stayed with him; she decided to marry him when she became pregnant within a year of dating, and they got married in 1966. Their daughter Amanda was born on 12 July. In those days, there was a belief that married rockstars with kids weren’t as appealing to their mostly female fans, and the marriage (and child) were kept secret from the press until May 1968. He loved his daughter, but his absences due to touring and fondness for practical jokes made their relationship uneasy when she was very young. "He had no idea how to be a father", Kim said. "He was too much of a child himself."

The chaotic sixties would not hold a candle to what the new decade had in store for him, however. Shortly after New Year’s in 1970, Moon accidentally killed his friend, driver and bodyguard, Neil Boland, outside the Red Lion pub in Hatfield, Hertfordshire. Pub patrons had begun to attack his Bentley; Moon, drunk, began driving to escape them. During the fracas, he hit Boland. After an investigation, the coroner ruled Boland's death an accident; Moon, having been charged with a number of offences, received an absolute discharge. Those close to Moon said that he was haunted by Boland's death for the rest of his life. Moon had nightmares about the incident and said he had no right to be alive. Also, compounding this tragedy, was the fragile state of Moon’s marriage. Even after marriage and his daughter being born, he was still jealous, self-centered, and abusive to his wife Kim, both verbally and physically. His mental state also deteriorated as his appetite for all manner of pills escalated and he exploded into a full-blown alcoholic. Even after separating for a year, Kim returned to him, hoping that he had finally changed, but the insane lifestyle Keith kept up at their house became too much. Kim and Amanda (nicknamed “Mandy”) finally left for good in 1973. Since his marriage was a central part of Keith's life, their divorce would come to affect him perhaps more than any other event in his adult life and it was a devastation Keith would never recover from. While most people would use an event like this as the impetus to clean up their act, Keith used it instead as an excuse to drive himself further into oblivion.

Moon's lifestyle began to undermine not only his health but his career. During the 1973 Quadrophenia tour, at the Who's debut US date, Moon ingested a mixture of tranquilizers and brandy. During the concert, Moon passed out on his drum kit during the song "Won't Get Fooled Again." The band stopped playing, and a group of roadies carried Moon offstage. After he was given a shower and an injection of cortisone, he was sent back onstage. Moon passed out again during "Magic Bus," and was again removed from the stage. The band continued without him for several songs before Pete Townshend asked, "Can anyone play the drums? – I mean somebody good?" A fan in the audience, who happened to be a drummer, came up and played the rest of the show. During the opening date of the band's March 1976 US tour at the Boston Garden, Moon passed out again over his drum kit after two numbers and the show was rescheduled. By the mid-1970s Keith was living in Los Angeles and getting up to even more insanity with John Lennon, Ringo Starr, Harry Nilsson, and other stars. Even a new love in his life, Swedish model Annette Walter-Lax, couldn't get him to slow down and take control. There were even stints in psychiatric wards after some mental breakdowns brought on by his despair at losing Kim and his daughter and his drinking. His alcohol and drug abuse was now not only affecting his health (he put on a significant amount of weight at this time due to infrequent gigging) but sadly, his drumming. In 1978 soon after he recorded Who Are You, his final album with The Who, depressed by the deterioration of his drumming and threats from the rest of the Who to clean up his act or else, that he finally decided to get some help. By the summer of 1978, he seemed to be trying to get his life in order, staying sober and solidifying his relationship with Annette. He was terrified to go into rehab or under psychiatric evaluation, however, and instead self-medicated with Heminevrin, a drug used for treating acute withdrawal from alcohol. However, he took too many on his final night and sadly died on September 7, 1978 at the age of 32.

Over forty years after his death, it's still difficult to think of Keith Moon as anything more than just a hard-drinking insane rock star who would smash his drum set on stage or destroy a hotel room. But regardless of the human being behind the drumkit, the legendary drummer should be remembered as the man who forever changed the sound of rock 'n' roll.

Next, I’ll go back to my beloved star analyses by covering a personal favourite of mine; a force of nature and an unsung pioneer of cinema whose death was ridiculously sensationalized and whose colourful life was almost as wild as Moon’s: Cancer Lupe Vélez

Stats

birthdate: August 23, 1946*

*note*: due to the absence of a birth time, this analysis will be even more speculative.

major planets:

Sun: Leo

Moon: Cancer

Rising: unknown

Mercury: Leo

Venus: Libra

Mars: Libra

Midheaven: unknown

Jupiter: Libra

Saturn: Leo

Uranus: Gemini

Neptune: Libra

Pluto: Leo

Overall personality snapshot: He may sometimes have wanted a safe, simple life where he felt emotionally contained and able to pursue his own creative interests. Then, however, the compulsion to strive for a more central, leading role reared its challenging head, and he knew he had it in him – so out into the spotlight he went. So immense was his creative energy as well as his warm feeling for others that he could become both the artistic home-maker and the home-loving artist/writer/entrepreneur. His personality was large and welcoming, colourful and theatrical because he had such an uncanny knack of dramatizing his vivid impressions and selling himself in the most genuine, heartfelt way. Both the paternal and the maternal urge was strong in him. He needed to use his will to project and establish your identity in the world, and to use his instincts to nurture and protect his emotional and material security. The Sun and the Moon are in their ‘home’ signs here, so that potentially he had the creative vision of Apollo and the lunar wisdom of Diana all rolled into one. This could make him pretty overpowering at times, and indeed he needed a partner and a family on whom he could lavish his emotions. His bearing was often aristocratic, sometimes haughty, oversensitive and self-absorbed, but he always seemed to have enough affection to go around so that no one felt left out. He also managed to remain approachable and compassionate because he was so aware of his own vulnerability and need to be loved. Thus he made a warm and understanding friend, and he enjoyed expressing his feelings with original flair and thoughtfulness.

He was protective, possessive and clannish, a stalwart member of his family, group and nation, and utterly devoted to his ideals. Deeply honourable and dependable, he brought an attitude of devotion and romantic style to all he did. He may have actually had a good head for business because he possessed an instinctive knowledge of security needs as well as a shrewd understanding of people, their desires, fears and foibles. His refined taste for comfort and beauty was part of the impetus for success – he knew his own mind and did not easily budge from his preferences and high standards. Aesthetic sensitivity was strong, and combined with his innate tenacity and quiet ambition means that he was quite successful in the arts. Even though he readily turned a bright face to the world, he did not always feel confident and strong. He had a lively sense of individuality, but his potency was sometimes too dependent on emotional familiarity, and the range of his self-expression too circumscribed within repetitive emotional patterns. Inwardly he shied away from encounters with the big, bad world, and early in life he may have needed to find ways of handling challenges that normally push the panic button. This wouldn’t have been hard for him because his creative drive was tremendous and his individuality needed recognition.

He was ambitious, sound at giving orders, carried responsibility well and was a good teacher, especially able to bring out the best in children. He believed in herself and generally knew the right thing to say at the right time, although he could show a stubborn and dogmatic side. He had a high opinion of his mental powers, and it was certainly true to say that he had plenty of mental energy. He was quite sociable and expected other people to behave well at all times. He was eager for close personal relationships, so he tended to have a wide circle of friends. Self-indulgence was a problem for him, as was laziness and conceit in relationships. He tended to be impatient with superficial details, preferring large-scale situations, and he disliked being tied down by obligations over which he had little control. Conservatism may have affected his creativity, artistic values and love affairs. This expressed itself as self-imposed restrictions or as selfishness. He often felt inadequate, which created an insidious form of oppression over all his forms of expression. He could also take herself so seriously, that people think that he was older than his years.

He was part of a generation that was strongly interested in humanitarian ideals, new avenues of communication and progress in mechanical skills. As a member of this generation, he was able to bring original ideas to both his career and spare-time interests. Crises in thought and ideology arose because he looked beyond tradition and old attitudes towards new original and inventive ways of looking at things. His active mind tended to need constant stimulation and his tastes could be quite fickle and difficult to satisfy. He belonged to a time of peace-loving idealism when the family unit and the way relationships were managed underwent great changes. He could be too idealistic and a little unrealistic when it came to matters of love, sex and romance. As a member of this generation, he tended to need to be motivated to make the most of his potential, because the line of least resistance appeared very attractive, especially when it involved pleasure-seeking. He embodied the Libra Neptune generation in the sense that he was a huge part of a time when beauty reappeared in fashion. He was part of a generation which was highlighted by the clash between authoritarianism and individualism. As a member of the Leo Plutonian generation, he wanted freedom in his relationships and demanded the loyalty of his friends as a right. As a member of this generation, he wanted power over his own life and was prepared to challenge established structures. He didn’t feel comfortable being dictated to, unless he in some way agreed to it beforehand. He was a part of excesses of the sixties. He was part of a generation that brought about a revolution in forms of entertainment, recreational activities and leisure time, as well as attitudes towards children.

Love/sex life: He was a lover so in love with the idea of love that nothing else matters. At times his whole-hearted idealism made him too optimistic and too easily deceived by people who promised to fulfill his ideals and then renege but, as delicate and unworldly as his romantic fantasy may seem, it was remarkably durable. Though he may have been misused and hurt, he never lost his faith in the power of true love. Issues of the flesh were always secondary to him and he was apt not to give them much thought. If such urges must be satisfied, then so be it. If sex proved useful in reaching other goals, that was fine too. As long as sex did not intrude on his ideal of perfect love such physical inconveniences hardly mattered. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the world did not agree with him on this point and, measured by their standards, his sexual behaviour may have seemed immoral or at least strangely naïve. He needed to learn to allow for such harsh realities even as he strove to create that grand idyll of perfect love.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Gemini

Lilith: Capricorn

Juno: Libra

Chiron: Libra

Vesta: Aries

Ceres: Aquarius

Pallas: Sagittarius

His North Node in Gemini dictated that he needed to prevent his idealism from influencing his thoughts to such a high degree. He needed to consciously develop a more clear-minded and analytical approach involving his thought processes. His Lilith in Capricorn dictated that he was dangerously attracted to women who had a scrappy plucky attitude hot-wired into their psyche. Against his better judgment, he liked to be around a woman who needed to be in control and to be mistress of her own destiny, because her life was in the control of not-so-well-meaning others as a child. Juno in Libra, he sought a mate who was harmonious, artistic, musical and intelligent. He liked beauty and balance at home. He believed in equal partnerships where all lived up to the letter of the law. Chiron in Libra, he often felt wounded in relationships and could wound others in retaliation. He may have felt he was constantly hurt or rejected in relationships. Through learning that he was whole on his own, he could have freed himself from this destructive pattern. He would have benefited from a partner that could have helped him heal in some way. Vesta in Aries, he was incline to initiate work for religious and humanitarian projects. Action came from a desire to improve every situation. There was a great deal of insecurity in self-evaluation. Ceres in Aquarius, at his best, he had tact and the ability to compromise, making him well liked by all. Pallas in Sagittarius, he had the ability to evaluate true personal worth enabling him to use his resources in the most advantageous ways. Other people may think he was lucky. Ideally speaking, he could have been generally positive instead of being wasteful, and he could have been confident and reliable. Nonetheless, he still used his ideas in a practical way, especially in his career.

elemental dominance:

air

fire

He was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and he liked to stir things up. He was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. He was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. He carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, he lived in his head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at his best, he helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives. He was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. He generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. He was exciting to be around, because he was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, he could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Confident and opinionated, he was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because he was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—he was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at his best, his confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

cardinal

He was happiest when he was doing anything new, and he loved to begin new ventures. He enjoyed the challenge of claiming territory. He tended to be an initiator—and a bit territorial as well. Also, he had a tendency to start more things than she could possibly finish.

planet dominants:

Moon

Sun

Venus

He was defined by his inner world; by his emotional reactions to situations, how emotions flowed through him, motivating and compelling him—or limiting him and holding him back. He held great capacity to become a part of the whole rather than attempting to master the parts. He wanted to become whatever it was that he sought. He had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. He likely had strong leadership qualities, he definitely knew who he was, and he had tremendous will. He met challenges and believed in expanding his life. He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships.

sign dominants:

Leo

Libra

Cancer

He loved being the center of attention and often surrounded himself with admirers. He had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely his stage. His flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of his life. He wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. At his best, he was optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious. He loved beauty in all its guises—art, literature, classical music, opera, mathematics, and the human body. He usually was a team player who enjoyed debate but not argument. He was, at his best, an excellent strategist and a master at the power of suggestion. Even though he was likely a courteous, amiable person, he was definitely not a pushover. He tried to use diplomacy and intelligence to get what he wanted. At first meeting, he seemed enigmatic, elusive. He needed roots, a place or even a state of mind that he could call his own. He needed a safe harbor, a refuge in which to retreat for solitude. He was generally gentle and kind, unless he was hurt. Then he could become vindictive and sharp-spoken. He was affectionate, passionate, and even possessive at times. He was intuitive and was perhaps even psychic. Experience flowed through him emotionally. He was often moody and always changeable; his interests and social circles shifted constantly. He was emotion distilled into its purest form.

Read more about him under the cut.

Keith John Moon was an English drummer who played with the English rock band the Who. He was noted for his unique style and his eccentric, often self-destructive behaviour. His drumming continues to be praised by critics and musicians. He was posthumously inducted into the Modern Drummer Hall of Fame in 1982, becoming only the second rock drummer to be chosen, and in 2011, Moon was voted the second-greatest drummer in history by a Rolling Stone readers' poll. Moon grew up in Alperton, a suburb of Wembley, in Middlesex, and took up the drums during the early 1960s. After playing with a local band, the Beachcombers, he joined the Who in 1964 before they recorded their first single. Moon remained with the band during their rise to fame, and was quickly recognised for his drumming style, which emphasised tom-toms, cymbal crashes, and drum fills. He occasionally collaborated with other musicians and later appeared in films, but considered playing in the Who his primary occupation and remained a member of the band until his death. In addition to his talent as a drummer, however, Moon developed a reputation for smashing his kit on stage and destroying hotel rooms on tour. He was fascinated by blowing up toilets with cherry bombs or dynamite, and by destroying television sets. Moon enjoyed touring and socialising, and was bored and restless when the Who were inactive. His 21st birthday party in Flint, Michigan, has been cited as a notorious example of decadent behaviour by rock groups. Moon suffered a number of setbacks during the 1970s, most notably the accidental death of chauffeur Neil Boland and the breakdown of his marriage. He became addicted to alcohol, particularly brandy and champagne, and acquired a reputation for decadence and dark humour; his nickname was "Moon the Loon." After moving to Los Angeles with personal assistant Peter "Dougal" Butler during the mid-1970s, Moon recorded his only solo album, the poorly received Two Sides of the Moon. While touring with the Who, on several occasions he passed out on stage and was hospitalised. By their final tour with him in 1976, and particularly during production of The Kids Are Alright and Who Are You, the drummer's deterioration was evident. Moon moved back to London in 1978, dying in September of that year from an overdose of Heminevrin, a drug intended to treat or prevent symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. (x)

#keith moon #leo #tragic stars #long ass post #star analyses #astrology #mine

12 notes · View notes

coruscantiscribbler · 3 years

Text

Fictober ‘21 Star Wars Rebels Short

Prompt: #31 “Take Me With You.”

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Characters: Wullf Yularen

Title: “Beautiful Dreams”

(This picks up right after “Heart Songs”)

Colonel Wulff Yularen was not a man prone to emotional paroxysms, but this night, as the door to his apartment fell shut behind him, he found himself falling back against the synthwood surface as memories left him shuddering with sorrow.

“Damn the boy,” he muttered into the darkness and silence of the room.

But it really wasn’t young Alexsandr Kallus’ fault that the opera this night, or the young Agent’s instruction on how to appreciate this particular art form had pierced the heart of his superior officer. Yularen had sat hunched in the box at the Galaxies Opera house as sorrow and loss and guilt crashed in waves over him.

The box you're faithful and loving, if somewhat dull, wife of thirty years insisted you rent.

Who had gone to her funeral pyre never knowing how her husband often lay in the darkness of their marital bed longing for the caress of lekku brushing across his chest, of lithe limbs wrapping about his waist pulling him closer as he reached a level of ecstasy he had not thought possible.

He pushed off from the door, and wearily waved on a light. His thoughts fought to go to a delicate pink skinned girl. He pushed them ruthlessly aside. Bad enough that a young officer under his command had witnessed his distress. Worse that the enigmatic alien Commodore out of Unknown Space had also been attendance, and Yularen knew those gleaming red eyes saw much… often too much to the perturbation of Thrawn’s human enemies. Yularen could only hope he did not ever join the ranks of perceived enemies in Thrawn’s mind. The Chiss knew the ISB commander was his ally, Yularen wanted to keep it that way.

Moving to the credenza he poured himself a brandy and settled onto the couch warming the glass between his palms. Yularen tried to think about the work that awaited him at the office. The intricate political dance he was in with Gideon and the Eyes. Which brought a sharp memory of how Thrawn’s red eyes had rested on young Agent Kallus, there was potential trouble there. In the present climate alien and human liaisons were —

And once again Yularen felt the ghost touch of lekku. Her name had been Eo’lani and he had met her when he had been ordered to take medical leave after the battle of Sullust. His flagship, the Resolute, had been destroyed and he’d barely escaped with his life. Guilt over the loss of so many of his crew had gnawed at him, and he’d sought to assuage it in a constantly filled glass.

An older, heavy-set Twi’lek woman had approached him as he sat drinking in a run down cantina. There was desperation in her eyes as she pulled a cloaked figure from behind her and swept away the shrouding material to reveal a young woman.

In broken Basic the woman had said, “My daughter, Eo’lani. She is a good girl. Very quiet, she speaks when she dances. You take her. She will make sure you have only beautiful dreams, human lord.”

“I’m not a lord. Just a soldier. And I have no need of a servant.”

“She not that kind of servant. Please, human soldier man, take her. You will keep her safe from the Hutts.”

Then the girl had lifted eyes like aquamarines to meet his and his breath had gone short. They were also the eyes of a girl who had given up all hope and saw only darkness before her.

He took her, and extended his month long leave to two and then three. He told himself it was on the Republic navy for failing to find him a new ship, and that he had no desire to oust another captain from their command. But it was all lies and excuses because he had lost himself in a dream.

Eventually all dreamers awake and so it had been for him. The Separatists were pushing forward, the Republic falling back. Duty called. And Vivianne had called wondering why her husband had chosen to convalesce on an alien world instead of returning home to the arms of his wife?

Yularen had once again donned his uniform and prepared to leave. His dream neither begged nor cried. There was a bravery and a dignity to Eo’lani, so she asked only once.

“Take me with you.” More of a statement than a plea really.

Gods forgive him he had refused. He gave her money and left the small house he had rented and returned to war.

Where was she now? He could find out. He commanded an army of agents and spies. But what if he discovered she was married? Or enslaved? Or dead?

But what if she wasn’t any of those things?

He could bring her here. Call her his housekeeper. Even just the thought sent fire along his nerves and had his breath going short.

The flare of hope died into ash. Gideon would ferret out the truth and the scandal in this time of human supremacy would destroy them both. No, better to leave her as memory.

Setting aside the snifter, Yularen pushed off the couch with a groan and a sigh, and headed to his bedroom. Perhaps he would have only beautiful dreams this night.

But he doubted it.

#Star Wars #Fictober '21 #Star Wars Rebels #wullf yularen #opera #memories #regrets #twi'lek

6 notes · View notes

solarwindswriting · 3 years

Text

Oh, The Places You’ll Go

Chapter 2

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Loosely inspired by the song Greek Tragedy by the Wombats

Pairing: Scotty x FemalePresenting!Reader

Word Count: 3313

Summary: The Enterprise welcome party is in full swing, and our two main characters finally meet each other!

Warnings: excessive alcohol consumption (I think that’s it)

A/N: So, I didn’t notice how long this part was until it was too late. I wanted to slip it into two but I couldn’t find a reasonable place to do it. So instead you get over 3k words. Sorry lol. Also, thank you so much to those who showed interest in being tagged, you have no idea how big that is for me!

Tags: @mournthewicked @damalseer

“Oh my, does this dress make my butt look bigger?” Sara asks, standing in front of the mirror in a shop.

“Is that what you want? If so, yes. Why do you need a new dress anyway? You have so many beautiful ones already.” Y/n wonders out loud while looking through the racks.

“Because I want to make a good first impression. Besides, I heard the crew of the Enterprise are all quite attractive. I’ve got to live up to that.” Sara responds, walking back into the dressing room.

“Sara, you are one of the most attractive people I know. Neither of us would have a problem if we went in something we already owned.” Y/n laughs, pulling out a flowing deep blue dress off the rack. “What about this?”

Sara pops her head out of the dressing room, watching as Y/n holds the dress up to her body. Sara’s eyes widen and shake her head frantically in agreement before her head disappears back into the dressing room, “absolutely. Go try that on right now.”

Y/n walks into a dressing room with the dress in hand. The dress was made with elegant royal blue tulle with embroidered stars speckled over the top layer. It fell over Y/n’s body perfectly, off the shoulders and stopped to about mid-calf, and whished when she moved. Stepping out, Y/n looks at Sara who was now sitting in a chair with the black cocktail dress she had tried on previously.

“You look like a greek god in that dress, Y/n,” Sara mused.

Y/n walked in front of the mirror and twirled. “Is it too much? If I get this, you have to pick a more exciting dress than what you’ve got.”

“It’s not too much but if it takes me getting that dress that makes my butt look good for you to buy that, I’ll do it,” Sara responds while walking over to the rack where she found the aforementioned dress.

With both dresses paid for, the friends left the shop and headed to Y/n’s apartment to pick up the things she needs to get ready at Sara’s.

“So, Let’s see what we’re getting ourselves into,” Sara started, looking at her datapad with photos of the crew while she walks.

“Sara, we’ve looked at these photos thousands of times. We know what they look like,” chuckles out Y/n, weaving their arm with hers.

“Yes, but that was different. Now we’re performing reconnaissance for the party tonight.”

“And what does your reconnaissance tell you?” Y/n glances at the pad.

“That Lieutenant Uhura is very attractive and only one rank above us.” Sara giggles as she reads Uhura’s personnel entry. “She’s also incredibly smart.”

“And very taken by Commander Spock,” Y/n points to the relationship status on file.

Sara deflates slightly before swiping through the next few personnel files. She stops on Commander Spock next.

“And this is the Vulcan you’ll be working under. Good luck with that, Y/n. I hear he’s rather cold.” Sara comments before continuing to swipe.

“He’s not that cold if he’s in a relationship. Also, isn’t he half human?” Y/n stops Sara before she walks into the busy street.

Sara ignores the potential harm she could have caused herself, and next stops on Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, better known as Scotty.

“Cheif of Engineering. I hear he’s basically married to the ship,” Sara laughs and restarting to walk once the crosswalk is open.

“Next,” Y/n chuckles bad.

“Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer. I heard he has a cute accent but is a bit of a hardass. Remind me not to get hurt a lot.” Sara side-eyes Y/n while she talks.

“Good to know. Bet he knows how to make a good drink though.” Y/n speculates as they enter their apartment building.

“And Lastly, for the head of different groups, Captain James T. Kirk. Quite the looker.” Sara smirks to herself.

“And quite the flirt,” Y/n laughs at her friend as she unlocks her apartment. “I’ll be right over. I just need to pick up a few things.”

Living in the same building as your best friend had its perks. Getting ready for events was one of them. After picking up her makeup and a pair of heels that match her dress, Y/n walks over to Sara’s apartment and opens the door.

“Hey, why didn’t you wake me up this morning?” Y/n questioned, setting her makeup down next to Sara’s.

“Oh, I tried, you wouldn’t budge. I figured you’d make it eventually. And you did! So points for Sara.” She muses as she grabs two hard ciders from her fridge.

“I could have missed graduation!” Y/n fakes anger as she takes the cider from her dear friend.

Both get to work on their makeup and hair. Sara loosely curls her auburn hair, whereas Y/n does her hair in her favorite style. Once they were both ready, they left Sara’s apartment towards the location of the welcoming party, an old-style bar reminiscent of old San Francisco. The two stood in front of the main doors, peering into the windows, unsure if they should just walk in or not.

“Lieutenants! Very nice to see you two could make it.” A strong hand falls on Y/n’s shoulder, causing them and Sara to turn towards the voice to see a hand outstretched. “How about a proper introduction? I am Captain James T. Kirk. You’re welcome to just call me Kirk when we are off duty. And this is Commander Spock.”

Y/n takes Kirk’s hand to shake then trading with Sara to shake Spock’s. “I am Lieutenant Junior Grade Y/n Y/l/n. I just go by Y/n when off duty. And this is-”

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Sara Conners, Sir! It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Well, we should probably get inside and join the party, yes?” Kirk suggests, holding the door open for the other three.

The music playing was just above a comfortable volume, but quiet enough where you could hold a conversation without yelling. Sara and Y/s walk up to the bar to order drinks when a young man approaches them with a wide smile.

“Hello, I’m Pavel Ch-”

“Chekov. Navigation right?” Sara finishes for him, reaching out her arm. “Sara Conners. A pleasure to meet you!”

Pavel chuckles shaking Sara’s hand, “Did your research I see. And you are?” He finishes with a soft Russian accent, looking at Y/n.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” She says, shaking his hand. “Got any suggestions on what to order from here?”

“Well, the midtier brandy is spectacular here. But they do have a wonderful mint julep.” He states before waving over the bartender and ordering himself a brandy.

“We’ll take two mint juleps please.” Sara catches the bartender before he’s able to walk off.

“So, are you two in a relationship? You seem very close.” Pavel questions, sipping from his glass.

“No, just really close,” Sara answers, reaching for the newly arrived drinks and handing one to Y/n.

“Ah, cool,” Pavel beams. “Have you met the rest of the bridge crew yet? I can introduce you!”

Pavel leads Sara and Y/n to a table where Kirk and Spock were sat with two others.

“This is Nyota Uhura and Leonard McCoy. You’ve met the Captain and Spock already, yes?” Pavel introduces the crew with a bright smile. “Everyone, this is Y/n Y/l/n and Sara Conners.”

Hello’s and handshakes were exchanged. Pavel is pulled away by a few other ensigns towards what Y/n now notices a karaoke machine.

“So, Lieutenant Y/l/n, You will be working under me. Is there a particular area of study you wish to work on while abroad the USS Enterprise?” Spock questions.

“Oh, um yes. I’m looking specifically for new worlds with large deposits of Bio-mimetic Gel. It has many wonderful medical applications but very-” Y/n is cut off by Leonard.

“Regulated by the Federation. Do you have the proper paperwork and training to be handling such a hazardous material, young lady?” Leonard questions.

“Hey, we’re here to celebrate and have a good time, not to discuss work. Give the girl one more night of freedom.” Kirk interrupts and chuckles. “Also, call him Bones, he hates it.”

“I would love to answer your question, Lieutenant Commander McCoy. My last two years at the Academy majorly consisted of training and research with Bio-mimetic Gel under the supervision of Erika Biordi. My research has been in stabilizing the gel for transport and more widely used medical purposes. I have papers signed by President Kenneth Wescott and the proper containment materials that should already be aboard the Enterprise. This could be major for doctors all over the Federation. Also, I wouldn’t be able to do this work unless the Captain has approved it.” Y/n smiles thinly at the doctor.

Kirk, Spock, and Uhura all look impressed by the confidence in which Y/n spoke. Bones looks more apprehensive about the situation. Kirk broke the silence, “Y/n have you met Scotty yet?”

Y/n shakes her head no and notices Sara slinked off at some point to talk with Pavel more. Kirk leads Y/n towards the back corner to a table with three chairs. At the table sat a gentleman in a brown leather jacket and a Roylan both embroiled in a heated conversation about… power converters?

“No, Keenser, that will overload the Warp Drive, she won’t be able to take that kind of power without the proper energy suppressers.” A thick Scottish accent talks tensely between sips of whatever is in his glass.

“Can no one on my ship take a day off?” Kirk laughs, clapping his hand onto Montgomery’s shoulder.

“Ey, not when you have a potential explosion risk due to Keenser, Sir,” Montgomery responds.

“Well, I’ve got bad news then. I’d like to introduce you to Lieutenant Junior Grade Y/n Y/l/n. One of the newest graduates from Starfleet Academy. She will be studying Bio-mimetic Gel.” Kirk pulls the third chair out and motions to Y/n to sit. “She’s not getting along so great with Bones and thought you two might get along better.”

And with that Kirk walks away. The three are quiet, Y/n sipping on her mint julep that She’s about half done with.

“Sorry, I didn’t know I’d be interrupting a conversation. You can act like I’m not here.” Y/n said just loud enough to be heard over the sound of Sara and a couple of ensigns poorly singing Africa on stage.

“Why did you decide to study Bio-mimetic Gel?” The question from Montmonery surprised Y/n.

“Oh, um, when I was younger, Bio-mimetic Gel saved my mother’s life while out on a five-year mission. Her ship shouldn’t have even had any onboard, but they had just commandeered some from a smuggling vessel. If they hadn’t found that ship when they did and the doctor on board willing to take the risk, my mother would be dead and I would never have been born. So, when I heard they were wanting to do more research into it to potentially make it a commonly used substance by Federation doctors, I jumped at the chance. Sorry, that’s probably a lot more information than you were asking for.” Y/n found herself rambling.

The Cheif engineer just shook his head slightly, finishing off his drink. “No, I asked, Lass. I rarely get full explanations of why someone joined Starfleet. It’s refreshing. I’ll be right back, I’m going to get a refill. Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah, Sure. I’ll take one of whatever you’re getting. Thank you, Montgomery.”

“Please, call me Scotty.” He said, before walking off towards the bar.

Keenser and Y/n sat in more silence as they finished their drinks waiting for Scotty to return. Peering towards the bar, Y/n notices Scotty being stopped by some ensigns to chat.

“So, how long have you been on the enterprise?” Y/n asks Keenser.

Keenser babbles in his native tongue something along the lines of “not very long.”

Y/n nods in acknowledgment, “very cool. Do you like it?”

Keenser simply nods as Scotty returns, placing a glass in front of Y/n.

“Thank you, Scotty.” Y/n smiles at the man now sitting across from them.

“No problem, Lass. This will unfortunately be my last drink for the night. Going to head up to the Enterprise tonight to get a head start on some undocking prep. Coming with Keenser?” Keenser huffed in response, Finishing his drink and hopping down from his chair.

“Oh, okay. Have a goodnight then. Don’t overwork yourself. It’s supposed to be a night off.” Y/n waves goodbye to Scotty and Keenser.

Almost as soon as they leave, their spots are taken by Sara and Pavel.

“Y/n! You HAVE to get up there and sing!” Sara’s words slur as she waves her arm towards the small stage in the bar.

“Yes, you should take her advice, Lieutenant,” Pavel smiles towards Y/n.

“No, I’m perfectly fine here. And call me Y/n, Pavel. When do you want to go home, Sara?” Y/n looks with a soft smile towards her friend. She isn’t feeling the alcohol as intensely as Sara but she assumes that’s because she’s had significantly fewer drinks than her friend.

Sara looks at Y/n like they’ve just committed the most heinous crime. “What do you mean you don’t want to go up and sing. You have the most beautiful voice! And I bet your dress would look stunning under those lights.” Sara leans further into Y/n, head now resting her head on her shoulder, and whispers, “You can sing that old Earth song you like so much.”

Y/n chuckles at her friend while shaking her head. “You’re going to have to get a lot more alcohol into me before I’m willing to sing in front of the whole crew.”

Before Y/n could finish talking, Pavel was already up and at the bar, ordering a double round of shots. After a couple of minutes, he returns with a tray of purple shots. The trio cheers the first round to their health and quickly follows it with another to their safety aboard the ship. The trio continues to drink and after about an hour, Y/n is successfully sloshed. Sara convinced Y/n and Pavel to sing Sara’s favorite song that her grandmother loved called ‘Shut Up and Dance’. This was not a song to sing well, but more to just yell the word to. They even got a few of the old crewmates to sing along. Y/n was having a blast and finally thought she couldn’t wait to be working with these people. A group of nurses went on next and sang some modern rock anthem.

Y/n cut themself and Sara off after that song and convinced Sara to drink some water and eat some more food. Both slowly started to sober up, Pavel never seemed very drunk though. People begin to leave back to their homes or hotels for the night. It was starting to get late. Y/n shivers.

“Are you cold, Y/n?” Pavel asks.

“A bit, but I’ll be fine.” Y/n smiles at the kind man.

“Um,” Pavel looks around and spots something on the back of Sara’s chair and grabs it, “put this on.”

‘Scotty’s jacket? When did he take that off?’ Y/n wonders to herself as she slides the jacket on. ‘I’m sure her wouldn’t mind. I’ll just bring it to him on the ship tomorrow.’

“Y/nnnnn, come ooon. Barely anyone is left and I got you drunk like you said I had to. Go sing a solo song.” Sara nudges Y/n elbow towards the stage again.

“Fine, but I’m not happy about it!” Y/n laughs, walking onto the stage after the current song ends.

Sitting on a stool on stage, Y/n adjusts the mic to her sitting height. ‘Take Me To Church’ starts playing.

***

Scotty left earlier than he had planned. But talking with the new science officer made him feel odd and he didn’t want to be rude so he lied about needing to work on the ship. She’s much too young for him he thought. She has her whole life of research ahead of them. He couldn’t be with someone who dressed so elegantly, he was a bumbling fool and could never compare. She didn’t need him, some old Scotsman pinning for her. So instead, he and Keenser walked around the surrounding area until they got tired. About an hour had passed when Scotty realized something.

“Keenser, where’s my jacket?”

Keenser looks at Scotty and responds in his native tongue, “you left it at the bar.”

“Damnit, why didn’t you say anything?” He huffs out, turning around to walk back to the bar and get his Jacket.

He had walked further than he realized from the bar and took him about half an hour to return. As he entered the front doors, he watched Y/n walk onto the stage with his jacket on. Confused, he walks up to Kirk who now sat alone at the bar.

“Y/n said you went back to the ship,” Kirk prodded at the engineer.

“Yeah, but I noticed I forgot my jacket.” Scotty’s accent was unmissable.

“I noticed.” Kirk glances knowingly at Y/n who has started singing on stage.

Most people continued to talk but a few people stopped to listen to Y/n sing. Sara and Pavel sat at their table swaying dramatically to the song. Sara even started waving her arms slowly above her head, causing Y/n to chuckle as she sang. Scotty became enraptured in Y/n singing and began swaying lightly to her voice.

On the last line, “Good God, let me give you my life,” Y/n makes eye contact with Scotty, making her instantly blush.

Hopping off the stage, Y/n shuffles towards him while taking off his jacket.

“Sorry, Pavel found your jacket. I planned on giving it to you tomorrow on the ship but I got cold and put it on. Sorry.” Y/n talked fast, face beet red while shoving the jacket into Scotty’s arms and running back towards Sara before he could get a word out.

“Thanks,” Scotty whispers under his breath, looking down at his jacket.

He slides his arms into it, still warm from Y/n wearing it. Her song had entranced him. It wasn’t a song he was familiar with, must be old. He doesn’t usually care for music, but he thought he would listen to music for hours if she was the one singing it. Scotty shook his head free of those thoughts. By the time he came back to reality, Y/n was gone.

“What are you thinking about, Scotty?” Kirk prodded.

“Nothing, Sir. Goodnight” Scotty straightened out his back before leaving the bar and walking to his hotel room.

***

“Sara, it’s time to go,” Y/n spoke quickly

“What? But I’m still having fun.” Sara huffed.

“Yeah, and we both need to be up and on the transport shuttles at 0700. Let’s go, Rockstar. Goodnight, Pavel, we’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/n pulled Sara to her feet and waved goodbye to Pavel.

The cool, damp air was refreshing on Y/n’s skin. The walk wasn’t long to their apartments, which Y/n was thankful for. She helped Sara into her apartment and bed, setting their friend’s alarm with plenty of time to get ready before going to her apartment to do the same. Y/n quickly fell asleep with oddly invading thoughts of one Montgomery Scott.

#scotty x reader #montgomery scott x reader #montgomery scott imagine #montgomery scott aos #star trek aos #solarwindswriting

34 notes · View notes

ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

emerald dreams: REDACTED | kth

⇢ pairing: taehyung x reader

⇢ genre: series, blackmirror!au, angst, fluff, artist!taehyung, strangers to lovers, set sometime in a dystopian era of technology, taehyung is s o f t

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, memory loss, mentions of death, themes of grief/depression

⇢ summary: in a technologically advanced utopia where a memory can be stored as a data file in a chip inserted in your head, it was entirely impossible to forget anything. when you met taehyung, a young at heart yet talented artist, he garnished an odd familiarity, raising suspicion that some of your memories had been lost in the digital cloud, or worse, erased from your memory chip.

♪ playlist: IDK you yet - alexander 23 • 4 o' clock - v & rm • jamais vu - bts • the story - brandi carlile • moonlight - ariana grande ♪

╰ episode index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: if you don't watch black mirror then just imagine that everything is technology based, even the inner mechanisms of your thoughts/mind/memories and social culture has centered around the automation of the human body. also the government is sleazy and controls literally everyone in this au >:) also, i'm going to try and update this weekly!!

Scenario No. 2: Re-test

You didn’t expect to be spending your weekly visit at your favorite coffee shop gasping for air in the single occupancy commode. An unsettling familiarity had reached into your chest and compromised the body of your lungs, now savagely hyperventilating for air, and seized control on the reins of every sensory neuron in your body.

First, it was the sensation of sound. That voice, that unusually specific coffee order, the soft lilt of politeness riding through his etiquettes of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ struck right in your chest with a shockwave of deja vu, like you’ve heard that order before, a million times before perhaps. No part of you would let go of the fact that for some reason, this stranger was someone you knew very well.

And yet you had no idea who he was.

“Hi, how are you?” He smiled to ease the nerves of the overworked barista on this Sunday afternoon. Your ears picked up his husky, sweet tone through the scuttle of customers walking in and out of the shop and a commotion of side conversations that filled the room. It was quite noisy, enough so that it muffled any specific utterances, but the bass of his voice had met your ears with a strong posture of familiarity.

You looked over to the sweater draped over his frame that fit snugly against his broad shoulders. That was when your visual senses were overrun with the muted forest green of the knitted jumper. You’ve seen this color green. To be fair, green was always secured in your life abundantly through your own will. You had always loved this color and demonstrated this through small displays such as picking the green straw from a bundle of multicolored ones, or scanning over a set of shirts to find which one had the most green in it.

You surrounded yourself with a life full of green, but when this green sweater was paired with the voice there was a strange jolt of reminiscence.

It was not just a sweater, it was a sweater that you have touched, even worn before. And when he wore it, it wasn’t just any green. It was his green.

His figure drew closer to you as he waited at the side bar for his drink to be called, sending a waft of his scent to nullify those of fresh brewed coffee and pastries. Along with your eyes and ears, your nose now fell to the magnetism of this stranger.

He smelled of fresh evergreen with a bit of pinewood, mixing into an overwhelming oaky aroma. As the smells that resembled a tranquil forest ruminated through your lungs and your bloodstream, it weakened your body to a state of paralysis. Your motor skills were numbed to endow a series of mental backflips to figure out where this estranged attraction was coming from, and why it was him who provoked it.

Standing comatose in the middle of a populated coffee shop meant the clash of your body into another's was bound to occur. And of course, it was his body that bumped you out of the trance of obscured memories. It was his arms that held your shoulders steady so you wouldn’t topple over and spill your latte over yourself.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you there. Are-” His eyes studied your aghast expression, “Hey, are you okay?”

This marked the compromise of your visual sensory. You looked right into his eyes, kind and concerned, and your surroundings had melted away into a whirl of unidentifiable colors. Your body was transported to a purgatory that rested between reality and a dream-like setting, which eventually molded itself into actuality before your eyes.

Redacted File No. 6

Suddenly you turned your head side to side and the territory that was once a café was no more, and had alchemized into a zone of unparalleled comfort. To your left, you were warmed by a wood-burning fireplace with stones crested along the frame of the pit. Your body was covered in a blurred canvas of forest green, and there were two hands holding your body gently and lovingly. It was a vision so incredibly clear and intricate it couldn’t be conjured through imagination or illusion, but a very real and vivid memory.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry… You’re okay right?” His jostling hands fainted the memory that swept you from the cafe. You blinked a few times before your eyes could refocus and land you to your present circumstances.

The man’s firm grip hadn’t abandoned your shoulders even though you regrounded your balance, which quickened the pace of your heart. They you earnestly, that even though you were certainly not going to fall over, he wouldn’t have let go. Without more than an array of unintelligible stutters to confirm you were okay, because you weren’t okay, you hobbled backward quite ungracefully to the privacy of the bathroom. After your rushed retreat, you tried to analyze the string of memories that pervaded your mind.

How do you know this man? Were these your memories? Or perhaps your memory chip glitched and downloaded files that didn’t belong to you?

The blunder of confusion racked your head with a slight tension headache. What was once a temporary occupancy of the restroom turned into a marathoned hideout until you could safely assume the stranger’s drink was made and he would leave the vicinity.

You checked your phone to count the duration of time spent. It had been about ten minutes since you pathetically holed yourself up, and it would be about five more minutes until you felt you could confidently emerge and escape.

You knew him, and for some reason it sent you into a fearful sequester.

Luckily, just last week you downloaded an upgraded storage plan which gave you access to all your past memories.

You activated the chip residing in your temple to trace every single unit in the archives, even the ones from as early as your birth, to see if anyone, including the likes of a passing stranger, a waiter that took your order three weeks ago, even a student from your high school class, resembled the man in the café. There were no records in your memory files of someone who echoed the same unsettling familiarity that this man had.

If the advanced technology that contained each capsule of every moment in time that you have ever experienced couldn’t give you the data on this man, then perhaps it was just an unusual coincidence.

One of those Twilight Zone-esque occurrences that isn’t deployed through factual evidence. Though you weren't entirely met with closure for this reasoning, it was enough to cope through the rest of your lengthened stay in the restroom.

What battered your precisely timed and nearly successful plan to avoid further interactions with this man was the light knock against the door. And it was the feeling of guilt that there must be other customers who planned on using the bathroom for its intended purpose that hoisted you up and had you reluctantly vacating the protected area.

Though, it was punishingly ironic that the one who had torn you from your sanctuary was the same person who put you there in the first place.

“Sorry,” He apologized about three times within the small window of time he’d been confronted by you and you already caught on to his habit of perpetual remorse, “Um, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I bumped into you and you kinda… freaked then ran and hid in the bathroom.”

If he weren’t so considerate to a stranger that was acting oddly evasive, this would have been easy. But he was considerate, and this was unbelievably difficult.

“Yeah um,” Your eyes sank down to rest on the comforting hue of his sweater, “I’m, uh, I'm okay. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, dislodging the nervous laugh blocking his words.

“Okay well, I was just wondering if you were all good. You seemed a little shaken up back there.” Frankly, he still sensed something about him was off-putting to you, but he tried to deny it for the moment.

Your assurances fell gravely short of convincing since you couldn’t even bring your eyes to level with his. The soft-spoken gesture of kindness made you feel like a helpless animal that would surrender at the slightest sign of danger. It was a fair assessment for you acted as though his accidental collision into you through a crowded space was the end of the world.

“Yeah, sorry. Thank you!” You chirped to imitate a normal reaction despite this tremendously abnormal situation. “I was just um… It's just one of those days, ya know?”

Then, it was his smile that cluttered your sensation of touch. He was standing a respectable distance from you, however, his smile touched you. It cornered you into blurting out something even more peculiar than the overwhelming deja vu that had been commencing the moment you noticed him.

“Do I-” You paused to lower your voice that could have outsourced to the collection of ruckus in the café. Now in a whisper, you continued, “Do I know you?”

He didn’t offer a voiced response, but an equally bewildered expression. You couldn't quite read what this implied so you assumed he thought you were crazy, maybe even a bit creepy.

“Sorry! Fuck, that’s so creepy. I’m just gonna go.” Before you had the chance to push past him and the billowing clouds of regret, he obstructed your path to the doorway with his body.

“No! I think I know you too. Like, I’ve never seen you but I remember you. Like… Like a dream.” He scaled the length of your body with his eyes, which only manufactured his intuition into an undoubtable certainty. “I know you. How do I know you?”

“Hell if I know. I’m just as confused as you.” You felt your body slumping into itself under his gaze. He was attentive to every detail of you, from the length of your hair to the twitch of your fingertips, making you feel over exposed to this stranger that wasn’t a stranger.

“Well, do you wanna maybe sit? Have a coffee with me?” He propagated his interest like there was no reason to be afraid which only intimidated you further. There wasn’t a real threat in his invitation, however accepting it felt like you were walking on thin ice.

The government agent standing guard with a perfect earshot of every conversation wiring through the small café didn’t help ease your nerves either.

“I really should be heading home soon.” Guilt worked quickly to try and compensate for the discouraged expression on his face, “But… if you give me your number I’ll call you and maybe we can go out for lunch or something?”

He traded his grim with excitement while pulling a pen from his pocket and walking over to the condiments bar to write his number on a napkin. You had no clue as to why, but the fact that he had a pen on hand was strikingly nostalgic, much so as every other detail you had acquired from him.

Although entirely unheard of, you felt like this new knowledge of him was not adding to the collection, but rather dusting old artifacts that had simply been forgotten. You weren’t learning things about him, but instead remembering them; the more you stood watching him scribble his name and number on the napkin, the deeper you entrenched yourself in this theory.

Not to mention, you couldn’t recall the last time someone favored using a pen over a keyboard and a paper napkin over a digital contact entered on your phone.

What kind of person carries around a pen in the age of modern technology?

“Thank you. I’m ___, by the way.” Your hand wavered a bit before holding out to greet him, and when his hand made contact, you could have sworn on your own life that this wasn’t the first time it happened.

This was no introduction. It was a reunion.

The fix of his gaze had suggested he too felt reminiscent with the feeling of your hand.

A shared inability to let go held your hands together, trying to harness a bit of recognition or recall a social function where you two might have met in passing. Neither one of you had shown any intention to pull away, which dragged the formality of shaking hands into a gesture of mutual wonder; now you were not so much exchanging a handshake but rather holding each other. Holding tightly, as if you were rediscovering a mass of feelings that would give you an answer.

However, the answer was not generous enough to make itself available to either of you.

It could have been hours until you were able to unriddle this strange sensation, so you made the preventative move of pulling away before the warmth concocting between your hands would produce a light sweat on your palm.

He too seemed to retract upon regaining his sensibilities, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he would have held on for longer, maybe even forever if necessary. If it would regroup the unattainable and partially inexistent memories into cognizance.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Redacted File No. 12

You clung with desperate persistence onto the flaccid hand. Trailing up the arm was an indiscernible figure that had no features, no notable detailing, not even a vague outline of facial structure; just an ethereal glow that projected throughout the entire room. The nebulous haze terminated any identifiable aspect of the room except the hand you were holding, so you focused on the scant detail your eyes offered.

There was no specified context, no real evidence that you had to hold on, but something deep within you was urging for it. Some omnipotent instinct which prophesied that if you let go of the hand, you would in turn be letting go of the world.

You had to hold on.

However your hands wouldn’t obey you. Each time you tried to tighten your fingers, it felt as if the hand would continue slipping from your grasp. Or maybe, your hands weren't gripping at all.

They were numb, or paralyzed, and unable to execute your urgencies. The more force you exerted into your dire intentions, the easier it was for the hand to grow limp and melt through your fingers like liquid. It was frustrating, your willful attempts to hold on seemed to elicit the opposite effect as the hand, unowned by a certain being, resigned from yours.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.” You chanted through the tears, feeling as though that would somehow ignite a stronghold on the lifeless hand falling away.

But even so, it did fall away.

Perhaps the pain of it was that it wasn’t you who was letting go, but the hand that was being taken away from you. That you had been fighting a losing battle far beyond the prospects of your own decisions or control.

You begged for mercy, but were bestowed with your hands clean of what it was trying so desperately to hold onto. The hand slipped and when you peaked through the glaze of tears, your knuckles and fingers were gripping airy, cold emptiness.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.”

Soon you were captured in a perpetual aria of pleas to the ears of a God that would not listen. Unsettling despair had mutilated the illuminating glow of the room to bleak darkness. The world of colors had fallen absent akin to the cold hand vaporizing alongside the dispersal of light.

Then, everything was black.

Your eyes shot open with deep distraught.

The full moon flashed against your dampened face; half of the moisture sourced from a cold sweat and half from the heavy tears pouring from your eyes.

You knew the only explanation for this dream, which resonated more closely to a memory than a figment of sleepful imagination, was curated by the peculiar events that took place earlier today.

Soon, the dream drifted from your mind as consciousness took its place. Your tardy response to write the sparse remnants of it had left you with nothing but a distorted plot of what transpired during your slumber.

Widening your awakening through long sips of water had forced you into an obsessive rewinding of your memory files. It was a shame there wasn’t technology yet to store memories of your dream, or you’d have been replaying the one you just dreamt about a hundred times.

You scanned through a collection of moments in the afternoon when you first met Taehyung. The clear, digital picture of him glassed over your eyes, taking the place once inhabited by the moon, as you pressed the play button on the handlebar of functions.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

You rewound no later than a second after he introduced himself back to the beginning.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Rewind. 0.5 x speed.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Said in a distorted voice from the ‘reduce speed’ function you equipped.

“Kim Taehyung.” You muttered to the empty room and the bright moon.

Sleeping was abstracted to an impossibility, and for the sake of your sanity, you walked over fish out the napkin in your coat pocket. It took you a while to move on from meticulously inspecting Taehyung’s handwriting.

The aimless effort to recall if it was the penmanship of some classmate had slackened to yet another unmet hope. Taehyung didn’t reside in your memories, but claimed quite an existence in your intuition. However, that wasn’t satisfying enough. You settled with the unsolved familiarity, though not before a lengthy wrestle between your eyes and the seven numbers scribbled into the napkin.

After dancing with the idea of it, you resolved some courage to finally dial. Each ping of the phone had you dreading for the automated message to inform you the recipient was not available at the moment, that you would have to hang up or wait for the tone to leave a message. Little by little your spirited nerve had depleted as you were now practicing what message you would leave Taehyung in his voicemail box, praying that it wasn’t full.

“Hello?” The sound of his voice interrupted the seventh or eighth ring, along with your rehearsal of the voicemail you assumed you’d have to leave being that the moon had been aging the sky into midnight.

“Oh! Oh, sorry I didn’t expect you to pick up.” After the chaotic pounding in your chest settled, you realized how nonsensical you sounded. Everything you methodically planned to say had been scattered by his unprecedented answer.

Instead of asking why you would call if you expected him not to pick up, he asked with a kind curiosity:

“Who is this?” He didn’t sound tired, in fact it sounded as if he had been hard at work preceding this call.

“Oh yeah! It’s ___, from the coffee shop. You remember me right?” Though you powered through, the worry was quite deafening. Taehyung seemed to pick up on it and diffused it with a gentle chuckle.

“Of course I remember.” On the other end of the line, he had been penciling a sketch on a blank page in his notebook.

The serenity of the stars and moon pinned on the navy blue sky never failed to spark inspiration. Taehyung was the type to refuse passing up a surge of an artistic muse, even if that meant he would shed a few hours of sleep from his routine. No matter the time or place, he always had a pen on hand to honor his heart’s unremitting passion.

He loved the moon and stars. He loved it so much as one would love a dear friend. He wished to be a part of the scenes of lights that hovered just out of reach, but could only settle on capturing a piece of the starry heavens on paper with his trusty pencil, sketchbook, and emerald-tinted muse.

“It’s late to be calling, but you’re lucky I was awake.” He said to hide how ecstatic he was you had actually called.

For someone you had just met, or at least you thought you just met, he threaded a flirtatious coyness in his response. It difficult to hush the winged eruption in your stomach because of that.

“Lucky, huh.” You repeated through a mumbled laugh, “I was just… I was thinking.”

“About what?” He had placed his phone on speaker mode and laid it next to his sketchbook.

There was a new inspiration that bore a louder siren than that of the moon and the stars. He sifted through the memory files throughout his day to the minute he first bumped into you, and though your face had been ingrained quite clearly behind his eyelids with each blink, he relied on the accuracy of a reference to perfect his drawing of you; not to mention he projected the image of your face to delight his undeniable attraction and to moderate the wildly romanticized version of you in his head.

Perhaps if he hadn't, he wouldn't be able to discern your face from the arena of glimmering stars scattered along the shaded skies.

“Just about how I think I was too quick to pass your offer.”

“Really?” That endearing lilt hope in his voice, the excitement expressed, acted as some puppeteer that manipulated the corner of your lips to lift into a smile.

No muscle in your body could ever be moved with the same conviction as it did when he was the reason for it. It bewildered you, almost to the point of frustration, as to why he had this power over you.

I just met him. I'm already getting this worked up? You thought how absurd it was you'd fallen this quickly, hoping it would ground you to the reality that he was still a stranger you hadn’t exchanged more than two conversations with.

Though, reality and memories and data files had all been obscured ever since you met Taehyung which was fascinating more than it was disorienting.

“Would you want to, maybe, grab coffee? Say next Thursday?” Your hand was subconsciously gripping the bed sheets, just like the way you gripped the disembodied hand in your dream, and awaited his response with full-blown suspense.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, ___.” Taehyung's confirmation put all your anxiety to rest, as well as your tightly clamped hand around the cotton fabric.

“I’ll see you.” You mimicked as if that would make the idea of seeing Taehyung again any less surreal. He laughed at this and brushed up a few finishing touches on his drawing.

“So just to clarify.” His pause gave entry for curiosity to wire through your head.

“Yes?”

“When you said you were thinking… you were thinking of me?” You wanted the upper hand to be reinstated with you, but your shy chuckle was no match to the smirk adopted on his lips that you couldn’t see, but you knew was there. You knew he was prideful when he swept the rug right out from under your feet, and you were right.

“Perhaps. And what if I was?” You framed your question to render your intimidation as flattery. Though, you had no idea how convincing this facade actually was and that it came off more suggestive than you had expected. There was a part of you that had fraternized with the romantic idea of Taehyung which might have registered your motive to reciprocate an undertone beyond platonic.

“Then that would be one thing we have in common.” He sounded responsive to your flirting and raised the bar significantly.

Your eyes and smile were directed towards the scenery displayed by your window, but they were not dedicated to the moonlit beauty of the diamond encrested sky. Though the midnight glades of stars were the ones to witness your smile, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, dedicated to Taehyung.

He was staring at the same moon, the same plot of stars, so perhaps you were looking into each other. When the moon twinkled, it looked awfully similar to a smile. Your smile.

For the moment, there was a radio silence that splintered through the two speakers of your and Taehyung’s phones. Even if the use of his hands weren’t engaged by his needful recreation of your face through his art, if his hands were left unused, he wouldn’t have mustered the discipline to end the call. Your unoccupied hands were trying to find any employment so you could have some excuse for not hanging up as well, not that there was anything else to be discussed.

Again, it felt familiar. The feeling of hesitance to be the first one to hang up despite the conversation’s recoil.

The cohesive idleness of you and Taehyung was unprovoked and ran out for about a minute. Neither of you had the intention to sever the virtual communion quite yet. The awkwardness of sitting in silence on the phone with a newly acquainted stranger was a delicacy compared to preemptively ending the call.

At one point, you were about to question if he had hung up; but the rhythmic and light breathing told you otherwise. And because of that mutual need to stay on the line, it seemed to be unreasonable to hang up, save for the yawn that eventually trimmed the call to an end.

“You’re tired.” He stated, now prompted with a yawn of his own upon hearing yours. “Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” Saying his name out loud sent you into that same blend of reminiscence and nostalgia.

His name was not unexplored by your tongue, that much was certain, and the thought of putting your entire life on hold to discover why it felt that way was a tempting venture. Why when he said your name, it felt like sitting in front of a wood-burning fireplace under the security of a green sweater and wrapped in safe arms.

More than that, you wanted to know if he felt all these things too.

“I’ll see you?” You asked instead of saying that dreadful word 'goodbye'.

“I’ll see you.” He repeated before reluctantly hanging up.

“___.” He whispered your name, hoping the inky sky would design it in the stars for the world to remember forever.

Hoping that the next hours, which would surely be spent on multiple sketched renditions of your face, would amount in some revelation of the mystifying familiarity. He believed shedding a few graphite imitations onto the surface of his sketchbook, soaked by the glow of moonlight, would somehow make him remember everything hidden in the dark compartments of his heart.

However, if it didn’t, he would be okay with it. Because at least he knew he would see you again.

“Meeting place: Silver Lining Café.”

“Thank you, Agent Park. Heighten surveillance on the two subjects.”

#bangtanarmynet #btswriterscorner #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts writing #taehyung series #bts series #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #artist!taehyung #rubycoast #emerald dreams: REDACTED

62 notes · View notes

sergeant-donny-donowitz · 4 years

Text

Somewhere (Cliff BoothxReader)

Requested by @tealaquinn

It was nearly 3AM when you came home from work. It was a bit of a fancy club, most of the patrons were Hollywood hotshots and millionaires.

You'd worked at that club for a few years, ever since you were 21. In fact, that was how you met Cliff.

You already knew Rick. He was a regular.

One day he brought a friend, his stuntman.

Rick had talked about him so much, you felt like you knew him already. Cliff was his buddy, a little less than a wife, a little more than a brother.

And if you learned anything from the people that sat at the bar, it was rough to make real friends in Hollywood.

You spotted Rick walking in, you could tell it had been a rough day. "Whiskey sour, cowboy?"

He smiled a little that night, and shook his head, "How 'bout some of those margaritas, Y/n?"

"You got a ride home, boss?" You'd gotten worried about Rick. You heard he got his license revoked for drinking and driving. And he always got DUIs on your night off.

Rick smiled a little understanding your concern, and gestured back to the doorway.

You spotted a striking man... He was in a Hawaiian shirt, shades, jeans, and moccasins...

Somehow it worked for him?

"That's my buddy, Cliff."

You smiled and nodded, "That's him?"

Rick nodded as Cliff made it to the counter. "Cliff, man, this is Y/n. Y.n's basically me and half of Hollywood's therapist."

You rolled your eyes and chuckled a little.

Cliff smiled at you, "Nice to meet you. Rick talks about you 'n this place all the time."

You smiled, and though you thought Cliff might be the best looking guy you'd seen in your life...he was a customer.

"So, what'll it be, gentlemen?"

Cliff sat, and politely asked for his favorite: a bloody mary.

Rick shook his head, "Nah, come on, now. I tell you all the time! Y/n makes the best goddamn margaritas I've ever had...and I've had a lot."

Cliff laughed a little, and you asked, "So, what'll it be?"

"I'll try one of those margaritas Rick keeps talkin' about."

You playfully winked at him, "You got it, boss."

Cliff had been to a million bars in his life. He'd bantered his whole life.

But damn that hit different...

Still, the night went on. You served other customers. You made other people laugh. You made other hearts sing... Still you couldn't help but look back at Cliff, hoping Rick would bring him again...

That hope escalated when a tourist got too drunk, too agressive, and too handsy.

Cliff fought him off.

He made sure you were ok...

And from that night on, whenever Rick showed up, Cliff did too.

You couldn't tell for a long time if he was there for margaritas, or to check up on you.

But then one night, you noticed Rick mumbling something to Cliff, and then smirked and left you two alone... While he was gone, Cliff gripped his glass and cooly asked you to go to a party with him and Rick.

And you did...

That was three years ago...

You lived together now, in an apartment at the edge of Hollywood. You had for a year now. You moved in together a little after Cliff got out of the hospital from the night those hippiesi broke in.

After the whole ordeal with the hippies breaking into Rick's...there was some good. Rick made friends with Roman and Sharon, and he started getting back on his ffeet. He got cast in big Hollywood blockbusters, consequently, he was getting paid more, which meant so was Cliff.

Not bad...

Cliff being a stuntman, and you being a bartender, it was a bit rough at times. Scheduling and habits were a little different. There was also a bit of an age gap. But it wasn't so bad. You figured it out eventually.

You had each other at the end of the day.

You were home a bit later than usual, since you had to close up the bar.

Cliff was half asleep when he heard footsteps.

He jumped up... Things hadn't been the same since the hippies broke into Rick's place. Cliff was always a bit more aware, and more of a light sleeper since then.

He sighed a little when he heard the familiar sound of your keys falling onto the ground and you muttering "Damn!" He could hear Brandy whining as she ran to the livingroom to meet you.

He smiled sleepily as he turned the light on in the hall. The dim light barely reached the livingroom.

He saw her outline jumping at you, whining until you started petting her.

"Hey, I call dibs on first kiss."

Brandy playfully barked a little but settled down as you and Cliff chuckled.

He was still half asleep as he wrapped his arms around you, and softly mumbled, "How was your night, baby?"

You gave him a little kiss, and felt his lips curve into a loving smile.

"Good, how was your day?"

"Same ol, same ol."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, "You should go to bed. You have work in the morning, don't you?"

"Not till noon," He murmured into your shoulder as he kissed you there.

"You should still get some sleep." You gently lifted his chin with your hand.

He mumbled something incoherent into your hair as he swayed with you in his arms.

You rolled your eyes as you giggled, and took his hand, leading him back to bed.

You stopped at the foot of the bed, and he wrapped his arms around you again. You smiled warmly, though he couldn't see it. You felt loved there...

Moonlight flowed in through the cracks in the blinds, and you could vaguely see the way he was looking at you. It was like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, made of moonlight, with a laugh like the distant echo of a song, and eyes as deep as the sky...

His happiness always outshone his sleepiness, every single night, no matter how late you came home.

He pulled you down to bed as you laughed, "Come on, Cliff, I gotta get changed!"

You could tell he was smirking, and you giggled and rolled your eyes. "Go on. Back to bed." You threw the covers back over him as you got back up to change.

He was a bit more tired than he cared to admit, and he lulled in and out of sleep as you got ready for bed.

You kissed him softly when you finally slipped into bed.

He mumbled sleepily, but sincerely, "I love you..."

You rested your hang against his cheek, and whispered, "I love you, too."

He could only sleep deeply and dream when you around. That was when he felt safest... as if what happened a summer ago was a forgotten nightmare.

And there, with Cliff, was where you felt the safest. You liked your job, and of course every now and then there were rough nights, but you had love to come home to.

It was a small place, but it was enough. It was safe, and warm with Cliff by your side.

As he faded back into sleep, he mumured, "Why?"

Why did you love him?

The reasons were infinite, and the words didn't exist.

So you tried your best.

You played with his hair as you explained with a soft voice, as you yourself started to sway in and out of sleep, "You let me love you. You let me give you everything... You made me feel liked I belonged somewhere other than behind that counter. Like I belonged here." You tapped him on the chest, and he smiled, taking your hand, and mumbling half asleep, "You belong here, with me..."

And there, you both fell asleep holding each other, where it was safe from hippies and bosses, where there was silence away from busy movie sets and drunk celebrities...

Somewhere, where there was only you and Cliff. Somewhere, where there was only love.

#once upon a time in hollywood #ouatih #cliff booth x reader #cliff booth #rick dalton

172 notes · View notes

katefiction · 4 years

Text

Angels - Part 1

by mrandmrswales (Emily) / January 28, 2013

So this is my first fanfic that I’m publishing and I am as expected a little nervous about it! I really hope you like it and so please give me feedback, negative or positive!! It’s set on December 25th 2020. Kate and William have had two little girls, Princesses Elizabeth and Isabella (Libby and Belle). I hope there aren’t any mistakes! If you have any ideas for part 2, let me know!

Emily x

————————————————————————-

‘Mummy! Daddy! Wake up! It’s Christmas! Father Christmas came!’ two high-pitched voices filled my head and last remaining grip I had on sleep left me as I was jumped on by two little weights in excitement. Libby crawled next to me, forcing my body away from my wife’s and curling into Kate’s side. Any other day, I would have been a little irritated to be awoken rather rudely at quarter to 7, but it was Christmas Day after all. With a smile, I sat up and turned the lights on to observe my two little angels clutching their stockings. Their faces were red with excitement and their lovely green eyes, almost the same as their mother’s, glowed with anticipation.

‘Happy Christmas darlings.’ said Kate, giving them both kisses and I did the same. Christmas had never been the same for me after my mother died, however soon after meeting Kate and being able to spend it with her and then later our two daughters had rejuvenated my love of Christmas. Our littlest, Belle, who had been sitting at the end of our bed while Libby had wriggled between Kate and I, had decided she was cold so crawled in next to me and I gave her a cuddle.

“You excited sweetie?’ I asked and she nodded. She was a lot quieter than Libby who had always been the more outgoing and louder of the two, which was probably a good thing considering she was to be Queen. ‘Who’s excited to open presents?!’ I said cheerfully and was met with two little squeals of excitement. I glanced at Kate who was helping Libby to unwrap her first present and felt a swell of pride and happiness. My little family at Christmas-nothing could be better.

An hour later, our room looked like a bomb had hit it. Wrapping paper was everywhere and presents adorned the bed. In the middle sat Libby, Belle and Kate smiling widely as I took a photo, the girls holding up their favourite presents for the camera. Libby had a new scarf and Belle had a new little boat for the bath among other little goods. When finished, I was left to try and clear everything up, while Kate went downstairs with the girls to make a cup of tea and let Lupo out.

After the excitement of seeing that Santa had eaten his mince pie and drunk his brandy and the reindeer had eaten its carrots, Breakfast began. Pancakes were cooked (by Kate of course) and I helped put golden syrup faces and lemon on the girl’s pancakes, much to their delight. We were just about to start when Libby piped up, ‘Daddy Can I have sprinkles on mine?’ I saw Kate frown and laughed, ‘Of course sweetie.’ to which she promptly groaned, ‘Will it’s breakfast time, you’ll get them into bad habits.’

‘Oh it’s Christmas! One time okay girls?’

They nodded, grinning happily and I fetched the sprinkles, pouring them on the girls and then on Kate’s. She grinned and chuckled and we all began to eat.

—————————————————————————————-

‘You look beautiful’ I remarked as I left the bathroom to see my wife putting in the earrings I gave her for her 30th birthday. ‘Thank you’ she murmured quietly while I wandered over to her and wrapped my arms around her waist. She sighed contentdly.

‘Did you ever imagine how happy we’d all be a couple of years ago? Not that we weren’t happy, but having the girls makes me feel so complete.’ I nodded. There were no words needed between us. I swivelled her around and gave her a kiss that lingered slightly. She smiled and rested her head on my chest and I rested my head on hers. ‘Happy Christmas darling.’ I whispered and she smiled as I kissed her forehead. We stayed like that in our own world like we used to before children who needed your attention constantly came along. To prove my point, we promptly heard a crash upstairs and a muffled cry of ‘Libby Go Away!’ Chuckling, We broke apart reluctantly and Kate left to go upstairs and calm them down while I put on my suit.

———————————————————————————————-

‘Oh I wish it could be Christmas everydayyyyy!’ We all sang loudly as we drove the short distance from Amner Hall to Sandringham were we would spend most of the rest of the day. Kate’s parents, sister and brother with their families were coming down this evening to spend the following day with us. Pulling up, we were met by an excited Isla and Savannah, my Cousin Peter’s daughters who were only a few years older than mine. ‘Merry Christmas!’ they yelled and hugs and kisses were given all round before we were dragged inside to greet everyone else.

‘Uncle Harry!’ Came an excited shout further up the corridor as we walked through. I smiled as a familiar mop of red hair jumped out and began hugging the girls, making them laugh with his cheekiness already. Straightening up eventually, he hugged Kate and myself and walked the rest of the way into the enormous greeting room where the rest of my relatives were. Almost as if the spell of the older generation had hit, the girls fell silent and hung back. Belle clinging on to Kate’s skirt for support. Kate shot me a look and I smiled. It was almost the only time the girls were silent.

———————————————————————————————-

‘Can you hold Belle please Will?’ Kate asked me. Belle, being a lot shier than Libby didn’t like to interact with the public unless she was being held by either Kate or myself. I nodded and picked her up. Libby was holding hands with my cousin Louise and chatting away to her in front of us. I smiled watching them. It was really very sweet. In a moment of spontaneity, I took Kate’s hand in my spare one, prompting a hidden smile from her. We hardly ever showed PDA in public, but Christmas with my family had put me in a good mood and I wanted to show the public that even after two children, I still loved Kate more than ever, if not more.

‘Hello! It’s lovely to meet you! I hope you’re having a wonderful Christmas.’ I said to two old women. ‘Lovely to meet you too dear, thank you very much! Isn’t she sweet? Takes after her father!’ They cried, cooing at Belle, who was curled up into my shoulder. I laughed and thanked them before moving on. Further ahead, Kate and Libby were now meeting people. Libby had been confident, charming and chatty or so I was told by many people I met after she had moved on. I had never felt so proud. At long last, we reached the church. I met up with Kate and praised Libby, who smiled bashfully. Kate and I exchanged a proud look and we entered the church.

‘Daddy I’m bored,’ whispered Belle. I grimaced. This was the 5th time I had been told so and we’d only been here half an hour. ‘Not long Belle’ I replied and she groaned, wriggling about in her seat. ‘Shhh Belle’ Whispered Kate. ‘But Mummy I’m bored!’ Belle hissed again. Kate groaned and rummaged in her bag for a colouring book. ‘Here you go.’ She said and handed it over. Belle was satisfied and began to carefully colour a turtle pink and purple. However it wasn’t long before Libby decided she was bored too and asked to colour in too. ‘No. I’m colouring!’ Belle replied grumpily. ‘Come on you’ve been colouring in for agesss! Mummy please can I colour in?’

‘Shh. Libby aren’t you too old to colour in?’

‘No mummy!’

‘Oh all right. Belle darling can you share? I only brought one.’

‘No.’

‘darling come on and share.’ I said, stepping in to help Kate.

Belle turned around and glared at me, but gave in when I gave her my ‘cross daddy’ look. Soon enough, the two of them were colouring in a blue elephant.

———————————————————————————————-

‘Can I have five potatoes please?’ Libby asked. We were sat at the enormous table at Sandringham for Christmas Lunch. I noted how the table had just kept getting bigger in the last few years.

‘No Libby, you’ll only be having two for now.’ I told her firmly.

‘Oh Daddy its Christmas!’

‘Yes Libby I know, but were at your great-grandmother’s house and you behave okay?’

‘Okay..’ She replied sullenly and I smiled, remembering all the times I had done that as a boy. For a moment, the strong urge to see my mother swept over me. She would have loved the girls and they would have loved her even more. It was my wedding day and the birth of Libby and Belle that had been the best and worst moments of my life since she had gone. The fact I couldn’t look across at her for reassurance or ask her for parenting advice was tough, but I knew she was watching down on us and smiling. I snapped out of my reverie to see Kate watching me from across the table with a slight look that only I understood. Once satisfied I was okay, she smiled a loving smile and turned back to Zara to continue with her chatter.

Lunch passed and many a joke and laugh was held as the day lengthened out. After the many courses and continual chatter, plus the excited voices of the children as they ran around with the dogs between courses, it was decided that a walk would be good for all who wanted to go. Catherine and I helped the girls into their coats and wellington boots before setting off with the rest of the younger half of the family. The girls rushed ahead, leaving Kate and I at the back, hands entwined and huddled close for warmth.

‘Were you okay at lunch?’ She asked suddenly, interrupting the contented silence hanging in the frozen air.

‘Yeah. I was just thinking about Mum.’ She squeezed my hand tighter in support

‘She watching us. And she’s proud of you and the girls.’

‘And you.’ I corrected and she chuckled.

‘Exactly. Proud of all of us. She wouldn’t want you to be sad Will. I know Christmas is tough but just cherish all the happy memories with her and make happy ones for all of us in the future.’ I smiled and kissed her forehead. She knew exactly how to make me feel better, that was why I was so lucky to have her and my beautiful angels.

#mrandmrswales #cambridge fanfiction #royal fanfiction #kate middleton

18 notes · View notes

draftsofcertainties · 3 years

Text

Here's the thing. Edwin and I met in a dating app. At one point my friends told me, as they know I'm exploring and trying to meet new people after the breakup, to invite guys I meet from the dating app over to our parties or dates. Since we were talking at that time, I asked him specifically if I can invite him over or we should just stay in an fwb setup where people only do fun and then nothing beyond that. I asked this because I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable or think that I'm inviting him over to meet my friends because we're going serious or anything. He's not the only one I asked by the way. During this time we haven't met yet, but I already thought of setting boundaries already because I don't want to entertain possible relationships yet. He told me it's okay to meet my friends but he's not looking for anything serious at the moment. I told him that I am too, and I also mentioned that I've met people who actually expected more from casual conversations and it's actually unappetizing. I mean, no offense to people who are actively searching for love, but personally I think it's unusual to declare you like someone without knowing and meeting them in person yet. You can say you're interested but not to a point where you can immediately decide you want to have a deeper relationship with some random stranger from the internet, regardless of how much you've already shared with each other.

I've been there. When my ex and I clicked, I thought we would last, we jumped right into commitment without thinking long and hard. Since we were young and idealistic, we thought we could make it last, you know? Conquer everything in the way. We lasted for good 5 years but it ended badly.

Back to Edwin. So at the outset we made it clear that we're not looking for anything serious, since we also learned that we both just came from a long-term relationship recently. Who knows? We could just be using ourselves as a distraction. To be honest, I did. I am. I searched for people who would talk to me just so I wouldn't have time to think of reaching out to my ex again. I talked to almost 10 people simultaneously. It was chaotic, exhausting, and time-consuming. I eventually decided to trim down the list and only kept the ones who were actually worth talking to. Edwin is one of those people. I think we clicked the most out of all the people I met recently.

He's actually the one who initiated to meet in person. He asked if we can stay together overnight to drink and more. This was maybe our first or second conversation, hence me thinking this is only good for a one night stand, or maybe friends with benefits. I mean, a guy who asks you out to a bed and breakfast date at the onset isn't just a guy who's doing it for the first time. It's like a longer version of checking in a motel, kind of like some sex plus random miscellaneous stuff. Since I try to be open to these kind of stuff after the breakup, I said yes. Even though initially I'm not sure if I could do it. I mean, for some people sex isn't a big deal, but for me it's a whole new process of opening up to a person again. As an introvert, it's already excruciating for me to spend some minutes talking to a person out of responsibility or casualness, and to spend a whole day and do intimate things with a stranger is a bit of an overwhelming idea for me at the start. Since I'm desperate for distraction, I agreed to it -- this is my time to explore. I also thought, if it's okay for him to spend some dragging hours with a stranger like me, then fuck it. Let's go. It's going to be one night and then he'll just have to bear my boring presence, my unexperienced-unexciting-unattractive-but-desperate-for-distraction version, and soon find someone else. I mean, isn't that what friends with benefits do? From what I've heard, if there are no benefits, staying friends is close to impossible, so you find another. Then another. Then another.

Since I'm a busy bee, I explained that I couldn't meet him for an overnight date very soon (plus some hesitation on my part, and also the struggle of making excuses for my parents everytime I go out). He actually isn't pushy at all. I almost thought he just asked me out just for the sake of conversation. I met other people online who actually made plans meeting me but didn't happen. I told him I would only be available for the next 3 weeks or so, and honestly that's a little too long to wait for sex, don't you think? I mean if this guy really wants to meet me, he has to bear another 3 weeks of talking to me, which I thought would let him down since I thought he could easily get another girl for an overnight fun without needing to wait that long. Yes, I apologize for my mindset is a little fucked up. I guess it's the trauma. I think everyone I meet from the dating up is fuckinf somebody else. Or they're talking to a bunch of other people besides me. I have no memory of people being loyal or faithful. I just know that everyone else wants to have fun, and that includes me.

(I drafted this a month ago I think?)

I trained myself to think of the worst from people, but don't get me wrong. It isn't prejudice. It's my coping mechanism to expect the worst from people so that when I learn some truth that may hurt me, it wouldn't hurt as much. Also, everyone has their own struggles, dark pasts, deep secrets, and you have to be ready for all of those when you decide to welcome someone in your life regardless of how close you want them to be to you.

How did we meet in person? It's just about a week after we started talking. It's his sister's birthday. I jokingly said I want some spaghetti and then he said maybe I should come over. I told him I could, I just had to secure a ride. Long story short, I got on my way to their house, brought a birthday cake for his sister and some food as courtesy. My friend gave me a ride to their place. It was already past 8 in the evening when I arrived. I finally saw him in flesh. He was wearing a mask, but I instantly fell in love with his eyes. As he walked closer to meet me I was feeling a lot more nervous that I did moments ago. Then we started walking our way to their house. I reached out to hold his hand, and asked if it was okay. He said yes. I felt embarrassed for a few seconds because I felt like I was being too forward, we haven't even settled yet. When we entered their gated compound, he stopped in a dimly lit area and told me we could stay for a few minutes there before entering their house. I put my things on the table. He stood right in front of me and talked to me. I forgot about the words he said, I was just amazed by how beautiful his voice sounded. I'm not hearing him through my earphones. It's real.

He reached out to hug me, and he noticed I'm shaking. He hugged me tighter. I looked up to him to stare closely at his face and then I smiled. He closed in on me until our lips met, and we kissed for the first time.

It's my favorite first kiss. Because it felt like it wasn't.

It felt like we've known each other for a long time already. He actually told me this a few days after. Even though I felt the same, I waited for him to tell me about it, just so I know I wasn't the only one who felt that way that day.

We kissed for a few more minutes, and the longing for more intimacy was starting to get more intense. We were making out passionately and he couldn't keep his hands in one place. He would grab my ass, squeeze my boobs, and hold my face. As much as I wanted to get it on already, damn we weren't in the right place for that. We stopped and caught our breaths and finally decided to go inside.

He introduced me to his sister who was currently working from home that time despite it being her birthday that day. He then introduced me to his mom. The three of us ate dinner together. Me, Edwin, and his mom. Surprisingly, there wasn't an awkward moment. Edwin eventually told me that his mom didn't expect that it was actually our first time to meet in person. After dinner, he introduced me to his father. And then we proceeded to talk over a bottle of brandy, with a lot of kissing in between. And we were either holding hands or hugging while talking. And I started worrying if it's okay since his family might think we're together, despite us meeting for in person for the first time.

I eventually found out that yes, his family did think we're already together, but Edwin cleared it out for them that we weren't, and he's not rushing things for us, since I just came from a recent breakup. Rushing for what? I thought maybe he already had his mind set that there's a chance for us to last a little longer by the way he talked about us to his family.

Sometimes I think, what if we didn't meet this way? What if the first time we meet in person was the planned one night fun? But I'm always grateful that we did meet this way. It's way more memorable.

0 notes

lumiolivierlithium · 3 years

Text

The Good Old Days Chapter One: Rich Broads are the Worst

Summary:

Francisco Mendoza wasn’t always a household name on the streets of New York City (particularly around the powerful families that run the underground). Even he had to get his start somewhere. And all it took was a good mentor, a snap decision, and the love of a good woman.

Rating:

T+ for language/violence

A/N: Hi, friends. Well, here we are. Chapter one. For those of you who don’t know, this is a prequel to the Switch series available on Ao3. Take it at face value as an original. Take it as a prequel. Either way, I hope you enjoy. And your feedback is always appreciated. This is going to go up every Monday at noon US central time. So, are we ready? Because I’m ready. I’ve been sitting on this since November. I can’t fucking wait.

Prayer has always been called the last act of a desperate man. Mama would beat the shit out of me for saying this, but sometimes, that desperate man reaches desperate lows not even prayer can fix. My deliverance was not an easy one, nor was it pretty. I’m not even sure if God had anything to do with it. But whoever put me in the path of the Old Man that night was looking out for me. That’s for damn sure.

Every night was the same. Go to work, come home, lock the door, and put Mama at ease. Between her and my brothers, that was all I had left in this world. Papa died before I got the chance to know him. But he knew me. According to Mama he played favorites with my brothers and me. She always said he saw the special in me before I even knew it was there. As we grew up, that became more apparent with my brothers. Tony and César may both be older than me, but they knew the pecking order in this house. And they knew who was on top.

And because their baby brother, their hermanito, put in a good word for them, we all managed to score jobs at the same restaurant. Although, that commute from Williamsburg to Midtown was its own private hell. Damn near half an hour on the subway on a good day. But it kept food on the table and a roof over our heads and Mama taken care of, so none of us were complaining. But one night…Normally, work didn’t get to me, but…The customer isn’t always right.

Working at a ritzy Italian restaurant in the heart of Midtown occasionally had its perks. People with deep pockets leaving nice tips…or assholes with deeper pockets who are out to make my job a living hell. And no one was worse than this one couple on their twenty-fifth anniversary. It wasn’t necessarily him that was the problem. This guy had the integrity of a wet noodle. And I had a feeling it was partially because of his…Lovely…wife.

“Excuse me!” she whistled for me like a fucking dog. If she would’ve called me boy, I would’ve choked her out. I don’t have it in me to ever hit a woman, but she pushed all the right buttons.

But still, I slapped on a fake smile and went over to their table, “Yes, ma’am. How may I help you?”

“I know the label on the bottle says 1979,” she told me, her voice just dripping with condescension, “But this tastes like a 1974 Shiraz.”

“I can assure you, ma’am,” I swore, “This is a 1979 Shiraz.”

“You say it’s a 1979,” she started to get heated, “But it’s clearly got notes characteristic of a 1974.”

I kept my head, “It is a 1979, ma’am. If you’d like, I could bring you something else.”

“No,” she rolled her eyes, “We ordered a 1979 Shiraz. I’d like a new bottle.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, taking the original bottle away. Once I got back to the kitchen, I took a good swig from the bottle in question. It’s fucking wine. It tasted like Shiraz. Personally, I thought it was disgusting, but I digress. Was there really that big of a difference?

“Frankie?” Tony put a hand on my shoulder, “You alright? You look like you want to stab someone.”

“Just feeling thirsty,” I choked down another drink, “Pretentious woman at table twelve trying to tell me she can taste five years difference and we got our labels wrong. I don’t want to call her a bitch, but fuck, she’s making it difficult.”

“That’s why I stay back here,” Tony jabbed, “I don’t see how you do it, Frankie. Having to deal with stuck up pricks like that day in and day out. Either you have intestinal fortitude of steel or you’re a fucking masochist.”

“I couldn’t be back here,” I sighed out, heading into the wine fridge, “It’s too secluded. I need my fingers on a pulse or I get cranky.”

“They look down on guys like us,” he followed me, “They probably have no idea what it’s like to struggle.”

“Probably not,” I grabbed another bottle of Shiraz, “But it’s that money that keeps us from going hungry, so we’ll be able to get out of here. Hopefully, it won’t be for much longer.”

“God, I hope not,” Tony took the bottle off the tray and threw a drink back, having the same reaction to it I did, “How in the hell do people drink this shit?”

“I don’t know,” I felt for him, “Maybe the stick in the ass adds a different flavor profile that broke fuckers like us won’t understand.”

“Because we’re too sophisticated?”

“Because we have taste in our booze,” I gave him a nod, “Pray for me. I have to go back into hell and look into the eyes of pure evil.”

“Good luck, Frankie,” Tony sent me back out.

I could do this. I’ve dealt with people like her before. This should be a piece of cake. I brought their wine to their table, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Hopefully, this one will be better for you.”

“It’s about time.”

I fiddled with the cross around my neck out of nervous habit, “If you need anything else, please let me know.”

“Yes,” she dismissed me, leaning toward her husband, “I hope he doesn’t think we’re paying for that swill.”

Santa Maria, Madre de Dios. Ruega por nosotros pecadores. Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerté. Amén.

Alright. I can do this now. She will be paying for it, but the spit about to go in her food is totally on the house. I wanted to. Fuck, did I want to. Instead, I took the high road and went on break. César followed me out, “Tu bien, hermanito?”

“I can’t fucking do this anymore, César,” I held my head in my hands, “I’m sick of it.”

“We all are, Frankie,” César threw an arm around me, “But what else are we supposed to do?”

“Anything else,” I sighed out, “I’m just…fucking done. I’m sick of being looked down on. Not just here, but anywhere we go. Mama always told us she moved us here after Papi died to give us a better life, right?”

“Right.”

“Where is the better life, César?” I wondered, “Because I look around and I’m not seeing it.”

“We’ll get there some day, Frankie,” he swore, “But for now, we deal with this bullshit.”

“And it’s bullshit we have to deal with it.”

“Amen.”

I’d make a deal with Satan himself at this point to get the fuck out of this. I was so young, so naïve in those days. When I had myself together again, I walked back inside. If I can get out of this shift without killing anyone, I’ll be so proud. One of the hostesses gave me a poke to the shoulder and sent me to a different table. Thank God. I’ve never needed a change of scenery so bad. I know I’m going to have to go back to them eventually, but right now, I needed something easy. Please be an easy table. Please don’t be an asshole.

A big guy sat at the table all by himself with a small notebook on the table and some mindless doodles. All things being equal, they weren’t bad. But I wasn’t there to admire the artwork. As long as I don’t come across as pissed off, I’ll be alright, “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m meeting someone here,” he told me. Then, he looked up from his notebook, “But I’m thinking I’m getting stood up. You alright, kid?”

“Fine, sir,” I suppressed it more, “It’s just been a long, busy night. What can I get for…”

“When do you get off?” he asked, looking me over, “I’m thinking my contact isn’t coming and you look like you could use a drink.”

“I’d rather not have one here,” I admitted, “But I get off at eleven.”

“Alright,” he gave me a nod, “Brandy and peach tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, going to the bar. Something about this guy gave me a good vibe. Then again, he already wanted to buy me booze, so I wasn’t going to say no. I flagged down the bartender and asked for his drink. The bartender’s face lost any and all pigment it may have had. Reluctantly, he mixed the drink and handed it off to me. I didn’t know what the hell that was all about, but I didn’t care. As promised, I brought the man his drink, “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you,” he smiled a bit, “What’s your name, kid?”

“Francisco,” I told him, “But people call me Frankie.”

“You’re kind of stocky,” he pointed out, “You know that?”

“According to mi mama,” I explained, “That came from my dad.”

“And you?” he wondered, “Would you say that, too?”

“I never met the man,” I shrugged, “I mean, I probably did meet him at one point, but he died when I was two, so I don’t really have much memory of him.”

“Oh…” the man’s face fell, “I’m sorry to hear that. I know the feeling, though. Mine took off. But we’re not here to swap sob stories. Hey, I’m going to stick around for a while. When you get off, meet me out front, K?”

I had never seen this guy a day in my life, but something about him…It felt like I knew him. Like we’ve met before, but I didn’t remember. But I knew for a fact this was the first time we ever met. Little did I know, that chance meeting would turn my whole world on its head. We’ll save that part for later, though. When I walked back into the kitchen, I needed to find one of my brothers. Lucky for me, the first one I found was César.

“Hey, César,” I stopped him.

“Hi, Frankie,” César looked at me strange, “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I settled him, “No worries. But I’m going to be a little late going home. I’ll catch up with you guys somewhere.”

“Where are you going?” he wondered.

“I got asked for drinks after work,” I brushed him off, “The guy at table six. He told me he wanted to buy me a drink and you and I both know better than to turn down free booze.”

“I know,” César nodded, “But don’t think you’re going by yourself. If three of us leave the house and only two come back, Mama would have our asses and you know it.”

“I’ll take the heat for that,” I assured him, “But I got a good feeling about him. And I don’t know about you, but I could really use the drink.”

“We’re not letting you go by yourself, Frankie.” Dammit, César…The oldest always figures he needs to protect the younger two, doesn’t he? I could tell this wasn’t going to be a negotiation, “Hey, Tony!”

“Que?” Tony perked up, wiping his last dish for the night.

“Drinks after work tonight?” César offered.

“You buying?” Tony wiped his hands off and tossed his towel aside.

“Apparently, Frankie is.” I’m going to kill you, César, “There’s a guy out there wanting to take him for drinks and God forbid we let him go on his own. Or go home without him.”

“Mama would fucking kill us.” If I don’t get to both of you first.

“Hold on, pendejos!” I stopped them both before they could cook up something else, “Let me talk to him first and make sure it’s alright.”

“If he says no, Frankie,” César demanded, “You’re not going either.”

“My ass, I’m not,” I stood my ground, “You seem to think so.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m thirsty,” I argued, checking the clock. Just a few minutes more. I pushed my way out the doors and found the guy again, “Hey…”

“Hi,” he nudged a seat out for me, “Go ahead. Take a seat, kid.”

“I was actually about to ask you about that,” I began, “There are a couple guys in the back wanting in on this drink. And if I go home without them, the lovely lady we live with is going to have our heads. Would that be a problem?”

“Sounds like a real Three’s Company situation you got,” he jabbed.

“Not exactly,” I came clean, “They’re my older brothers. If they come home without me, my mother will beat them senseless with her shoe.”

“You never said you had brothers.”

“You never asked.”

The man kept to himself for a brief minute, “Are they anything like you?”

“I’m the smart one of the bunch,” I explained, “My brother Tony is muscle. My brother César is a master with his words. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” he dropped it, “Yeah. They can come, too. The more the merrier, right?”

“I guess so,” I could breathe a little easier. I got my brothers off my back and I still get my drink with…Wait a second, “You haven’t even told me your name and you’re already taken me for drinks? I’m a little classier than that.”

“You never asked,” he threw my words back at me, “Gregorio. But mostly everyone that works for me just calls me the Old Man.”

#fan fiction prequel #OC backstory #writing #switch #for the family #ao3 #mafia au #signal boost please?

4 notes · View notes

primeemeraldheiress · 4 years

Note

Can you please recommend some recent good Jason fics? I'm kinda still falling in the fandom, but already finished all the most recommended stuff like Not so outlaw or Retrograde motion

I can give you a few recent bookmarks of mine and I’ll give you a few of my favorites. I assume you know what I write so I’m not gonna warn for the possible types of fics you’re gonna find here.

Runneth Over and All That Jazz - thenafics

If it weren’t for his chest, Jason would be nearly impossible to recognize as an omega. He’s taller and more muscular than most omegas so with his deep voice, no one would ever guess. If it weren’t for his body’s absolute betrayal. Jason, like pretty much all adult omegas, produces milk. It’s meant to help reinforce pack bonds and keep pups adopted into a pack fed. That’s not the problem, that part of it is manageable with absorbent pads in shirts and semi-regular use of a breast pump. It sucks, but it’s not the problem. The problem is that Jason’s pack bonds are weak, so his body will let down and start producing milk on a hair trigger. He’s peak fertile age and tangentially part of a mostly alpha pack, but not bonded well enough to balance his hormones, so his body has decided to try and tempt his pack into bonds with milk.Is it working?-The finished version of my most asked after WIP from evil author day-

Rescue Night - strikeyourcolors

(AU) Jason is trying to make a food delivery when he stumbles across a hostage situation. The captors claim he’s Nightwing, the guy claims he’s just a stripper, and Jason just wants to go home. Unfortunately, it seems he’s going to have to launch a rescue operation. The night just keeps going downhill.

like falling apples - wajjs

If Gotham’s a force of nature, so much akin to gravity itself, then he is the very apple succumbing to its rules and desires.

Daddy Bats and Mother Hen - River9Noble

Jason Todd is back from the dead and pissed as all hell that Bruce hasn’t killed the Joker. Red Hood wants nothing more than to turn his back on the entire Batfamily - but instead, every time he turns around, they’re watching him. He just wants to be left alone… but that chicken noodle soup does taste delicious.

Keeping Secrets From Yourself - WithTheKeyIsKing

Looking back, the signs are all there. But they never noticed it about themselves.

They never noticed how Bruce did.

No Place In Heaven - DarcySkat

Martha and Thomas talk to Bruce about his son.

Bruce thinks it’s Damian.

Lightweight - taugex (I love this story)

Bruce returns to his office after back to back meetings to find his good brandy opened and his sidekick drunk.

Blanket, I rec anything by Skalidra, firefright, scandalsavage, WithTheKeyIsKing, daemoninwhite, WorkingChemistry, lurkinglurkerwholurks, and Ellegrine. I’m going to stop there because, frankly, there are a lot of authors I’d blanket rec.

Requiem - scandalsavage

He blinks as his brain takes it’s sweet fucking time processing what his eyes are seeing.

“So you’re me, huh?” the kid says, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes like he can’t sit still for three god damn seconds.

“That’s pretty cool. You’re huge.”

Jason hates him. He hates those stupid fucking curls. He hates that stupid bubbly energy. He hates that fucking earnestness, that eagerness to please. He hates that goddamn costume.

He hates the way the kid clings to Bruce’s shadow.

He despises that hand Bruce has on his shoulder.

The poisoned apple (far from the tree) - inanhourofdreaming

“I mean, your first mother wasn’t…fuck, how do I say this?” Tim pauses to breathe. “You’ve never met your mother, Jason. Her name was Ophelia Frump.”

Where Jason has blood family after all, but they’re a little, well…weird.

The legends and the myths - Syngaly

Jason Todd is the best liar Bruce’s ever met.

Jason Todd is the worst liar Bruce’s ever met.

It’s a problem.

Unspoken Rule - YukinaZero

In an alternate universe where Jason Todd finishes his training with the League of Assassins and simply returns home, Damian asks him why he has never confronted Bruce on the matters surrounding his death.

Or: Jason and Daimion have a heart to heart, and I fail miserably in an attempt to write angst.

You’re Alone ‘til You’re Not Alone - WorkingChemistry

Dick has moved to Bludhaven to get away from Bruce and is doing his best to establish himself as Nightwing. It’s going well, but it would probably go better if he didn’t come running every time Bruce calls.

This time Bruce needs him on babysitting duty, and it’s not just for Gotham. Bruce has League work, Jason can’t leave the state, and Alfred’s on vacation so that leaves Dick to pick up the slack once again. Jason isn’t pleased with the situation either, so there’s that… Dick’s just hoping he can bribe Jason into spending the weekend in the library so he won’t have to deal with the prickly boy.

Then they find evidence of a prostitution ring sending young children into forced heats and kidnapping them. Can they set aside their issues, or is Roy going to be stuck playing referee the whole time?

Familiar Faces - firefright, Skalidra

A mission to save a group of slaves from auction goes swiftly wrong when Jason, a former slave himself, runs into a familiar face while undercover at the party preceding it. And unfortunately for both him and his partner in crime, Dick, Slade has no intention of letting his property go again.

Want - Take - Have - daemoninwhite

Dick presents as an alpha and eventually leaves. When Bruce takes in Jason, he decides to do everything in his power to stop history from repeating. (Bruce will never be alone again.)

Mutually Beneficial - scandalsavage

Jason knows who Slade Wilson is and that he should stay away from him.

He knows the man is a vicious competitor of his father’s with a business ethic firmly in the dark gray to black side of the spectrum.

He also knows that his older brother drank too much one night, while he was in college, and fell for Wilson’s sweet talk, whatever that could possibly sound like, and that the older man still, years later, finds ways suggestively drop Dick’s name into conversations with their father.

So when he sees the man’s signature white hair and eye patch approaching his position at the bar, Jason makes a real attempt to avoid him.

Take Your Finger Off The Trigger - Skalidra

Jason Todd was Talon, the enforcer and right hand of Owlman, right up until he was killed. But then, when he comes back to life and his killer is still running free, with no sign of mourning by the two people who always claimed he was theirs, his agenda changes. He becomes Red Hood, a mercenary bent on taking down any and all operations run by the Owls. Finally, one of his jobs lands him back in Gotham, and he comes face to face with his two former allies.

Happy Reading.

#Emerald Ask #Fic Recs #Rec #Fic Rec #Rec List #Anon

62 notes · View notes