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fangirl-dot-com · 5 months

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Alex Albon ft. Lily - Karma

Aaahhhhh, welcome to part 5 of this series! Now this one takes place farther into the season. But, I wanted to publish this series as one, instead of doing separate chapters for when they happened after races. This one is going to take place leading up to the Silverstone Grand Prix! So the July 3-ish (Austria is July 2 and Silverstone is July 9, so the week in between). As of this chapter, reader now has three different couples who would absolutely do ANTYHING for her.

Like always, comments, questions, concerns, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love you all <;3

[TAG LIST IS CLOSED]

“Are you for real?” you muttered to yourself as you looked at your mismatched luggage. You really needed to ask Lando if he could get you some new suitcases with that fancy company he has a partnership with. And someone had tried to get into your suitcase, because you noticed the latch had a few scratches on it. You’d definitely be calling the airline later. Max was right, you should have just flown in with him on Air-Max.

Definitely next time.

At least you had all of your luggage. You were still standing next to the carousel when another small bag caught your eye. For some reason, the tag also had your name on in. You carefully grabbed the bag with mesh windows and looked at it. This was definitely not yours. You stepped away from the area and took a seat on a bench. You placed the bag on your lap and unzipped it. Your eyes widened at the sight.

Inside was a large, fluffy cat. Big eyes stared up at you as you stared back. Your head leaned to the side, and it’s head followed you. Your hand bolted to your phone in your pocket. You needed to call the number one cat-dad.

The phone rang for a few before, and before Max had an opportunity to answer, you voice flooded the air.

“Max, I have a cat and I don’t know what to do with it!”

Max paused for a bit on the line.

“Hello?”

“I heard you kid. Aren’t you supposed to be at the airport?”

You huffed. “I am. But when I was getting my bags, this carrier-thing had a tag with my name on it. I opened it and there’s a cat inside! I’m too young to be a mother.”

“Y/n,” you could image him pinching his brow.

“I had a goldfish once and he died three days later.” You were starting to freak out.

“Take a deep breath.” You did as instructed. “Ok, here’s what you’re going to do. First, does the cat have any identification on it?”

You reached in and carefully parted the cat’s fur. On his neck was a little collar with a pendent that had a figure of a horse. Other than that though, there was nothing.

You spoke into the phone, “No. It doesn’t.”

Max sighed on the other line. “When I fly in, I will meet you at your flat and we’ll see what we can do. Are you being picked up at the airport?”

“No. I have to go get my car. Someone brought it last night so I could drive to my flat by myself for a few days before the race.”

“That’s nice kid. When I get in, I’ll call and come over. Kelly has been wanting to see your flat for a while. Something about her promising you that she’ll help you decorate the rest of it? Can’t believe you didn’t ask me.”

You deadpanned, even if he couldn’t see it. “Max, you display your championship trophy on your Red Bull mini fridge. You have no interior design instincts.”

He sputtered over the phone, before he was interrupted on the other side. “Ok kid. I’ll see you when I get there. Houd van je geitje.” (Translation : Love you kid)

“Love you too. Have a safe flight.” You hung up and looked back down at the cat, who seemed to be more wide awake. “Hi bud.” Your hand reached under its face and scratched lightly. The cat started to purr lightly.

You stood up after you re-zipped the carrier. Luckily, it had a shoulder strap so that your two hands could be free to get your suitcase and keys. “Ok cat, let’s get going.”

You started to make your way to the pickup car line. Thankfully, there weren’t too many people there. You walked right up to the counter. You gave the nice lady your name and ID so that she could get your keys for you.

As you waited, your mind drifted to your semi-new vehicle. You had finally decided what car you actually wanted, so Christian, Vito, and Max had decided to come with you for the purchase. You, of course, had matching cars. One for Monaco and one for London. Lando had begged you to get a Jolly like he had, but you wanted something a little more classy.

Your dark green Porsches were your children.

Unlike Max, you didn’t want to necessarily buy a car that “supported” a rival team. You were tempted with one of the new Audi models, but the two Porsches just screamed at you. It had taken a while to get approved, but they had finally become yours about two months ago. The one you kept in Monaco was an older, classier model. The one you had in London was a bit more flashy with its convertible top.

As you were daydreaming about driving your beloved car once again, two people had come into the room. And one of them did not sound happy.

“What do you mean our hotel has been canceled. Yes I know we still have the nights for the two days closer, but not for the next two! Where are we supposed to stay? Also, has there been any news on Horsey?” The man sighed, and sounded like he was choking back a sob. “Ok, please keep me updated.”

Your curiosity got the better of you. Turning your head, your eyes landed on one British-Thai Williams driver and his amazing golfer-girlfriend. You decided to be friendly, and a bit nosey.

“Hi Alex,” you almost whispered.

His and Lily’s head whipped up at your voice. He was able to shoot you a small smile.

“Uh, is everything ok?” you prodded.

Alex’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words. When he couldn’t, Lily spoke up for the two of them.

“Well, our hotel was canceled and we really can’t find a place go figure. And the airline somehow lost Horsey.”

You cocked your head. “How does an airline lose a whole horse?” The two of them giggled.

Alex finally spoke up, “Logan thought that Horsey was an actual horse the first time as well. Horsey is actually my cat.”

Your eyes bulged. You were about to speak when the nice lady returned with your keys. You quickly thanked her before walking closer to the couple. You gestured for them to follow you. Once the three of you were outside, you parked you suitcase before pulling the carrier closer.

“So, I’m thinking that he’s actually yours then.” You handed the carrier over. You had never seen Alex act as quickly as he did. He gently placed the small bag on the floor and unzipped the top. Horsey’s head popped out and he meowed loudly at the sight of his owner. Alex scooped him up and brought him close to his face.

You continued, “Somehow, he had one of my name tags on his bag. I’m glad that Max now doesn’t have to help me find where he’s supposed to go.” You offered a small smile as your hand now rested on the top of your suitcase handle.

Alex now had a bright smile. “Thank you so much. I was devastated when I couldn’t find him. The airline swore that he was on the flight. I guess he just got a bit misplaced.” He turned to Lily. “Now what are we going to do about the hotel situation.”

Lily got out her phone and started to scroll; Alex’s head was leaned over, trying to see the screen. An idea popped into your head.

You spoke up, “Well, my flat has a guest bedroom and my car is big enough to hold the luggage.” You shrugged as you pointed in what you hoped was the direction of your Porsche.

Lily shook her head, “We don’t want to intrude.”

Your hands waved in front of you. “Nonsense. I invited first. And besides, a friend of Logan’s is a friend of mine.”

Alex looked shy as he smiled, “Well if you don’t mind. It would only be for a night or two!” He quickly added that last bit. Redness flushed his embarrassed face.

“Perfectly fine. I think Max and Kelly are coming over tomorrow if that’s ok,” you asked as you made your way to the car, Alex and Lily followed.

“Y/n. It’s your flat, we don’t care.” You popped the trunk and struggled to get your suitcase in. Stupid clothes. Alex quickly shoved the fur ball into your arms and took yours and Lily’s suitcases. The two of you smiled at each other as you also watched Alex struggle.

“What did you both pack in here?”

“Clothes,” your voices sounded at the same time. A smirk was shared as the trunk finally was able to be closed. You handed the cat back to Alex as you opened your door. Lily climbed into the passenger seat, while Alex took up the back row with Horsey.

You carefully turned your car on, and it rumbled to life. You slowly backed out of the parking space, turned, and headed to the exit. As you stopped at the stop sign, your finger pressed the button for the top to fold back. As soon as your car was outside the garage, the sun seemed to fill up the extra space around your group.

As you drove to your flat, you mentioned, “Lily, you can play some music if you’d like to.”

She swiped up on her phone and connected it to the Bluetooth. “Any song you want to listen to?”

You thought for a moment. What song could you choose and not be embarrassed to death. Lily seemed like a T-Swizzle woman.

“Uh, how about Karma by Taylor Swift?” You thought that Lily would be the excited one, but a gasp from Alex had your eye brows raised.

Lily rolled her eyes, “Alex is such a swiftie.”

It was your turn to gasp, “I say when we’re all together, us, Daniel, and Lando need to go to a concert together.”

“Lando is Swiftie?”

“A closeted one, but a swiftie none-the-less. I think Charles is one too.”

Alex also added, “George is one as well.”

“Shut up. I love that. Go Carmen.” Lily finally took this opportunity to sing. You rolled the dial for the volume and turned it up. As the car flew down the street, the three of you screamed at the top of your lungs.

“Karma is a cat!” Alex held Horsey up in the middle.

“Purring in my lap cause he loves me,” Lily say along. You had been able to put your sunglasses on. You felt cool. Look at you, hanging out with adults. If Max could see you now.

The drive to your flat wasn’t a long one and you got there quickly. As the car came to a stop under the covered walkway, your doorman came out to meet you.

“Hi Richard,” you sweetly said to the older man. He wasn’t like grandpa old, more like Christian-old.

“Welcome back ma’am. I see you’ve brought visitors?” He gazed at the driver and golfer.

“Yes sir. They’re staying for a couple of days. Something went wrong with their hotel.” By now, Lily had been given Horsey and Alex was working on getting the luggage out.

“Glad to see that you’ve taken Mr. Verstappen’s advice.” Richard smiled at you.

You scoffed. “Max just thinks that I have no friends.”

Richard replied, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you really don’t.” You heard Alex laugh behind you. Your eyes squinted at the Thai.

“I will leave you down here.” Alex looked worried for a bit before Richard started to laugh. “Richard I don’t pay you enough to laugh at me.”

“Y/n, you don’t pay me.”

“I know. All right folks, let’s go upstairs.” You took your suitcase from Alex and hauled it behind you. Richard always so kindly parked your car for you. Something about how he didn’t want you to have to walk from the parking area to the door.

The elevator was filled with a comfortable silence. You quickly sent a text to Max to explain the situation. He and Kelly were already planning to stay at a hotel nearby. Your flat was open to them if they didn’t want to sit in the room.

The elevator doors opened and you led the pair to your door. You looked over fondly at Logan’s door as you unlocked your own. You would have invited him over as well, but he wasn’t getting in until later.

Once the lock had clicked, you opened the door and was met with the scent that was undeniably you. The warm hints of vanilla and cinnamon wafted around the space. You were so glad that the automatic air freshener had kept working while you were gone. Your apartment in Nice never smelled the best, and it was so depressing to come back to.

“Welcome to mi casa, that’s French for front door.” You channeled you inner George Russell and held your hands out wide, showing off your living room. The pair just looked at you a bit strangely. You put your hands back down. “That’s actually not French, uh, Arthur and Charles would have my head.”

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, but it’s too late to change anything. “Uh, I can show you the room? It’s not decorated the best, but there’s a pretty big bed and closet space.” You turned around to start walking down the hallway. They followed you closely.

Once you opened the room, the two gasped. You winced, thinking that it was a bad one.

“Y/n this is so lovely,” Lily told you, putting her hand on your shoulder.

You beamed at the praise.

“Thank you,” you shyly muttered. Alex still had a look of shock and awe as he stepped into the room. You think that the big window helped bring the room in a lot.

“You need to tell me how you decorated this,” Lily spoke as she looked around the room. You rubbed the back of your neck.

“Well, Kelly helped me a lot. And I spent a questionable amount of time on Pinterest. The rest of the house still needs some help, but the bedrooms were the easiest to get done.”

“It looks great,” Alex finally found his voice.

“Thank you. You two are welcome to look around. I’m going to go unpack and take a shower. Did you two want to go to dinner? Or we can stay in and I can make something?”

The girlfriend and boyfriend looked at each other, silently communicating. Finally Lily broke eye contact and looked at you.

“If you don’t mind, and if it’s no trouble, we’d like to stay in.”

“You two both agreed with that by looking into each other’s eyes?” They nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll go to the store after.”

Lily offered to go with you and you happily accepted. The minute you got to your room, you allowed yourself to breathe. You shot a quick text to the group chat with you, Max, and Kelly.

Little Racer:

Hey, so we made it and I’m making dinner tonight Do you two want to join?

Big Racer:

Sure kid. We land in a few hours. Just let us know when you want us to come over!

The Better Half:

Hi sweetie, sounds good. Are we still on to go out tomorrow?

Little Racer:

Max you still need to learn how to not type with punctuation Yep I’m all good! Also, Lily and Alex are staying with me for a bit, could I invite her as well?? Max and Alex can do something manly

Big Racer:

eXcUsE mE? Interior design is manly enough

Little Racer:

*Blink* sure

The Better Half:

Max, I love you, but your apartment is terrible We’ll talk more about it at dinner See you then Y/n <;3

Little Racer:

Bye Kellyyyyy <3 Bye Max

Big Racer:

Why does SHE get a heart and not me :( See you soon kid

You placed your phone down on your charger and got clothes for after your shower. You didn’t want to take long, as there were guests that you needed to entertain. You just stuck to the basics to get the stale airplane air off of your skin. You’d feel better once you smelled like yourself. You changed right after, not caring about your wet hair.

You were pleased to see the two on your couch. You worried that they might have felt as though they needed to wait for your instruction. You grabbed your cross body bag and your sneakers.

“Lily will you be ready to go in the next few? Also, Max and Kelly might come back while we’re gone, so Alex could you let them in?” Alex gave you a nod and Lily let you know that she was ready whenever you were. You slipped your shoes on and headed for the door, Lily was right behind you.

You had texted Richard beforehand that you were coming down soon. It was nice to see your car waiting for you. Richard held the keys on his finger that you took as you passed. You have him a quick thanks and tipped him well. He had told you time and time again that he was paid more than enough, but you never listened. You weren’t stingy with the people who were good to you.

The trip to the store was uneventful. You were thankful that Lily was with you so that she could buy some adult drinks that your ID would not be enough for. The plan for the meal was simple enough. Something that could cater to your, Max’s, and Alex’s diets without any one of your trainers getting onto you.

When you got back, you noticed an unfamiliar car in the front. You shrugged at the sight, knowing it was probably Max and Kelly’s rental for the first few days. As you opened the door, you could hear Alex and Max talking wildly. You rolled your eyes.

“Wow, thanks guys for the offer to help with the groceries. Real nice.” The two immediately shot up and you laughed. Alex took Lily’s bags while Max took yours. Kelly stood up to give you a hug.

“Hi Y/n,” she said, bringing you into her arms. You squeezed tight. It had been a while since you’ve seen her outside of “work.”

After you let go, Kelly reached over to give Lily a hug as well. Seeing the two women in conversation, you made your way to the kitchen.

“Kid, your lack of Red Bull in your fridge is disturbing,” Max said once he saw you.

“Was that a Star Wars quote?” you asked, giving him a hug.

“Possibly.” He shot you a sneaky smile. By your legs, Horsey had started to rub up against you. You leaned down to pet him.

“I think he likes you,” Alex said in a sing-song voice. You just scoffed as you pet him.

“Everyone likes me.” Now that earned you a scoff from Max. You looked up at him and raised your eyebrow. “Name one person who doesn’t.”

“Marko?” Max questioned with a wince.

“False. He texted me early and said that we need to get brunch this weekend. You’re losing your spot as Red Bull’s golden child.” Max only responded with an eye roll.

Alex thought hard as well. “Uh, there’s that one journalist who seems to hate you. What’s his name again?”

You rolled your eyes at the mention, “Louise Tynker. Mans has made it his mission to get me to say the wrong things. Like last week he asked if I thought Daniel should have taken Checo’s seat instead of me.”

Max smirked, “And what did you tell him?” He took a sip from his drink.

“I told him that Daniel is a great driver, but Christian made a decision to put me in the seat instead. Sorry that I didn’t know I was in the running for even being considered to take the seat.”

“And what did you say after that?” Oh.

You exhaled a laugh, “I told him that his microphone might get more juicy answers if he got it out of his ass.”

“That’s my kid.” Max raised a hand and you hit it. Alex’s eyes were wide at the confession of the story before he started to laugh as well. You quickly got the dinner ready, and before you knew it everyone was enjoying themselves at your table.

As you picked at your food, you decided to ask, “So do you two want to come with us to look at decorations or do you want to just stay here?”

Lily groaned, “Alex has no design skills.” Alex gawked at her.

Kelly spoke up too, “Same with Max. Y/n are you sure you wanted to invited them?” All eyes were on you and you shrank back into your chair.

“Uh. He can’t be worse than Max?”

Max squawked in his seat, trying to come up with an argument.

Lily cut into her dish, “Trust me, he is. He put all of his trophies in the laundry room.”

You looked over at him, “Alex, you know trophies are supposed to be displayed on mini fridges, not washers and dryers.”

“Hey! Leave my championship trophy and mini fridge alone. You can’t talk cause you don’t have one.”

You quickly pointed to your F2 championship trophy in the beautiful display case that was the centerpiece in your living room. You raised an eye brow. “Wanna try again?”

“Trophies don’t belong on mini fridges.”

You looked at Alex.

“And not on washers and dryers.”

You, Lily, and Kelly all hummed in agreement before getting back to the conversation. Tomorrow would be hectic, but you’d have fun.

Hopefully.

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bwabys-scenarios · 20 days

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Hi bwaby ~ I’m new to your page and I love your yandere posts ^^ I’m reading the ones you’ve written for Kurapika. I saw your requests were open.

How do you think hxh yanderes would respond to their captive s/o having a panic/anxiety attacks when their captor tries to get intimate? How would they go about that?

🖤 ur work 🖤🖤🖤 thnx

Yandere!HXH respond to you panicking during intimacy

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: dubcon, panic attack, bad aftercare, forced cuddling, slight manipulation/coercion with Chrollo(it backfires), vomit in Chrollo’s, Feitan is emotionally distant, Kurapika is unstable

A/N: just a little note that none of my yanderes will ever rape the reader. I just include dubious consent because being captive blurs the lines of consent. Can you really consent when you’re captive? I don’t know, so I include it just in case, even though in my eyes reader is always consenting during these acts. I’m not comfortable with writing out rape, so this situation is the farthest I go.

characters included: Kurapika, Leorio, Chrollo, Feitan, Illumi

Yandere NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @aliceattheart @pannacottababy

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Kurapika

First of all, Kurapika is VERY hesitant to initiate any intimacy after he takes you away. He wants you to get used to your captivity before he starts anything.

Kurapika is also the only yandere on this list that won’t be overly pushy in terms of physical contact most if the time, and honestly he’s okay if you never love him again… even if he really wants you to love him and give him lots of affection. He knows he did something unforgivable by taking you away from your life, and he’s willing to be hated by you if it means you’ll be safe.

Now, when you do eventually initiate some kind of intimacy he is over the moon. He would do anything for you, desperate to please you and make the experience as good as possible. Kurapika wants your love, your physical touch, and he wants it willingly.

So when he initiates, kissing along your neck with his hand gently rubbing your clothed cunt, he stops immediately when you start to panic. “My angel? Are you okay?”

He’s quick to pull away and give you space. His hands shake and he feels guilt and panic rise in his own chest. Did he just ruin all of the progress the two of you had?

But you calm down after a little, and lean against him. “I… I’m sorry, I just… I got really anxious.”

He’s quick to wrap his arms around you, tentatively smoothing out your hair. “Don’t apologize… shh, just relax. We don’t have to do anything.”

Kurapika spends the rest of the night just a bit unstable, terrified that he’ll do something to upset you. He just loves you so much and he doesn’t want to lose your love and affection when he just got it back. The next day he makes sure to pamper you more than usual, and he’s almost a bit clingy… as if he’s scared he’ll lose you.

Leorio

He’s pretty handsy, though most of his touches are just affectionate in nature. When you cuddle, he has his hand in your ass or thigh, kneading at the soft flesh.

Leorio likes to have you in his lap as often as possible, where he can move you as he pleases as cover you in kisses as he holds you as close as possible.

He’s eager to get back to sex after he takes you, though he won’t push… too much. Leorio is just super clingy and you’re already sitting pretty on his lap, the only thing separating you from his is that pretty skirt you’re wearing!

It was a normal day, with you sitting in his lap after he tugged you his way. But this time, instead of the usual soft squish he’d give your thigh or kisses to your cheek or the top of your head, Leorio started moving you back and forth against the bulge firming in his pants.

You instantly froze, feeling his warm breath on your neck. When you began to panic and cry, Leorio paused for a moment. “Princess? Something wrong?”

When you started to struggle, he gently set you down. The air was thick and heavy with tension and awkward energy. He scratched the back of his neck, his boner gone. “You alright?”

You shook your head. “I… I don’t want to, Leorio… I’m scared…”

He felt his heart break a little, but he was quick to reach out and gently ruffle your hair. “Don’t be scared… I won’t… do anything to you that you don’t want…”

But it felt a bit hypocritical, considering he did steal you from your old life against your will. Leorio had standards though, and one of those was not assaulting people.

That night, he was way less clingy than usual, giving you some space and time to process things… but you joined him in bed for snuggles later.

Chrollo

He kept telling you he wanted to make your first time with him special, that he’d buy you flowers and pretty lingerie to wear. He even suggested getting a nicer hotel than usual, which was shocking because the hotels you usually stayed in with him were beyond luxurious.

So when the special night came, he took you out to a fancy dinner, letting you order whatever you wanted. You had become very complacent, accepting the fact you’d never be able to escape him… not even in death.

So you are your food, and you bathed before putting on the set of lingerie he surely paid a high price for, and sat on the bed, waiting for him to get back from a meeting with some phantom troupe members that were in town.

The wait already had you anxious, but the way he kept going on and on about how perfect he made everything and how much effort he put into this night put a lot of pressure on you to do well.

And that was on purpose. He wanted you to know just how much he had done for you… how much he craved and adored you. With him, you would be endlessly pampered and loved… all you had to do was be a good girl and do as he said.

So by the time he got back, you were already anxiously fidgeting with your lacy black lingerie, biting your lip.

Now… he didn’t want to make you anxious, just a little nervous. He thought it would be cute to see you squeak like a timid little mouse as he took you… he didn’t want you to stiffly lie down and tear up when he unbuttoned his shirt.

And he hadn’t expected you to throw up from the stress of it all.

He felt a bit guilty, you were crying and muttering apologies as he called for room service, trying to clean it up yourself. Had he instilled that much fear in you that you shook in terror at the thought of upsetting you? That’s not what Chrollo wanted… despite his sly and manipulative nature, he wanted you to genuinely love him and see him as someone that protected and took care of you.

So once you calmed down a little, he pulled you in and snuggled you, kissing the top of your head. “I..: apologize. We’ll do this at your pace.”

You couldn’t really break away from his grip… and you didn’t want to anger him, so you let him hold you close and gently rock you.

Feitan

Feitan already is absolute garbage with intimacy, so it’s rare he’ll initiate anything. He’s both insecure and emotionally distant, but also longs for your affection and physical touch.

But he also HATES physical touch… so being his darling is a confusing experience where you’re constantly walking on eggshells.

The rare instances when he tries to be intimate with you, you almost leap with joy. He’s the only other human you have physical contact with, and you’ve almost gone crazy without touch and affection.

He’s very insecure and sensitive to rejection, so when he touches you, even if it’s just subpar, you praise him endlessly with soft whimpers and moans. He’s pretty skilled with his fingers considering he was a virgin before he met you.

So when he’s got his hands on your hips and ready to push his cock into your pretty pussy, instead of the usual happy whines you make… you instead whimper and shy away from him.

He’s tortured many people, so he can recognize the signs of a panic attack easily. You don’t know what came over you, but you just started to break down, crying and rocking yourself.

Feitan froze up, not knowing what to do. He’s not used to comforting others, and he already feels the harsh sting of rejection from your reaction. Was he that bad?

But… he’s able to push that away. He puts a blanket over your naked form and gently rubs your back while looking the other way.

“… don’t have to. Just say when don’t want it.”

And that’s all you get. He doesn’t kiss away your tears or clean you up… but it’s a big step forward. For Feitan, comforting another human being is hard, so the fact he’s trying for you proves that you mean something to him.

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writefightandflightclub · 1 month

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Seven (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Phew! Well, the last couple of chapters were a lot, hey? I wonder what will happen next, tee hee! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. You give me life! ILY :-*

Word count: 8.6k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

“Hey,” you croak, as Frankie cracks the door to your room, finding you laying in the glum light. You’re on top of the covers and hugging your pillow to your chest, body curled around the white mass like you’re trying to form a human s’more.

Of course, you can’t sleep. You’re just slumped there, despondent, blinking into the crow black dark. Your tears have subsided, at least. But you feel sapped. Like you barely have any energy to feel anything anymore.

“Hey,” Frankie returns, dipping the mattress as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Benny send you?” You had insisted Benny go and get some shut eye, after comforting you for the better part of half an hour. There were hugs and warm tea and threats to handle Pope if he’d done something to deserve it. He hadn’t, you’d explained. He hadn’t done a damn thing worse than you, at least.

“Negative.”

You hum neutrally and scooch your body up so that you’re sitting with your back to the headboard, knees drawn up around the pillow you still cling to like a security blanket.

“I’m gonna say something, okay?” Frankie says firmly, and you brace, fully expecting to receive some tough love. You note with relief, however, that as the man turns his head towards you, his eyes are nothing but soft. “You and me. We’re going back to your sister’s tomorrow. Get you some space.”

Space from him. That much is implied.

“No, Frankie.” Your throat tightens. All you’ve had is space. For months. The last thing you need is more.

He places a hand on your knee, his tone firm and almost paternal. He’s going to make a damn good father, you think, with a swell of pride. “That’s what we’ll do. It’s not going to be like this anymore. We’re gonna stop taking chunks out of each other.”

All you had wanted to do was to be close again. You’d never meant-

“-Frankie.”

“Just think about it.”

You nod, and Frankie pats your knee. Stifles a yawn. Presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He looks wiped. With a gust of breath he stands, preparing to leave. “G’night, chiquita. Get some rest, alright?”

“Yeah. And Frankie?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

“What for?”

You sweep your hand through the air. “For the drama. Et cetera.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you know…” You cast a sidelong glance towards the black pane of the window. “Is… he coming back?”

The man drags his tongue along his lip. He does that when he’s uncertain. “He’ll be back.”

“How do you know?” You don’t remember the last time you felt or sounded so small.

“Because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment,” Frankie attempts a lopsided smile, his cheek tugging on the corner of his mouth; but it drops when he realises his joke hasn’t landed. “Just… try to get some rest. Okay?”

You nod, and you watch Frankie leave, his face murky but kind through the shadows as he gently tugs your door closed behind him.

When he’s gone, you wait a moment for his footsteps to retreat and then you cross to the window, cracking it open far enough that you can hear the gentle shush of the waves. Far enough that you could hear either the sound of a truck pulling away in the dead of night, or the front door clicking gently closed, perhaps.

You lie back on top of the bed covers, flat on your back, and your limbs stretched out like a starfish. You lie with your eyes open, staring at the ceiling - exhausted, but wide awake.

And, after who knows how long like this, you hear footsteps tramping on to the porch. You hear the front door gently being latched, and the soft pad of someone travelling up the stairs. You hear the footsteps pause outside of your door for a moment and you hold your breath. You imagine an outstretched fist, primed to knock, but you dismiss this as wishful thinking. You’ve done a lot of that lately. Too much.

Then, finally, you hear him shuffle into his room, clicking the door shut behind him.

Only then - when you know he’s back - can you sleep.

And, as you drift off, your thoughts of him merge with the soporific sounds of the waves.

You’d doubt, with how much you’ve ached for him already, that you could hurt anymore, but you know fine well that it’s possible. After all, the waves break over and over, don’t they?

They break, and they break, and they break.

***

The following morning is an awkward affair. Everyone is tetchy, and even after a very necessary lie-in, residual grumpiness abounds.

It figures. A shouting match and a rude awakening will do that.

Still, the day must go on. You get knocked down? You keep moving.

Will, ever an early riser and a true hero, brews up the first pot of coffee. Starts cooking up some breakfast, and, one by one, you and the boys filter downstairs, chasing the scent of sustenance.

“Don’t even,” you say to Tom the moment he opens his mouth, the room falling silent as you waddle sleepily downstairs, gravitating straight towards the caffeine and the relative safety of Will. Frankie, Benny, and Tom are sat around the dining table, and, you note -because of course you do- that Santiago is glaringly absent.

Maybe Frankie advised him not to come downstairs just yet. Perhaps he’s simply sulking. Or sleeping. Or avoiding you. Perhaps, maybe, possibly a million and one things, which you’ll never know the reasoning behind.

It doesn’t even matter now.

You’re done trying to figure him out. Since when did that ever get you anywhere useful?

Instead then, you attempt to refocus. To divert your attention away from your sun, and towards the wider constellation of stars you are proud to call your squad. And, of course, to your plate of breakfast - that deserves attention too.

The one thing you refuse to focus on, for the moment, is the elephant in the room.

Still, you glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“What else is new with you then, Benny boy? Seeing anyone?” You reach for just about the only topic you hadn’t covered with him yesterday evening - when you had been trying ever so valiantly to distract yourself from Santiago and all that he entails.

In response, his baby blues dance with mischief and he grins, raising one arm to pop a bicep in celebration even as he shovels forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth with the other. “I had myself a date the other night.” He probably flexes in his sleep, this man.

“She stay for breakfast, Benjamin?” Frankie interjects, finally managing to be vocal again now that he’s been provided with the sweet hit of his second mug of caffeine.

“‘Catfish. She was breakfast.”

You hear Will groan from over at the stove. “Too much information, Ben.”

Ben, meanwhile, looks entirely unapologetic.

“Whatever happened to being a gentleman, huh? The way your Granny raised you?” Tom enquires with a thin smile. “Thought gentlemen didn’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but I was a gentleman, Redfly. Let her finish first ‘n’ everythin’.” Benny offers a shit-eating grin, and you are once again grateful for the distraction as the room descends into fond bickering, the back-and-forth culminating in Will whipping his sibling with a rolled tea towel for continuing to overshare, accidentally catching Tom in the crossfire.

“Those dirty-minded individuals asked the questions, man,” Benny defends, jabbing his finger around in a circle at the rest of you in accusation. “They always wanna know what action I’m getting. Hell, no-one ever asks me what I’m readin’.”

You snicker.

You glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“Of course not. We’re trying to live vicariously through you, man,” Tom interjects. “We don’t want to vicariously read things.”

“Especially not the pretentious shit you read, Benjamin,” Frankie digs, before collecting up the plates and conveying them over to the sink. And, given a natural lull in the conversation, Benny takes the opportunity to grab your attention.

“You still up for training later, hon? I’m tabled for a beastly session this afternoon.”

It briefly crosses your mind to wonder where Benny gets his abundance of energy. You, on the other hand, can’t even be bothered to trace that train of thought through to completion. “Yeah. Maybe, Ben. I, uh, need to drive into town this morning though.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, with a mouthful of streaky bacon, swivelling his cap to sit backwards on his head as though that will help him pay better attention to you.

You glance once more -only briefly, of course- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“Mmm-hmm. Need to grab something from the pharmacy.” You blink, attempting to look as innocent as possible, but your face burns with a flare of heat, and you can’t help but scratch your nose self-consciously.

You feel as though they all know the purpose of your trip - somehow - even though that’s impossible. And, you pray that even if they do, that they will at least have the courtesy to let it slide.

Unfortunately though, you suddenly remember that Tom exists, and that therefore, you’re likely not getting away with it that easy.

“You and Pope all out of condoms or something?” he guffaws around the lip of his coffee mug as he takes a deep swig.

“Tom,” Frankie warns, subtly shaking his head as he comes to retake his seat by you.

Oddly though, Tom’s comment barely even manages to irk you. You pat your defender on the arm. “Frankie. I’m fine.”

He surveys you regardless, to be sure, and you are grateful for it. Frankie knows fine well that Tom has a talent for rubbing you up the wrong way. The two of you have never quite seen eye to eye.

“See, she can handle herself just fine,” Tom reminds him pointedly. He never did like the way the rest of the boys fussed so damn hard over you. His tone has the veneer of light-heartedness. “You can take a joke, right?”

Your lips twitch around some halfway cruel retort, but, turns out, you truly have no ire left today. You’re all out - and besides, you’re not looking to burn any more bridges than you have already on this trip.

“Listen,” you begin sincerely, cradling your mug of coffee between your palms. Deciding to nip this in the bud before it spirals. “Are we good, Tom? I was a little bit hot-tempered yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Once again, you glance towards the mouth of the stairs. Your gaze lingers a fraction longer this time, until it ticks back to Tom.

He looks at you levelly for a moment over the rim of his mug, before his brown eyes begin to shine with a dull, metered-out warmth. Nothing like the warmth of your sun, of course, but shining on your more brightly than Tom had deigned to in a long while, at least. “Sure we are. So long as you don’t wake me up in the middle of the night again. I need my beauty sleep.”

You hold your palms up in rare surrender. “You got it.”

“What was all that about, anyway?” Tom needles, shuffling forward in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. Beside you, you can sense Frankie and Benny ready to knock him back should he dare to overstep. You wonder suddenly if you’re too harsh on the guy. If you need to loosen off, be a little kinder.

You wrap both hands more tightly around your coffee now, letting the warmth bleed through into your interlaced fingertips and the steam rise under your chin. “The usual,” you dismiss, not wanting to go into specifics. That would involve replaying it all. Would call for a digging out of the shrapnel lodged in your chest - an activity far too involved to undertake alongside a lazy breakfast. “Sometimes a storm is what it takes to clear the air, right?”

“And?” Tom cranes forwards a little more. You clock Frankie’s nostrils flaring subtly in annoyance. “Is the air clear now?”

You know what Tom’s asking. Was anything resolved? Are you two done?

Is all this over?

Apparently curious, all three of the men direct their gaze toward you, keenly awaiting your answer. You even reach for one -an answer- but you come up lacking, and your uncertainty carves a notch into your brow. Makes your mouth go dry. Your gaze flicks to the mouth of the stairs, and this time, you can’t look away from it. “I…”

Thankfully, unfortunately, you are saved and damned all at once as Santiago finally appears. Emerging from the spot you’ve been glancing intermittently at all through breakfast.

All the faces in the kitchen turn abruptly towards him as his careless footfalls sound out, and suddenly his eager skip down the stairs entirely loses steam. His pace slows, dragging to a dead halt by the time he has reached the base of the stairs.

Your eyes go as wide as they can, through no fault of your own, and despite being the focus of the whole group’s attention, Santiago stares straight ahead at you. Of course he does. Only you, as though there is no-one else in the room to acknowledge.

“Morning,” he addresses, solely to you, his expression impassive, yes - but certainly not harsh. Not angry.

“Morning,“ you respond, as brightly as possible, your eyes still wide and unblinking, and it is a little unnerving as every other head in the room swivels simultaneously around to face you. Oh good. Because you’d worried this might be awkward. You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “Will has bacon,” you offer stiffly, your whole body so full of tension it feels brittle; like it could snap.

As if the product of some hive mind, the heads swivel in unison back towards Santiago. He doesn’t drop his gaze from you, however. Doesn’t even blink - just looks between your left eye and right repeatedly. “Fabulous. Thanks.”

Sure. Okay. This is totally normal. Except… you don’t think you’ve ever heard Santiago describe something as “fabulous” in his life. But why not start now, hey? This is fine.

You watch him turn. Walk towards Will and the stove top, and when his gaze finally drops from yours it is like the taut line which was drawn across the room finally snaps, blissfully allowing some of the tension to sag with it.

“Good timing, Garcia. Here.” Will doesn’t miss a beat, transferring the spatula into Santiago’s hand and shuffling him seamlessly into his position before he can clock what’s happening. “I’m officially passing the torch of Breakfast Duty into your capable hands.“

“Uh. Sure,” Santiago obliges, obediently beginning to move the sizzling strips around the pan as Benny stands, already crowding him to jostle for seconds. Will slaps the waffled tea towel across Santiago’s shoulder for good measure too, and you die a little inside at how goddamn domestic he looks. Especially since he’s still wearing his fluffy sheepskin slippers. Rocking his bedhead of gently tousled, greying curls.

It makes you yearn.

“Want a ride into town, soldier?” Will calls to you across the space, jutting his chin up at you and snapping you from your stupor. Immediately, you scrape your chair back, the gentle throb of nerves making you eager to animate. Eager to jump on any excuse to get the hell out of there.

“Yes! Please!”

You scoop up your plate and cutlery, and you attempt to take Frankie’s to the sink too. That is, until he protectively winds his arm around it like a bear defending its cub and begins actively batting your hand away. You guess he wants second helpings too.

You sidle over to the stove then, where Santiago is dedicating himself to his latest occupation with vigour, Benny equally invested in hovering with his empty plate - and not above begging for scraps.

“Where to in town?” Santiago asks in a hushed voice, his thick eyebrow arcing. You dismiss your plate into the dish bowl to soak, and he pauses his spatula duties momentarily to await your response.

“Pharmacy.” You look at him pointedly.

His face crumples with something resembling apology. Or - perhaps more likely - regret. “Okay.”

Your eyes lock for a moment, and he looks so different to you this morning than he had in the dead of the night. It is more than the gentle morning sun giving a soft glow to his features, the dusting of late summer freckles on his nose popping in the light. It is more than the wholesome appearance of him cooking up breakfast. More than the hush in his tone, and the way his chin dips down, making his eyes look big and round and gentle as he looks at you from beneath his long sweep of lashes.

You suspect that he is purposefully making himself soft. Blunting his harsh edges so deliberately and so entirely that you fear he will sluice to the floor like the insides of a cracked egg. “You, uh… You need anything? Need me to…?”

Santiago. Honey. You’ve done quite enough already.

“No,” you say, but the word doesn’t audibly make it out the first time around. You clear your throat. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

Your gaze dips to the dried, rogue fleck of toothpaste right on the corner of his mouth. You can’t explain why, but this tiny, human detail makes your chest ache. “Talk later?”

He forces his sober expression to twist into a halfway smile. His eyes grow big and earnest, that cup of coffee gaze gently warming you. “Okay.”

Don’t, you inwardly plead with him. Don’t give me hope. Don’t break me again, Santiago.

A niggle plays at your brow. It’s odd, really. You remember the words and venom spat from each of your mouths yesterday. Of course you do. But you can no longer feel the all-consuming ire that came along with them. That part -that feeling- is absent. Every scrap of anger consumed. It seems as alien to you as the raging storm must feel to the clear morning which follows.

And so, you can’t help it. Really can’t help it. You dip forwards to kiss Santiago, softly. Right on the point of his beautifully high cheekbone, giving his tea-towel adorned shoulder a light squeeze.

You leave, then, to the sight of that subtle crimson flush darkening his cheeks, your gesture evidently both confounding and flustering him.

You leave too, to the sound of Benny yelling “Look alive, Pope! Don’t burn my goddamn bacon!”. The spatula has gone limp in his hand as Santiago’s gaze trails after you, and the tension is once again pulled taut like a string across the room. You imagine a festival of blush red balloons tied all along it, rising and dancing like your hope.

You leave, with an answer to Tom’s question.

You and Santiago? Is it over?

No. It’s not done.

But you are done with being angry.

You’re done breaking, and no longer will you throw yourself against those rocks.

***

The time away from the house was useful, and the scenes of the open coast slipping by smoothed your roughened edges out like a tossed, worn pebble. The salt-saturated air humming through your wound-down window had you drinking in deep, energising lungfuls. Then, there was Will’s steady, reassuring drawl, and all the feelings of security that came along with it.

Steady, dependendable, straightforward Will. You always knew where you stood with him.

At least, that’s who he had always been to you. Not the volatile, ticking time bomb you’d heard he’d become since he’d gotten out. Since he’d almost choked a man out in the tinned produce aisle.

It was good to have time to talk with him. You were endlessly glad to hear the ways Will was moving forward. You were glad -first and foremost- for him, of course; but you couldn’t deny it bolstered your own hope too. To know that there was a route out? A path onward - even when some things attempted to drag you back? It felt good.

Speaking of things which dragged you to them, you were also grateful that Will didn’t press you (too much) on Santiago-shaped matters. In fairness, at this point the whole squad is probably sick to death of the topic. Regardless though, it was refreshing to talk about other things. About Will’s new life. His bizarro public speaking gig. His worry for Benny, as an unfailingly attentive and loyal big bro. His insistence that the “kid” is not living up to his full potential.

Benny’s doing fine, you had assured him. Benny’s… buoyant.

So, in sum, it was safe to say that despite everything, by the time you had arrived back to the house you’d felt decompressed. It made you wonder if - maybe - last night’s storm really had succeeded in clearing the air. Of course, that depended on Santiago too, and where he was at today. Whether he had any more drama brewing, up in that pretty head of his.

From his vibe this morning though? You had gotten the sense that he was oh so tired too.

It didn’t change anything of course. The fighting. The fucking. Not really. Not any of it. The anger, once given its release valve, had simply moved through you like weather. It had turned out, it was all mostly bluster. Ephemeral. Shifting. And it couldn’t touch the truth of things, could it? The permanence and depth of your love for him? Not really.

It did change something in you though, that unforgiving storm. If nothing else, it had made you acutely aware of how powerless you are. Your weather cannot move the mountains, and Santiago is as stubborn and immoveable as a wall of rock.

You’d believed, at one time, that perhaps you could succeed in shifting him. Encouraging him. Convincing him.

But now you know for sure.

The only way he’s running into your arms is of his own accord. In his own good time.

When he’s ready.

If he ever is, of course; ready. And on that topic, you’re less and less sure that he ever will be. That Santiago will ever be ready to be loved by you.

It’s sad in one way to realise that. But in another way, it’s freeing. To give up. To stop trying to shape things into what you’d hoped they could be, and to simply let things be whatever they are. To make peace with the truth of things. And peace? It may sound counterintuitive, but as a soldier, peace is all you’d ever really wanted.

Perhaps that’s why you feel calm as you pace down the track back to the house. Why there’s a spring in your step as you fix up a sandwich for yourself and Will, heading out across the dunes to where the boys laze by that frilled edge of ocean. Perhaps you feel calm because you really have exhausted all of your options.

Because there’s truly nothing else you can do.

Because it’s out of your control.

Because you cannot move mountains.

And so, when you join the group and Santiago flashes you a tentative and oh so pure smile? You return it easily this time.

You can’t change yourself and how you feel. You’ve tried that. You certainly can’t change him. You’ve tried that too.

And… why would you want to, anyway, huh? To change him? In so many ways, you think, as you watch his rich, scratchy laugh bob in his throat, and see those delicious crinkles radiate from around his eyes, he’s perfect exactly as he is.

After all, he’s your best friend.

And, for the remainder of the afternoon, you simply want to focus on that.

For today, you reckon you’ll simply have to try to see him in pieces. In fragments.

You don’t want to admit to yourself that’s the only way you can make it through, but when you do realise, it strikes you. If you too find it hard to reconcile who he’s always been to you with all that he could be, then maybe you and he never were so different after all.

He certainly could never grasp all of you at once, could he?

***

The rest of the day passes pleasantly - much to everyone’s relief, you suspect. After the card games wrap up, there is plenty more entertainment to be had. There is time whiled away goofing around with a football and a frisbee. There’s a grill session on the dunes and chilled beers and music. When the heat becomes too sticky, too intense, there are sea swims and splashing around in the waves and everyone trying to dunk Benny. There’s solitary time too. Time for sunbathing and reading and podcasting and naps; and, in between, there is the cyclical eruption and waning of amiable chatter - whenever someone sparks up with a talking point.

In sum, you all opt to just be with each other. No particular agenda in mind, and it feels good. Really good.

You’ve missed them all. Hell, even Tom, though you’d never tell him that to his face.

The stretch of beach you’ve claimed is stunning too. The sands are golden and fine-grained and the water is perfectly temperate; but, it’s a hidden gem, the patch not attracting a fraction of the stifling crowds you’d find along the main drag. Throughout the day, other people come and go, of course. There’s the family with the adorable little kids, for example. The little boy, in particular, who had seemed to take a real liking to Benny - and who’d even roped him into helping build sandcastles. You’d watched, fondly, as each of your squad’s faces had split with wholesome, eye-swallowing grins at the adorableness of it all. There was the lone woman who spent 45 minutes giving you evil eyes - apparently, you’d deducted, for daring to be surrounded by five attractive men. You’d even suspected she might march over and punch you at one point, judging from the hate seething in her eyes when Will had asked you to slather-up his milky-white back with his trusty factor 50.

Mostly though, it had stayed pretty quiet, and you and the boys had more or less had the beach all to yourselves.

Various members of the group would filter off every now and again, of course. To replenish supplies, grab a new book, or buy an ice cream from the truck which pulled up. But, there had always been a core contingent remaining, even as the intensity of the day’s heat had begun to burn off, replaced with a softer, gentler, and more oranged glow.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t realise it, until it had already happened.

That by now, you and Santiago were alone.

You look up from your book and all of a sudden, you are the only one left lounging on the blankets. You look out to the water, and Santiago is the only figure to be found there too, currently floating on his back, bobbing over each gentle, orange-frilled wave which laps up to the shore.

Christ. When did it get so late?

Santiago must realise the predicament at a similar moment to you, you think, as by the time you have finished swivelling your head to scan the sands for signs of anyone else -finding no-one but a distant dog walker- he has already begun to wade out of the water.

It is something you have watched him do so many times today, but now that it is just the two of you, this time it hits just a little different. This time, you notice him. Really notice him. Can’t help it. You watch him rise out of the water in the golden glow of the descending sun, and shake the rivulets of water from his darkened, wetted curls. See his tan chest emerge first, the colour in his shoulders a deeper, richer brown already from a day soaking up the sun. That silver chain of his swinging and glinting in between his smooth, shapely pecs. And, you note the soft cushion of his tummy swelling over the waistband of his swim shorts, the garment sodden and clinging tightly to his ample hips and thighs. Even slipping down just a little as he wades from out of the water, revealing a hint of his happy trail as he beelines directly towards where you lay.

Your stomach twists with a deep, hot yearning, and you are grateful that you have at least a moment to compose yourself before he arrives, sea-shined and dripping, at your now deserted camp. You have the wherewithal, at least, to throw him a towel as he reaches you, trying not to stare (too much) as he begins to dry himself off.

“Thanks,” he offers, with a lazy flash of teeth, and you unconsciously rearrange yourself, very suddenly aware - now that you’re alone - that you are stripped right down to your flimsy bikini.

You see a swallow sink down Santi’s corded throat as his eyes skim down the length of you, but he is quick to obscure it. He’s still playing nice. Softening himself, you think.

With a laugh as roughly hewn as driftwood, he flicks some water at you after scrunching his hand through his sodden curls, spraying cold flecks across the bare expanse of your belly, causing you to tense and squeal. His shoulders shake with gentle mirth, and, once he’s towelled off and wrung out his shorts a little, he spreads his towel out next to you, parking his ample ass down.

“Didn’t feel like a swim? The water’s nice.”

“Nah.”

His head swivels about, eyes traversing the length of the beach. He scoops a hand around his stubble, and you hear it rasp like sand. “Where the shit did everybody go?”

You shrug with one shoulder. “Beats me. I was far too engrossed in my trashy novel to notice.” You dog-ear the page of said book and put it to one-side before leaning back, supporting your torso on bent elbows, legs still elongated before you and crossed neatly at the ankle. The position pushes your breasts out, and you swear Santiago tries valiantly to look just about anywhere else - more or less succeeding too.

“Then… I think we’re alone now.”

A mischievous smile catches the corners of your mouth. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.”

You turn your head towards him, to see if he’s picked up on your song-lyric-inspired choice of words, but the solemnity of his expression catches you off-guard. His brows are drawn down, the sockets of his eyes all shadowed despite the golden hour glow still pouring over the horizon, lighting the stark contours of him.

In unison, the two of you shift position, coming to sit cross-legged. Side-by-side, looking out over the ocean. It seems easier that way, you think. Not to face each other directly as you each say whatever it is you need to say.

You know that it’s come time to say it. That it’s overdue.

Besides, it’s undeniably beautiful, looking out across the view like this. Enjoying the lapping waves and the undulating, orange zest water stretched out below that burning sky. Now cooling, post-dip, Santiago reaches over for his trusty tartan blanket. Silently, he first tucks it around his shoulders, then he passes it around yours. It’s a stretch for the square of fabric, and so you huddle a little closer to one another, finding it is even more warming as your bodies press together. The wetness of his thigh, from those water-logged, sand-coated trunks contacts you too, but you make no effort to move away, instead resting your folded thigh just on top of his.

You can smell the ocean on him. Salt and sunshine and sunscreen. He smells like summer.

You look out across the landscape with renewed concentration as you wait for him to speak, not ready to face whatever expression his features may offer. You look outward with vigour while you wait for him to look inward, and you worry that his words - when they come - will surely be more ugly than the sight before you. Will be bitter and not sweet.

You even brace for it.

You’re so used to the storm.

Still, when he eventually speaks, you are surprised. Surprised that he is calm and steady. That his voice is like slow, warm sand pooling into your cupped hands. That his words are both bitter and sweet. “Hey. C’mere.” You link your arm into him. Lean your head onto his shoulder as his tone grows wistful. “Do you… Do you remember that night in Philadelphia?”

You smile immediately. There had been only one such night in Philadelphia.

It had been your birthday. You and Santiago had been catching a connecting flight, heading back from a deployment and en route to meet the boys off-base to celebrate. However, all the planes had been grounded due to some technical hitch with the tower. You’d been bummed that your plans had been ruined; but Santiago had come through. Had gifted you one of the best nights of your life. A very silly, drunken night, if you recall.

You cringe, hazy, smooth-edged memories flooding back. You clap a hand to your face with residual embarrassment. “Christ. The karaoke.”

Santiago chuckles warmly, and you feel his laugh reverberate through you. “It wasn’t karaoke! You hijacked the goddamn wedding band.”

Your hand clamps in dismay over your mouth now, and you lift your head from his shoulder to face him. “Oh my god. You’re right.”

Your laughs mingle together in the tight space between you, becoming indistinguishable, like the tide and the shore. “I still can’t believe you blagged our way into a wedding reception.”

“I can’t believe it took us so long to get rumbled,” his hand settles over yours, where your arm is still hooked into his.

You beam at him. “Thank God I’m stealthy.”

He pumps his eyebrows, entirely incredulous. “You? Yeah right.”

“I’m sure I must’ve helped, Pope.”

“No, cariño, no. You were not helping.” He scratches at his layer of scruff. “Shit. What was it… What did you tell the kid on the desk your name was, again?”

You try to recall, and when you remember you snort in a full-blown laugh. Your ensuing, chaotic giggle planes tears of joy out of the corners of your eyes. “Mariana Trench!”

“You’re fucking despicable. You know that?” Santiago laughs along with you, and God. It feels good. Really good. It feels effortless, your mirth sharing space like this instead of your anger. Your laughs mingle then dissipate, withdrawing gently like the retreat of a wave.

You lean your head back on to his shoulder, but your giggle fit is evidently not wholly through - not just yet. Your shoulders begin to shake up against him - gently at first, and then with a rising chuckle. “Whiskey in the jar-o,” you sing under your breath, wistfully recalling your drunken duet of choice. “Fuck, Santi. That was a good night.”

He rests his head on top of yours, the weight of it a comfort. “Yeah. Yeah it was,” he agrees. “Jesus, I’m telling you though. They were lucky we showed up. Before we livened things up? The dance floor was as dead as a battlefield after one of Redfly’s sweeps.”

You hum at the fond memory, a soft smile arcing over your face. He has you curious though. “What made you think of that night?” Why this memory, out of everything?

He stiffens noticeably up against you. Sits more upright. Presses his palms together. “That was, uh. That was the night that I-”

“-Vomited into a soup tureen?” You interject with a snort, as another random memory flashes back to you.

“No. Nope,” Santi counters decisively. “That was Cat’s Oma’s 80th.”

You giggle chaotically again. “Oh yeah. Shit.” You miss that lady. She was a sweetie.

“Hey. Listen,” Santiago begins with far more gravity. Enough gravity that you shift, turning your body as he draws your gaze to him. You had been waiting for this moment to arrive; but, now that it’s here, you wish you could cling on to the sweet things for a few moments longer. Still, you settle opposite him now, the two of you still cross-legged but positioned face to face. He adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, tugging on each corner. With a watery smile, you slide your palms on to his wrecked, perfect knees and give him a gentle squeeze there, seemingly pushing his croaked words out with the gesture too. “I want to say that I’m sorry.”

You have nothing for a moment. No words, at least. Nothing but the motion of your hands smoothing back and forth over his knees. Nothing but the pained expression as your eyes swim with an ocean of feeling, deep enough to rival the vast body of water before you.

You note that his eyes are wet too as he settles his own hands over yours, gathering them up into his grasp. He stares down intently at your hands, his brow notching with a deep frown. He drags in a slow breath and releases it. “This got so fucked up, and… that’s not it at all.” He looks back to you then, his umber eyes shining with remorse. Deep regret welling in his resonant tone. “That’s not how I want to show up for you.”

Your tongue, too, reaches for an apology as readily as your hands had reached out for him. “Fuck, Santiago. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry too.” You had never meant to hurt him. You had never wanted that.

He drops his gaze to your neat pairing of hands. Gingerly begins to smooth the rough, sea-pruned pads of his thumbs over your knuckles, your skin humming dully where he touches. “I mean it. I’m sorry for everything.” The tendons in his jaw clench, muscles slipping over bone. He drags your cupped hand into his lap, drawing an absent-minded spiral in your palm with the pad of his thumb. The sensation makes a pleasant tingle bed down beneath your skin. “I swear. I never meant for my bullshit to affect you. Christ - that was the whole fucking point. Thought the least I could do, after everything, was protect you from that.”

At his earnest words, your chest tightens, and you abruptly halt the dance of his fingers by clasping his hands, gathering them between your own palms like a prayer. Your voice cracks in half like a broken promise. “Santiago. For Christ’s sake. You think I need protecting?” The implication in his words cleaves your heart in two. “From you?”

He shrugs with one shoulder. Sniffs. The muscle in his cheek tugs up, and you feel his hands go clammy in your grasp.

He frees himself from your grip for a moment, before continuing to skim his fingers up and down your forearm arm in a gentle, tender dance. The lightness of his touch contrasts starkly with the heaviness settling into his brow, his wet, puppy dog eyes swimming beneath. “I dunno. I was always a better fucking soldier than I was a friend.” He swallows, his voice so soft you can barely hear him. “Than I was… anything else you might’ve needed me to be.”

“No. That’s not true,” you respond adamantly, your head shaking vigorously from side to side. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“Except when it counted.”

“No!” you emphasise, the thrust of your words carrying your whole body forward. You shift position, transferring on to folded knees, crouching before him in the sand. Reaching, to slip your palms up to each side of his face, and you hold him like a prayer now. “No, Santiago. Especially when it counted. Believe me.”

He tries to turn away from you - you see it. He tries to begin his retreat, like usual, but this time, you capture his roughened cheek with one palm and you hold his gaze with yours. You speak firmly, willing him to understand. “Santiago Garcia. Idiota. You’re my hero.”

He scoffs lightly. His face twitches with scepticism. With doubt. With this self-deprecation he always carries, usually so well concealed by his confidence and easy charm. And yet, as you caress his stubble-flecked cheek with your palm, he sinks gratefully into your touch. Leans against it, his eyes fanning closed and his long lashes splaying down towards his cheeks.

“God,” he breathes softly in Spanish, barely audible. “No-one has called me that in a long time." He lives in a world of aliases and nicknames, and you see the weight of his grief twist his face at hearing his name fall from your mouth.

“I mean it. Do you hear me?” you plead, snagging his eyes to yours as they drift open. “You have made my life more beautiful in a thousand ways. You’re not -and you never were- something I need protecting from.” You regard Santiago, and his pretty eyes glisten, wet with a well of scarcely contained emotion -starlight in his lashes. “I love you, Santiago. Whatever has happened. Whatever happens. I love you. Not when you’re this ‘perfect’ version of yourself you finally deem worthy of love.” You search his eyes “That’s bullshit. I love you. I love you now.”

Santiago slowly, gradually musters a nod, and you smooth your hands over him. Over his shoulders. the nape of his neck. His chest. Trying to plaster over the evident cracks as his emotion crashes like a wave against rocks. He scoops a hand around his stubble, his lower lip now downturned. Trembling with feeling. Fat, liquid tears shining in his eyes, threatening to overspill. “I love you too.”

What a terrible, sad thing, you think. That you love each other. That there’s such bounty and abundance, but that at the same time… it is never quite enough.

Maybe one day, it will be; enough.

For now though, it is still something which causes you pain. And, you can see -more clearly than ever now- that it hurts him too.

His eyes dance over everything but you. His face twists. Contorts and tightens as he wrestles with it, but he cannot hold back the tide a moment longer. Full, wet tears spill down Santiago’s cheeks, and he makes some attempt to fumble them away, until they grow too numerous. You reach for him instead, and for a moment he tries to gently bat your hand away. “Hey,” you scold, protest, smooth. “Santiago.” His eyes drop, and his gaze fixes intently on a spot in the sand as you gingerly scoop his tears away with your crooked forefinger. The finger you then trace lovingly along the length of his jaw. The finger you trace along his eyebrow. The point of his cheekbone. Every place the waning golden light paints him. Your eyes dance over him. Every contour. Every sharp angle and every hollow. Every soft, silver curl. And he stays perfectly still. Unmoving, as though he is afraid your touch will withdraw like a tide at any moment.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and it is at once bitter and sweet. “It hurts. It… hurts to be without you.”

For a stretched moment, you do not believe he will respond, the only sign of movement from him a lone tear sluicing down his sculpted cheek. But, eventually, his words come. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I need to find a way it doesn’t hurt you to be with me.” You shake your head, a protest dying on your lips as Santiago drags your hands to him. “I know you won’t buy this. You don’t have to. But I do want out. I swear it’s just this one last job with Lorea. And then I can… Then maybe we can…”

He trails off, his words waning. Breaking on the rocks.

He never could articulate a future with you, could he? Never could seem to dream that up.

You could be angry about that, you suppose, but you truly have no more anger left to give. You could be sad instead but, turns out, you’re out of that feeling too. All you have left to offer in this moment, in fact, is a small, resigned smile.

“It’s okay,” you smooth, and what’s more, you mean it. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Your fingers play over the leather and beads of his bracelets. Over the tendons in his wrist. The light hairs on his forearms.

You’re done with all of that now. Done trying to push him towards a future you’re not even sure he wants with you. Not sure he ever wanted. It’s funny almost, as you sit here, letting the future go. You sit here with him, so much history humming between you it’s like standing amidst ruins. Like you are two statues, memories and stories carved into your bodies. Sometimes, it feels like the past is all you have. But, you are thankful when the sinking, orange segment of sun draws you to it, reminding you there is one more thing you have. Something between the past and future.

You have the here and now.

You reach for it.

It’s all you’ve got. Might be all you ever have with him.

You twist your body, turning outward again, away from him. You fold your knees up to your chin and you loop your arms around them, fixing your eyes straight ahead on the undulating ocean.

“That’s one thing I always loved about you, you know,” you push out. “How you always live smack bang in the moment. I’m constantly wishing it all the fuck away, aren’t I? Always thinking fifty steps ahead.”

Santiago follows your lead, swivelling to face the sunset too. His body becomes all right angles as he plants his elbows on the points of his spread knees, his butt and the soles of his feet flat to the floor, his hands loosely laced together in the space between his legs. “You should. You should think about that stuff. You deserve all that. Everything you talked about last night.”

His words cause a tight lump to rise in your throat.

Do you?

Does he really believe that?

Because, if so, then why in the hell don’t you deserve him? Why can’t he be the one to give it to you?

You offer a theory.

“Does it bore you, or something? The thought of a future like that?” The question emerges tattered, torn on hooks in your throat which try to hold it back; but it’s something you’ve wondered for too long to suppress it any longer. You’ve wondered without ever wanting to push that thought too far - too afraid of the answer.

“Yeah,” he says levelly, not a hint of doubt in his voice, and you hold your breath. “With anyone else, yeah. But not with you.” You are relieved but that fades ever so quickly, your face crumpling into something halfway petulant.

“Then… why?”

Why is he still running?

Why is he running from the life you could offer him if it’s something he wants too?

You hear Santiago tug in and release a deep sigh. Out of the corner of your eye you see him lace his fingers together, soothing his thumb over his own hand like he’s retracing your comfort. “Because… I’m not brave like you.” His voice tips up at the end. Like a question. He reserves all of his doubt for himself, then? It’s not you he refuses to believe in?

“You’re ridiculous. You’re the bravest man I know.”

“Heh. Yeah,” he lifts a hand to self-consciously scratch at the bristle of hairs at the nape of his neck. You hug your knees more tightly to your chest. “Running into bullets. Eliminating threats, sure. But… running into safe hands? I’m a fucking coward.”

You hum, a neutral, bland sound which expresses neither agreement nor disagreement. Which takes you nowhere.

There’s nowhere left to go.

Perhaps the road ends here.

Dead end after dead end.

Only resignation.

“Maybe we were on the same path, once upon a time, huh?” You throw the statement out with little conviction. You’re giving up on the idea that your words or your actions can make the slightest bit of difference to what could be. For now, you simply wish to make sense of what is. “Maybe - I dunno. Maybe I just ran too far ahead. Racing towards this dream of the future, before you were ready to go there. Maybe I just created too much distance.”

Santiago hums now too. A tight, pensive sound. “Huh. Is that what you think happened?”

You rub your palms over your own face. Dig the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. You have as much energy as a spent wave. “Uch. I don’t know.” Wordlessly, tentatively, Santiago reaches, retucking the soft tartan blanket around your shoulders. You manage to smile softly at him, surprised that it does not feel at all forced. “Maybe we just forget all that now. Maybe we just… I dunno. Live in the moment?”

Santiago’s palm draws slow circles on your upper back. You shuffle a little closer to him. “Okay. Then what do you want?” he enquires. “Right now? In this moment?”

His arm weighs over your shoulder, huddling you closer. “Oh. I don’t know. What does it even matter?”

“We leave here tomorrow. So tell me. What do you want right now?”

You could imagine that you are tired of wanting. That all you want is a moment free of wanting anything at all. But that’s not true, is it? You want the very same thing you’ve craved for so long. You want him. Finally though, something in you has shifted. You find yourself able to envisage a future which is far more immediate. Something you can grasp now instead of distantly yearning for.

The words feel hard and tight in your chest, but by the time they reach your lips, they feel so very soft and loose. Easy to sound out. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. All this time I missed you so much.” Unconsciously, Santiago holds you just a little more tightly. “I just…”

“What?” he whispers.

“I want us to fall asleep together. I want to hold you. I just want us to have one moment like that, Santi. Peaceful, you know? After everything, don’t we at least deserve that?” You tug in a breath to launch your next words, your throat closing protectively around them. Making them sound small. “And… And maybe…”

“What? What else?”

“Can’t we just fuck and feel happy about it? Can’t we have just one fucking moment together that doesn’t feel like an ending?”

You wait, your raw-wound words laid out in a line on the sand. You brace. You brace for them to be washed away. To have the salt poured in.

“Okay.”

Your eyes snap to his in surprise, and you find his soft, ardent gaze dancing over your features. “Okay?”

Santiago’s fingers lace with yours, and he tugs you to standing. “Come with me. Come on.”

He gathers up the remaining supplies, slinging the filled beach bag over one shoulder. Then, he folds his other arm around your middle. Tucks you into him. You let him lead you to the house, and it’s nice. It’s nice that for once, you’re not begging him to follow.

You let him lead you up the dunes, back to the house, and up the stairs.

You leave the golden, sinking sun behind you, but with Santiago’s warm, molten gaze shining on you, you still feel the sun on your face.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #santiago pope garcia #ride or die series

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karlwriting · 2 years

Text

Falling asleep beside Nanami Kento

Reblog is appreciated:)

I wrote a bit longer to add more fluff this time, aiming to give you all diabetes

There is a Gojo version in my tumblr as well.

Nanami ‧─═♥═─‧

You are working on your desk in the bedroom, wondering when will Nanami be back from work. Working overtime on Friday sounds like a torture.

“It’s almost 11pm already, Kento must be having a busy day. Gosh i miss him so much…” Although you two are already living together, both of you still think of each other A LOT after a few hours of separation. Suddenly you heard the door unlocks and your heart beats with anticipation.

“I’m home angel, where are you?” Nanami looks for you right after he hanged his briefcase on the hook. He can’t wait to be close to you after a long day of work. He missed everything about you - your scent, your giggles, and your touch.

“Guess where i am Kento~” you playfully say it out loud to give him a hint. You feel so happy to finally be able to see him.

‘Such a naughty girl, cute.’ He knew you are in the shared bedroom immediately. How would he not know?

“Nanami the wolf is coming to get the red riding hood, where will she be?” He loosens his tie and walks to the bedroom slowly. He gets a bit excited by simply imagining you as an adorable red riding hood. This wolf can’t wait for much longer to eat you up.

“Here you are, busy with work?” Nanami opens the bedroom door and finds you still using your Mac.

“Yeah, Gojo told me to make a list of the missing people in Tokyo”

‘Gonna add cyanide to Gojo’s dessert tomorrow.’ Nanami shows you the sweetest smile while his brain is creating a hundred ways to kill Gojo. (Gojo: sneezed)

“Such a hard working lady, feel free to ask me if you got doubts. Now this wolf is gonna take a bath first *kiss*, wait for me sweetheart.” he kisses your cheek then heads to the bathroom. You start to nod off on your desk during the wait.

10 minutes has passed. Nanami walks out from the bathroom with a bathrobe and saw you fell asleep on the desk.

‘You must be really tired from work.’ His heart breaks when he notices your dark circles. It makes him even more determined to torture Gojo.

“Angel, lets go to bed, don’t sleep on the desk.” He walks to you and gently massages your shoulders.

“Hm… sure. Oh you’ve finished bathing?” You wake up and give him a sleepy smile. The way you smile so lovely makes his desire burn more fiercely. But he knows you are tired, so he takes a deep breath instead. He is a patient man.

“Yeah, let’s get you to sleep shall we? Wrap your arms around my neck angel.” He leans his upper body to you, so you can hug his neck. Nanami easily holds you close in his arms with only one pull. Your legs wrapping around his waist as he slowly walks towards the king size bed. You can feel his defined muscles underneath the bathrobe.

“I am dating an adorable koala bear ain’t i?” he chuckles and fills your lips with kisses. His lips are warm and moist from the bath.

“Then you are the only tree that i’ll hug” you both laugh at the joke. He feels honoured to be the tree.

Nanami gently puts you down to bed and covers you with the fluffy comforter. Seeing you lying on bed so peacefully, Nanami joins you and carefully pulls you closer. You bury your head to his chest, feeling so secure and warm.

“This wolf is gonna behave tonight, cuz you need to be well-rested for tomorrow. We are gonna have an unforgettable day off. Sweet dreams.” He presses his lips to yours, then turns off the bed side lamps.

You are kinda looking forward to it.

⁄(⁄ ⁄ ⁄ω⁄ ⁄ ⁄)⁄

#jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami imagine

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elf-osamu · 8 months

Note

hi lovely!! congrats on your followers that is so wonderful 🥲

for your event could I request an action prompt from list 4, “[SOOTHE] - for sender to comfort receiver’s muse while they’re having a nightmare, trying to keep receiver asleep.” With Zhongli or maybe Kaeya and Diluc if you’re up to write multiple? preferably gn!reader being the one having the nightmare with Zhongli or whoever comforting them. thank you!! :) 💕

“SOOTHING WORDS FOR YOU”

[ masterlist ] [ event ] [ reblogs are very appreciated ]

hurt/comfort, romantic relationship, zhongli, kaeya alberich, diluc ragnvindr (separately) x gn!reader

warning(s) : IMPLIED SPOILERS FOR DILUC’S STORY QUEST (in diluc’s), night terrors, slight angst at the beginning for diluc’s (i’m sorry i swear i love him), pet names (love/dear) are used in kaeya’s and diluc’s !, not proofread

word count : 1449 words

plot : “your boyfriend discovers you’re having a night terror — how does he comfort you without waking you up?”

a/n : i’m incredibly sorry for the long wait </3 this has been a tough year. anyway, i’ve done some research: nightmares are bad dreams that make you wake up; night terrors are moments where a person shouts/moves/violently act while sleeping! these moments tipically last from a few seconds to around 3 minutes, but sometimes the time could be longer. so in this fic, it’s about night terrors because it think they fit better :) <3.

ZHONGLI

although he wasn’t someone who needed a substantial amount of sleep, the consultant of the wangsheng funeral parlor sometimes decided to rest at night and immerse himself in what the life of mortals seemed to be like. it was a moment of peacefulness when one’s mind could rest from the workload of the day and wait for tomorrow to begin — something that beings like him weren’t entirely used to.

memories of the past were a common occurence in the mind of someone as knowledgeable and experienced as zhongli. while you were asleep beside him, he quietly thought about his bygone encounters and things that he had witnessed during the years of his life. he looked back at those times, savouring both the wonderful and the unhappy, past matters.

it was one of those nights — though the brown-haired man was lost in his thoughts, he glanced at your resting figure every now and then, quietly admiring you.

as he was wondering whether he should have prepared a cup of tea for himself or not before joining you in morpheus’ embrace, a scream diverted his attention from his mind to you: you were sat up in your shared bed and you looked frightened; your breath was heavy, too heavy, and you seemed to be staring wide-eyed at something in front of you, forcefully kicking your feet.

zhongli stopped himself from talking to you, supposing that it would have been better to slightly move and see your eyes — as he was expecting, your pupils were dilated, your gaze wasn’t focused on anything in particular.

he had seen many people going though these episodes and he had observed how people dealt with situations like this one. he still was worried about you, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted by uncertainty and concern when there was the risk that you could have accidentally hurt him or even yourself.

“i’m by your side in this moment, [name], and there’s no one else here with us. you’re completely safe” he slowly said, his calm voice was echoing in the room.

your sweat was becoming more visible while you still kept moving, however it was without the same energy as before.

your partner took a deep breath. “you’re going to be fine, [name], trust my words. nothing can hurt you now — danger isn’t coming your way. you can rest”.

he carefully watched how you returned to lay down on the mattress, closing your eyes again and sleeping in a serene way.

after waiting for a few minutes to make sure you weren’t going to shift position, he followed your example and rested in silence.

zhongli would have confronted you about it the next morning, asking if you were aware of it and if it had something to do with stress or another condition.

but, before that moment, he would have been there with you as long as you needed it.

KAEYA

as the cavalry captain of the knights of favonius, kaeya had to be always hyper vigilant of his surroundings: there was the possibility to be caught off guard at all times, either by enemies of different nature or passerby who desired to tell him something. he had become rather perceptive thanks to many factors — and it was handy when it came to missions or other troubles.

however he did not expect to feel you vigorously kick his leg while he was sleeping.

his eyes widened and he sat down quickly, blocking your arm — which was about to punch his stomach — right in time. he softly sighed, wondering what was occurring but, unfortunately for him, his action only worsened the current situation as you began to be slightly more aggressive.

before letting go of your wrist kaeya mentally noted your racing pulse and then he distanced himself from you, even though it was quite difficult to do so without leaving the bed. “[name], i’m here with you. what’s the matter?”.

‘have they had a nightmare?’, your boyfriend asked to himself, pondering what he should have done to help you feel better.

the answer didn’t wait to be known: you were having difficulty with breathing and generally you appeared… frightened. although the only light source was the street lamp not too far from the window of the bedroom, it wasn’t a problem for him to see and sense your agitation.

after briefly analyzing your movements, it didn’t take him long to understand that you weren’t awake.

kaeya was way too familiar with those episodes: they could happen for various reasons — from anxiety to sleep deprivation, from fever to other conditions; they were a common occurrence during his childhood and they still remained in his adulthood. although now they happened rarely (in his case), he had gotten used to them year after year.

“we’re in this together, love” he softly spoke, enunciating every word in a calm tone. “you’re not alone; i’m right here by your side, you aren’t fighting an enemy”.

your body gradually relaxed and you seemed to breathe comfortably again. so, he slowly lay down on the bed next to you, observing your body from time to time to undestand if you were going to do anything abruptly or not.

“you’re doing fine, [name]. you can stay here, nobody is going to harm you. what do you say if we sleep, mh? it sounds like a pretty good idea to me”.

kaeya smiled to himself as you mumbled something in your sleep and completely calmed down.

“i care very deeply about you. you can be certain of it”.

DILUC

the owner of dawn winery faintly sighed as he entered his mansion; he felt quite worn out from the long evening since he had relentlessly fought several monsters, which had ventured too near mondstadt, as he did also on the previous days. it was his duty, an obligation he had imposed on himself: protection was needed at all times when peril was everywhere, particularly around the most vulnerable hours of the night. otherwise, what would have happened if there weren’t someone who watched over the city of the wind even in those moments?

cold water hit his pale skin as diluc took a shower to relieve the pain of his aching body. exhaustion persisted for some time, but eventually it let him go and he felt more comfortable.

he had just put his nightclothes on when he felt the crack of something break. was someone trying to steal from his house? did you leave the window open and a gust of wind had made something fall from the nightstand? there were many possibilities and a wave of panic suddenly overwhelmed him, clouding his judgement.

fortunately, since the room he was in was fairly close to your shared bedroom, it didn’t take him long to rush over and see what was taking place.

a lamp had been shattered on the floor, it was broken in small pieces of glass; your arm was still and bent over where once the nightlight stood and your hand continuously punched the air; you seemed troubled by something, but your eyes were devoid of any emotion, making it difficult to discern your state of mind.

did you suddenly wake up because he made too much noise by coming back to the mansion?

diluc proceeded to get near your figure, slowly collecting the broken glass with one of his handkerchief: it was already quite late and, given the circumstances, he decided not to call his servants. “my love, it’s me. i didn’t mean to disturb your sleep, i’ll be more careful in the future; however, i’d like to know if you’re hurt by any chance” he gently questioned, scanning over your body to see any signs of injuries.

you were unresponsive, staring aimlessly at the bedspread. nevertheless, you were breathing heavily; it indicated that your body was having a hard time to get oxygen, as if you were stressed about something but also… tired.

he put the broken lamp away, his exceptional stealth helped him not to make a sound. “do you hear me, dear?” he asked, without expecting an answer now that he had a general idea of the situation.

he sat down on his side of the bed, looking at you: your body had stopped moving, but you still seemed upset by something.

“there’s nothing to be afraid of here — i’ve returned home. you’re unscathed and so am i; we can slumber now”.

it took a while to make you sleep, but in the end your body gave in and you tranquilly resumed your rest.

diluc did the same soon enough, delicately hugging your figure and resting his face near yours.

“we’re completely safe”.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]

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goldenempyrean · 1 year

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭!

〚 Main Masterlist || Request Here 〛

Hey, hey! I decided that instead of having a bunch of separate prompt lists it’d be easier to have one big one. So I combined all my prompt lists together to make one big list. This means I can just reblog whenever new ones are added! So same deal as usual, if you wanna request just pick some things from this list with your character choice :D

>〚 Request Here! 〛 <

〘 totally feel free to reblog this list and to use it in your own writing too 〙

𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐨𝐮𝐞:

“I don't feel well.”

“I'm fine. Stop worrying”

“Relax, it's just a cold.”

“I'm not sick. I literally do not get sick”

“I think I'm coming down with something.”

“Its just allergies!” (Totally isn't)

“No. I don't have hayfever.”

“Can we take a bath together?”

“Does my forehead feel warm to you?”

“I’ve missed you today.”

“I can't be sick right now! I have so much stuff I need to do”

“Is it cold in here, or is it just me?”

“Is it warm in here, or is it just me?”

“Baby, can you pass me the tissues?”

“Don't freak out but...”

“I’d keep your distance babe, this is pretty gross.”

“Do we have any coughdrops?”

"Cmon, you know I don’t get sick.“

"My head feels funny”

"I just need some sleep, I’ll be fine"

"Please stop worrying"

"Wait!.. Don’t go.“

“I’m Wallowing in self-pity.”

"Couldn’t you keep your cold to yourself?“

"Stay still, you’re making me dizzy.”

"…The central heating broke.“

"I’ll rest later! I have really important work stuff to finish.”

*sniff* “No, I don’t need a tissue.”

“Woah… Why is the room spinning?”

“Tissues are for sick people!”

“This isnt fair! Germs should see me and run the opposite way”

“You infected me.”

“I caught your stupid cold!”

*sniff* “We ran out of tissues.”

“Don't come too close. You don’t wanna catch this.”

“I'm really gross right now.”

“Can we shower together?”

“I didn’t want to ruin our plans…”

“I don’t need you to check my temperature, Im fine!”

“I thought the medicine was non-drowsy…”

“I’m not drinking it! It tastes disgusting!”

“Can we cuddle?”

“I don’t think I can walk straight right now.”

“If you keep kissing me then you’re going to catch this junk.”

“I think that maybe…possibly… I might be sick.”

“Can we please just snuggle on the sofa?”

“I'm just trying to get all this work done! I have no time to rest.”

“You’re overreacting, Im fine!”

“All I’ve done today is catch your cold!”

“You don’t need to worry about me sweetie.”

“I’ve felt worst.”

“You probably shouldn’t kiss me.”

“Hey! Your gonna catch this now.”

“Do I look okay to you?”

“I must look a mess…”

“I’m not really feeling too hot.”

“This can't be happening-“

“Can you budge up, I wanna lay with you.”

“You need to stop worrying about me.”

“Im going back to bed.”

“I can see you staring at me. You’re not discreet y’know?”

“Naps are only for babies and old people. Im neither.”

“I felt funny this morning, but it wasn’t this bad.”

“I don't care what you talk about, can you just keep talking?”

“I'm a little out of it today.”

“We need to buy more tissues.”

“I do not have a cold!”

“I can't use toilet paper, it makes my nose get all chapped!”

“I'm not pouting…”

“I'm allowed to be miserable.”

“Oh Im sorry. Is my sickness bothering you?”

“You worry too much.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to get sick.”

“It’s a cold. I’ll live.”

“Hey! Don’t tease me whilst I'm sick!”

“You gonna nurse me back to health?”

“I'm not feeling too hot.”

“You better not complain when you catch this.”

“I'm just a little under the weather that’s all.”

“I said I was fine.”

“I don’t need you to nurse me, I'm perfectly fine.”

“Y’know… I heard cuddles can cure colds quick.”

“I sneezed twice, is that a crime?”

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It's just a silly little cold.”

“Do you actually think I’ve had time to go out and get a flu-shot?”

“It's chaos here. I can't just stop working because I have the sniffles.”

“I want a hug.”

“Don’t get lost in the sea of tissues.”

“I'm not grumpy.”

“Sharing is caring afterall.”

“Can you just shut up for a second?”

“That medicine tastes gross.”

“I just can't stop sneezing!”

“I don’t get colds.”

“You don’t need to take care of me, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re really sweet for wanting to look after me like this.”

“I totally just got my germs all over you!”

“We were meant to go out tonight!”

“I didn’t want to cancel on you…”

“Is it obvious..?”

“Did you come home just to look after me?”

“Aw, you made me soup?”

“You’re literally my favourite person on earth right now.”

“Can I lie on you?”

“Can you turn the lights off, they’re giving me a migraine.”

“I think I caught that bug you had.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“My boss won't let me take a sick day.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

"Why are you laughing at my misery?"

“Are you seriously going to say bless you every single time I sneeze?”

“I think I’m catching something.”

“I don’t want you to get sick too.”

“For the hundredth time, I am not sick!"

“I don’t don’t have time or energy to be sick right now.”

“Can you please stop pacing, you’re making me dizzy.”

“You gonna nurse me back to health then, Show me some bedside manner?”

“Jeez, if thats your beside manner, I’d rather take my chances on my own.”

“I can feel you drawing shapes on my back… it’s nice.”

“Maybe I should get you sick too so we can be miserable together.”

“I can’t tell if this movie is just boring or its because I’m sick but I’m really sleepy.”

“You’ll stay here while I sleep?”

“You’re hovering…”

༘ ⋆｡˚ ✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞:

“You feeling alright?”

“Bless you! Are you sure you're ok? You never sneeze this much.”

“Babe, im saying this in the nicest way possible, you look like shit”

“Your cheeks are flushed”

“Let me feel your forehead.”

“We need to get that fever down.”

“I’ve never seen you this sick.”

“So much for your perfect immune system.”

“We’re going back inside.”

“Jeez, you look half-dead.”

“Let's get home so we can get you feeling better.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Your health isn't a joke.”

“Thats it. You're going to bed.”

“Let's just cuddle”

“Your never usually so quiet.”

“Aw, you're all sniffly.”

“Wow. Bless you! That didn't sound too good.”

“I'm going to take care of you.”

“Would you like some tea?”

"You look like death warmed over.“ "Bless you!… since when do you sneeze more than once?”

"I’m getting you something for that fever.“

"Make sure you wear something warm.”

"You’re going to catch your death out here.“

"Slow down, you’re slurring your words.”

"I’m going to run you a bath.“

"Baby you're shivering.”

"Your eyes are glassy.“

"Aw, your nose is all red.”

"You know we own tissues for a reason, right?“

"You need some more rest.”

"What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be in bed.“

"How did you get manage to get this sick, this fast”

"Date night can wait, your health is what’s important.“

"Blow your nose, I can’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

You can’t drive home in your condition.”

”There’s no way you’re going to stay home alone like this.”

“Please let me look after you.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, everybody gets sick.”

“Please just sit down for a moment.”

“I’m not going to take that personally, your high on meds.”

“You shouldn’t be walking around when you’re this sick.”

“You can barely stand, nevermind go out and do a full day’s work.”

“If you sneeze one more time, I’m going to start getting worried.”

“Baby… Are you sick?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“How about we just snuggle and watch some movies.”

”Bless you… Bless you! Are you okay- bless you again!”

“It’s not like you to get this sick.”

“You really should be resting.”

“Please just lay down for me baby.”

“Here, let me help you.”

“Can you make it back to the bedroom?”

“Hmm… I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“You’ll feel better if you go and lie down.”

“Stop sniffling and go blow your nose.”

“Maybe you should just take it easy.”

“Your too stubborn for your own good.”

“You sound like you could use some more sleep.”

“God bless you!”

“Aw sweetie, your nose is all runny.”

“Somebody’s certainly sneezy today.”

“You’re not feeling well… are you?”

“Your shivering baby.”

“You’re sweating.”

“You’re definitely running a fever.”

“I’m going to need to take your temperature.”

“You should take my jacket.”

“Hey, hey, we can worry about that once you’re feeling better.”

“You’re past the contagious phase… right?”

“Make sure to drink plenty of fluids.”

“Let’s just have a lazy day.”

“Was it really worthy getting soaked?”

“I told you to wear something warm.”

“Are these flowers bothering you?”

“Baby, I think this is more than just the sniffles.”

“There’s no way that you’d make it past lunch in your condition.”

“We could shower together if that’d make you feel any better.”

“The steam will help with your congestion.”

“Goodness, you look like your about to pass out.”

“Baby you’re delirious.”

“Let’s just get you home and into bed.”

“Its your fever that’s making you feel cold.”

“We should really get you in a cool bath.”

“You can’t work in your condition.”

“There’s no need to worry. I have everything covered, just relax.”

“Wait… You’re not allergic to that, are you?”

“I didn’t know you had cat allergies!”

“Want me to make you some soup?”

“Do you need me to carry you?”

“You’ve been sniffling all day.”

“Do you need any extra blankets?”

“Baby please let me take you home.”

“I have tissues in the car.”

“You can sleep in the car, don’t worry, I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

“You’re not ruining anything.”

“You should really try and eat something.”

“Those sniffles of yours really turning into something, huh?”

”There's way you're going out. Not with that cold.”

“You’re looking a bit pale sweetheart.”

“Use a tissue for god's sake!”

“You’re not one to go quiet, what's up?”

“My poor baby is all sniffly, aren’t you?”

“Oh honey… You can't be outside like this.”

“Don’t be offended or anything. But you look horrible.”

“I think you caught my cold…”

“It sounds like you’ve caught that bug going round.”

“You’re in bed early. You feeling alright?”

“Oh my god. You’re completely burning up!”

“I think your fever is spiking.”

“We should get you into bed.”

“Cmon, let's get you into the shower.”

“You need a tissue?”

“Jeez, blow your nose before you drown in your own mucus.”

“Don’t worry, I'm gonna take care of you.”

“How long have you been like this?”

“If you’re trying to be subtle, I'm sorry but you’re doing an awful job.”

“I bet I could toast a marshmallow on your forehead.”

“I think you have the flu, nobody’s ever this sick with a cold.”

“Want some ice cream for your throat?”

“We’re going home, right now.”

“Come on, let's get you wrapped in warm.”

“Let’s get you in the shower.”

“We’re gonna stop at the pharmacy, okay?”

“You can sleep in the car.”

“You’re home early?”

“Do you not see how pale you are right now?”

“Let's get you into bed.”

“Cut the crap. I know you’re sick.”

“Hush now, otherwise you’re going to lose your voice.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly hygienic.”

“You’re kinda cute when you’re all sick and needy like this.”

“I'm now going to give you some tissues and pretend I never saw that.”

“You need to wear something warmer.”

“If you don’t get into bed willingly then I will personally carry you there.”

“I thought you said that you were feeling better?”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed; you’re allowed to be sick.”

“Are the rumours true, is the (name) actually sick?”

“I’d kiss you right now if you weren’t contagious.”

“Your too stubborn for your own good.”

“Let me take care of you.”

“I told you that you should stay home from work today.”

“Okay Ms I’m-not-sick, tell me why you sneezed five times in the span of an hour.”

“Are you done pretending you’re fine?”

“The only place you’re going is back to bed.”

“I know, sweetie, but you have to take it so your fever goes down.”

“Did you manage to get much sleep? I heard you tossing and turning all night.”

“You might be coming down with something....”

“You’ve really got the sniffles today, haven’t you?”

“I’m not leaving you until i know you’re better, and that’s final.”

"When were you planning to tell me you were sick?"

"You're sick. If you overexert yourself, you're gonna get sicker."

“Great… Now I have your germs all over me.”

“I swear to god, If you don’t get back in bed, I will physically drag you there.”

#Prompts #Prompt List #sickfic prompts #whump prompts #snzfic prompts #comfort prompts #sickfic #snzfic #whump #comfort #fluff #my prompts #illness #flu #snz #sickness #caretaking

256 notes · View notes

knowcelsius · 3 months

Text

So you clicked on my blog...

Hi! I write fanfiction (I’m gnothi_seauton), reblog things I like, draw occasionally (and badly), and ramble on and on and on and on and on…

Right now I am writing a ton of Astarion-centric whump. Sounds interesting? Come check out my AO3! I also write male Tav, so if that also appeals to you, come take a look.

Here’s a list of my fics from newest to oldest (all on AO3):

A Poor Judgment Call. 7k words, Astarion & Tav & Gale & Shadowheart. "Starving Astarion drinks tainted blood and falls ill."

Stinging Tongues of Fire. 🚫, Astarion/Gale. “Before either of them can make their first move, Astarion finds himself in the path of Gale's fireball.”

Vain Offerings. 13k words, Astarion & Cazador. “Astarion collapses during Cazador’s banquet, one man is determined to save him.”

Separated, Washed Away. 36k words, Wyll/Astarion. “Astarion is separated from the group and tortured at the hands of two strangers.”

The Cold Embrace of Stone. 18k words, Astarion & Tav, hints of Wyllstarion. “Infamous” for my asshole Tav:) “Starved and exhausted, Astarion falls into a trap. The rest of the party will not abandon him.”

Ringing Hollow. 8k words, Astarion & Tav. “Astarion is poisoned during an ambush, abandons Tav, and escapes.”

Cordyceps Pains Its Host. 20k words, Astarion & Gale, Astarion & Tav. “A mushroom begins to grow inside Astarion. Extracting it is the only way to survive.”

Trapped, and Lost, and Found. 8k words, Astarion & Wyll. “Astarion steps into a bear trap. Wyll is there to save him.”

A Jagged Edge. 13k words, Astarion & Everyone tbh. “Astarion gets hurt. Everyone else takes care of him.”

What is my writing style like?

Here's a scene I love from The Cold Embrace of Stone:

I am always open to your ideas! Some of my readers' suggestions have already inspired me to write more stories:)

On that note, what can I write?

In general – I’m a one-stop-shop for all things whump and angst! I don’t shy away from writing about graphic injuries, torture, illnesses, violence, body horror, mental anguish, verbal, physical, and psychological abuse, toxic relationships, medical themes, caretaking, healing, somewhat realistic wound care, gentle comfort:), misunderstandings, romance, slash, cringe flirting, Gale’s dialogue lines, arguments and fights, infidelity, non-graphic and graphic sex, pregnancy, death, religion, self-worth, consent, and body image issues, and so on…

While what I have listed here is mostly horrible stuff (like cringe flirting;), I can also write about subjects far removed from torment and anguish. That being said, I usually write my fics with a happy or hopeful ending:)

I also like to keep my work spoiler-free if possible. This might change in the future though, when I exhaust all my spoiler-free ideas.

What won’t I write?

Incest, underage characters in sexual situations, CNC or rape exclusively as a kink, and some other things that give me the ick but I can’t think of at the moment.

About me

Here I go by Kriss. They/them, in my 20s, Lithuanian. I like to write and talk about my interests. I desire arrogant blondes carnally. And, since you're nosy enough to read this far, I'm aromantic (that doesn't mean I don't write romance, but if I'm good at it or not, you can decide for yourself:)

Now, have fun witnessing my slow descent into madness! (Whump is not that great for the brain, apparently. But, heck, it is fun!)

#my bio #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion whump #astarion #astarion ancunin #my bg3 fic masterlist #bg3 brainrot

17 notes · View notes

littleoanh · 2 years

Note

Hii albiee, glad to hear you’re good:) i’m the person that requested a fluffy kakucho tenjiku arc smut and i want to apologize. i forgot that everyone in tenjiku arc is underage for some reason.. 😅 They all look so grown but they are 15/16 which i need to remind myself. I totally understand that you don’t write stuff like that! Can i ask you to still write the story if you have time but without the smut ofcourse. Sorry if I’m bothering you i just really enjoy your writings. I hope you have a nice day and thank you for responding!

A/N: Hello darling!! I’m so glad you responded and thank you so much for understanding. I completely forgot that Kakucho was young in the Tenjiku Arc too. I thought he was the same age as Izana (18) and then it hit me when I was reminded he was childhood friends with Takemichi first. Yes, I would love to continue this request and omit the smut :). Sweetheart, you are not bothering me at all! I’m happy to take requests from my darlings who enjoy my writings. Here is your modified request and hope you enjoy it!

Take My Hand

Characters: Kakucho x fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, minor violence, and fluff

Special Thanks: EB for proofreading, correcting and beta reading!

Like, reblogging, and kind comments are appreciated.

“Oniisan,” Tugging on your older brother, Daimon’s sleeve while looking through the windowsill of a cafe, “I want some daifuku.” Pointing the various types of daifuku that are on display. Daimon glances over at the sweets, contemplating if he should indulge you.

“[Y/n] chan, don’t we already have some sweets at home?”

“We do, but…” You put on the biggest doe-like eyes and cutest pout to persuade your big brother, “I really want some daifuku. Pleaseeee, oniisan?” Daimon, who can’t say no when you make a face like that and instantly gives in.

“Alright,” You smile victoriously, “which flavors do you want?” You list out the flavors, he nods, telling you to wait outside.

Daimon and you have been orphans since middle school. Your extended family couldn’t take the both of you in due to financial issues. They offered to take one of you in and place the other in an orphanage. Daimon, without hesitation, wanted them to take you instead of him. You refused to be separated from your brother and put in an orphanage alone. It’s either they take you both or none.

The both of you were better off on your own anyways. Managed to find shelter, eventually Daimon was old enough to work. He dropped out of school to work full time and provide for the both of you. You have always been grateful for him and always have his back.

“Here you go.” Daimon comes back with a small bag of daifuku and you smile giddily.

“You’re the best, oniisan!” Linking arms with him, while munching on a random flavor of your daifuku. You two are leisurely sauntering back to the small apartment, making small talk until you both hear some rowdy boys goofing around down the street.

“Son of a bitch… not these fuckers.” Daimon’s annoyance elevates, this is a rare occurrence for you to see this side of him. You wonder who they are and take a closer look at them. There are four guys.

One boy is lanky built with a small face, downturned lilac eyes, blonde eyebrows, black and blonde pigtails, and thin lips. The boy next to him has toothpaste colored hair, blonde eyebrows, circular glasses with matching downturned lilac eyes, average height ,and lean. Another tall boy with black buzz cut hair and braided back, a prominent scar from the back of his skull to the leftmost side of his face, with two different eye colors. The last boy has large lavender eyes, tan skin, straight short white hair with a center-parted undercut. He is wearing a pair of Hanafuda-derived earrings.

“Hmm?” The pigtailed boy immediately makes eye contact with Daimon, then a sadistic grin appears on his small face, “Well, well look who we have here.” The rest of the boys stare at Daimon, there is strong tension between the boys and your brother. “It’s our old errand boy.”

Errand boy? You remember Daimon mentioned working for a delinquent gang but promises nothing bad would happen. Until one night, he came back home with bruises and blood on his face. You were upset how badly injured he was but he assured you this will be the last time he would involve himself with them.

“Couldn’t recognize you without the blood on your face.” The toothpaste boy snickers along with the pigtailed boy.

“Daimon kun, it’s been awhile.” The white hair boy tilts his head while showing his mocking smile. “Have you been living well without us? We missed having you around.” Daimon clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“Can’t say the same.”

“That’s too bad.” The white hair boy’s eyes turn crazed and his mockery smile widens more. “You know…” He playfully taps on his chin, “I still haven’t forgotten what you had done to us. If it weren’t for Koko, we would have been stuck in jail.” His lavender eyes are now narrowed. “Thinking about it makes me quite angry.”

“[Y/n], step back.” Daimon speaks in a low tone, only for you to hear. Before you can argue, they lunge towards your brother and your body moves on your own. You jump right in front, arms spread out wide, protecting him. He looks at you, baffled.

“[Y/n]!” The boys immediately halt their attacks, not because you are an innocent bystander but because they didn’t realize how pretty you are, now they are paying attention to you.

“Careful pretty girl,” The pigtails boy display a charming smile while placing his baton under your chin, “you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“You should move out of the way, this doesn’t concern you.” The toothpaste boy changes his stance to show his full height.

“That was very dangerous what you did.” The two different eye colors boy appears to be worried for your wellbeing. “You should never step in front of someone like that.” The white hair boy leans close to your face.

“Get away from her.” Daimon practically growls while pulling you away from them.

“You have the same eyes as him.” The white hair boy observes your features, “You must be his little sister he always gloats about.” Leaning back while smiling, “He never mentioned how pretty you are.” His lavender eyes flicker between you and Daimon. “Shame on you for never bringing her to our hideout.”

“And have you ogled at her? No thanks.” Daimon glares at them.

“Daimon-kun don’t be like that. We-” Before the white hair boy can touch him, you shove a daifuku in his mouth and punch him in the throat. The other boys don’t have time to react as you continue to knock them all down to the ground with your swift fight moves.

“Stop talking like I’m some kind of doll.” You glare down at them, they look at you with awe. “And stay away from my oniisan. If you mess with him again,” there’s a dangerous glint in your eyes, “I’ll fuck you all up.” You grab Daimon’s wrist, “Come on, let’s leave these losers.” Taking him away from those punks.

“[Y/n], you didn’t need to defend me. I could have handled them myself.” You stop to turn around and narrow your eyes at him.

“What kind of sister would I be to stand aside with those fuckers who used you as an errand boy.” Daimon winces at the nickname, “This was my revenge on them for mistreating you.”

“You’re my little sister, I should be the one protecting you.” His eyes softens, taking your hand gently, “It would kill me if they lay a hand on you and you got hurt.”

“They wouldn’t, you saw them stopping their movements before striking me.” A confident smile spreads on your lips, “I used it to my advantage to knock all their asses out.” He let out a laugh, “Now let’s forget this ever happened and go home. I still have some homework to do.”

The next few days go by quickly, you notice a dreamy coffee shop displaying dainty pink desserts on the windowsill. You window shop, wondering which pastries would taste good when your thoughts are cut short by a figure, leaning towards you. “Any dessert you would like?” A pair of familiar lavender eyes stare closely into yours, making you fluster and almost fall back.

“Holy shit! Where did you come from?” You glare at the familiar white hair boy from the other day. He isn’t alone, he is with the boy with different eye colors.

“How rude, we have been here the entire time.” The white hair boy forges a small pout, however you stare at him blankly, unamused by him. “Your name is [Y/n], right?” His lavender eyes look at you curiously. “Daimon called you that.” Damn… “I’m Izana Kurokawa, memorize it.” His smirk is smug, making it harder for you not to roll your eyes at him. “This is my servant, Kakucho.”

“Hello.” He politely greets you, his eyes are still soft. There’s something about their dynamic that doesn't make sense to you. Kakucho seems too well mannered to be associated with this guy.

“Your servant?” You arch one of your eyebrows, “What are you? A king or something?” You ask him, sarcastically.

“I am.” He smiles proudly, is this guy for real? Your face drops into deadpan, not sure if he’s narcissist or a weirdo. “I am Tenjiku’s leader. The largest delinquent gang in Yokohama.”

“Cool.” You respond without any emotions, you honestly don’t care what this guy needs to say. “Have fun running it.” You turn around to leave them behind.

“I want you to join me.” You stop your movement, turning your head to the side to see his reaction. “Come join me. I want you to be by my side along with my Four Heavenly Kings and Executives.” You scoff and narrow your eyes.

“After how you treated my oniisan, I don’t think so.”

“He was the one who came to us for help.” Izana’s expression is neutral, practically unreadable. “I took him in because he is like all of us. Orphans. No home. No relatives to care for him or you.” You turn to fully face him, he’s just like you? “He had to start from the bottom of course, being the errand boy. He needed to prove himself to be worthy. In the end, he was the one who betrayed us… turning us in. After we welcomed him with open arms, gave him financial assistance and found him an apartment for the both of you.” Your eyes widen, you had no idea that’s what happened. Izana smiles thinly, “You understand now, [Y/n] chan? Your brother is the one who hurt us. But,” His thin smile changes to a more sincere smile, “I’m willing to let this go if you join us.”

“So you want me to replace him and be your errand girl.” Izana lets out a big laugh, almost sounding genuine.

“Of course not. What kind of monster do you think I am?” He smiles, “You’ll be in our top ranks. Remain by my side.” You still said nothing and he sighs, “I won’t put you in the front lines or have you fighting if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then what will I be doing?” He nonchalantly shrugs.

“Keeping me company. It’s boring to be around guys all the time.”

“You want me to entertain you?” Your vein on the side of your forehead pops, “Go find someone else for that.” About to turn away again until he stops you.

“If you don’t accept, I’ll keep coming after your brother.” You freeze, looking into his lavender eyes. He looks dead serious. “No matter where you both hide, I’ll find him and I’m sure… you know what will happen.” The tension in the air is dense, should you trust his words? “So up to you, [Y/n] chan. What will it be?” He smiles too innocently, making you want to rip it off his face.

“If I join, will you leave my oniisan alone? He will be unharm and never to see any of you punks ever again.”

“I will leave him alone, no one is allowed to come close to your brother.” You feel like you can trust his words. “It will be the same for you. I will not allow anyone to come close to you either. You are untouchable. I’ll have Kakucho make sure of it.” Kakucho nods for reassurance. “You will be taken care of for life.”

“If you are lying or break this promise-”

“I don’t break promises but if it so happens I do… then I’ll compensate you and allow you to walk out with no consequences.”

“My oniisan can’t know of this.”

“Lips are sealed.”

“Have it in writing, then I’ll join.” Izana chuckles.

“Smart girl. I’ll have it in writing.” Izana smiles happily, “See you soon, [Y/n] channn.” He waves playfully, while you walk away. I hope I am making the right decision.

Literally almost every day after school, Izana and Kakucho pick you up from school and take you to their hideout. Izana once demanded for you to drop out of school so that you could spend almost the entire day with him. Kakucho had to explain to him rationally how education is important to you. Izana reluctantly lets it go as long as you pay attention to him. The more time you spend with him, the more you get to know Kakucho.

Kakucho has always been sweet, protective, and interested in your schoolwork. He helps you study for an exam by quizzing you and giving you encouragement whenever you are feeling overwhelmed. He buys you your favorite snacks, plays video games, makes your favorite meals and reads books with you. Sometimes, you wonder why he chose a delinquent life. He’s such a polite, honorable, and gentle person.

“Oh hi, Kaku.” He is waiting for you outside of your school gate as usual but Izana isn’t with him. “Where’s Izana?” This is unusual for him not to be here.

“He’s busy today and couldn’t make it.” Kakucho shyly rubs the back of his neck, “I hope you don’t mind it’s just us two.” You smile softly on how bashful he’s being.

“I don’t mind.” Kakucho extends his hand out, offering to carry your backpack as usual. You hand it over to him and you both comfortably walk together in silence. Enjoying this peaceful stroll in the neighborhood. You spot a crepe cart in a nearby park, instinctively you tug on Kakucho’s sleeve.

“Hm? What’s wrong, [Y/n]?”

“Oh, sorry.” You shyly pull your hand back, you are so used to doing that with your oniisan that you pull the same thing with Kakucho. “It’s a habit. Umm… would you… want some crepes?” Kakucho flickers his eyes in the crepe cart direction.

“Sure, let’s grab some.” Kakucho takes the lead, ordering two crepe flavors, one for you and one for him. “Do you want to sit here?” He finds a bench overlooking the river and the city. You nod, plopping down on the bench and he follows after. “Here.” Handing you one of the crepes, your fingers accidentally brushes against his and he unintentionally drops his crepe to the ground.

“Kaku! You dropped your crepe!” It seems to snap him out of it and he realizes he dropped his own crepe.

“Oh um…” He picks up the dirty crepe to toss it in the nearby trash can. “I’ll just buy another one.” You stop him from leaving you by tugging his sleeve again. He looks down at you with such softness in his eyes.

“No need, we can share this crepe.” You offer to split yours.

“No, it’s fine. Please don’t worry about me.”

“Kaku, it’s really not a big deal. Come on before the ice cream melts.” You try to persuade him with your big puppy eyes. He can’t resist your puppy eyes and sits next to you while you two take turns eating the dessert.

“[Y/n].” Kakucho stares at your face intently, making your heart flutter.

“What is it, Kaku?” There is a brief moment of silence like in romance movies.

“You have ice cream on your chin.” Your face deadpans, embarrassingly finding a napkin to wipe ice cream from your chin. “I got it.” He leans forward to gently wipe the ice cream with his hand. Your cheeks heat up, noticing the close distance between your faces. “It’s gone.”

“Thanks.” You try to pull away but his fingers prevent you from moving. You look at him curiously. “Kaku?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help myself.” His cheeks blush, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you but, I feel like I’m not good enough.”

“Huh?” What he is talking about, what does he mean he’s not good enough?

“I-I…” He’s never stumbled over his words around you before, “I like you, [Y/n].” Your eyes widen in surprise, “I know I shouldn’t but I can’t stop my feelings. I’m not worthy of you and you deserve someone so much better than me-” You cup his cheek to stop him from babbling nonsense.

“Kaku, I like you too.” He stares at you with wide eyes, speechless. “I’ve liked you for a while now.” His breath hitches, not certain what he should do next.

“You… you do?” You nod to reassure him, “Even though I have this scar on my face?” You gently touch his scar and look at him adoringly.

“Your scar will not stop my feelings for you.” Kakucho leans against your palm, enjoying your tender touch. Suddenly his cell phone starts ringing, interrupting this moment. On the screen, it’s Izana calling him.

“Hello-”

“Where are you guys? You should’ve been here about 10 minutes ago.” Izana sounds a bit impatient over the phone.

“Oh, we stopped for crepes-”

“Well hurry up and come back.” You shake your head, hearing the agitated tone in his voice. “I have been practicing [Y/n]’s favorite song on the guitar and I want her to hear it and praise me.” You let out a small absurd laugh.

“We’re on our way.” Kakucho puts his cellphone away, then stands back up. “Ready, princess?” He gives you a newfound nickname while bashfully extending his hand out to you.

“Ready, my knight in shining armor.” You take his warm hand, walking the rest of the way back to Tenjiku’s hideout.

2022 © littleoanh — do not repost or translate my work on this platform or any other platform. likes, reblogs, and kind comments are welcome. must be 18+ to interact.

[A/N: To @thisbicc - I am very sorry, I am not sure why Tumblr won't tag correctly :(]

Want to join my taglist? Click Here

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ailani-reillata · 6 months

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Ailani Artwork References

For ease of use, I wanted to place all of Ailani’s drawing references on one sheet. Below you’ll find some color palettes, outfit designs and other helpful information.

Ailani’s tattoos and her lightsaber have their own separate posts. Please click the respective links to see those explanations and images.

If you have any further questions, please reach out via ask.

Tips and Rules -

Before we get into the references, I wanted to just elaborate on some finer details.

I’m so honored by artwork and all of your guys interest in Ailani’s story. Having someone create art for your story is such a massive privilege, and I’m so thankful for that support and creativity. Thank you.

However, I just have some baseline information to make sure we all create a respectful and positive environment when it comes to artwork and interaction.

Feel free to draw Ailani or Wailani artwork anytime. You do not need to ask for permission to draw, however you do need to abide by the rest of the rules below.

Keep all artwork appropriate and strictly SFW/16+.

Please keep all your Ailani/Wailani artwork to Tumblr. Please do not share this artwork/content to other websites or platforms.

Ailani has rounded features. Her head is round with a strong jaw, her eyes are very deep set, almond shaped and rounded, and her body type is rounded with thick bones. Do not slim her features.

Do not include Ailani Réillata in any written works, such as fics or drabbles, unless you get explicit permission from me. Short comics are fine, but please reach out first.

Tag me in your artwork so I can reblog it! If I haven’t liked your post, that means I haven’t seen it. Please be patient with me.

If you have any questions about anything listed above, please reach out to me via ask, and I will get back to you as soon as I can. There is no such thing as a dumb question, so please don’t be shy.

Color Palettes -

Below you’ll find a color palette that contains both Ailani’s hair tones (first line) and her skin tones.

Her skin tone gets a lot of variation, even in my own art, as I tend to over saturate everything. So I am not super strict about keeping to this exact color palette. I know colors change on different devices, and I know slight differences are unavoidable. Anything within the ranges shown or examples given is perfectly acceptable.

Just remember. She is not white and her skin should not be grey.

Sims 4 -

Ailani’s updated model in the Sims 4 is another great resource for skin and hair tones. It’s also a great place to grab some expression references!

You can see how to download her sim here, or you can check out the face model below.

Base Outfits -

These are some of Ailani’s “base” outfits. Basically, if she was a cartoon character, this is what she would wear every day.

Jedi Era Outfits

However, I encourage you all to have fun with her outfits! You don’t have to create anything exact, or even copy these designs. Have with your artwork and creativity!

Please just remember to be culturally mindful, and appropriate. If you have any questions about this, feel free to reach out via ask.

And that should be it!

Thank you guys again for your support and kindness. I hope these references help out, and happy creating ❤️

#info #ailani réillata

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avese23 · 2 days

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Can’t deal with people who act all personally aggrieved that they can’t personalize the entire internet to their personal happy place. Especially people who then go out looking for things to get mad at

(This isn’t about people venting about trolls or harassment. It sucks. I’m sorry. Fuck bullies and bigots. This also isn’t about flash warnings, and anything that keeps people with epilepsy safe)

But like, it’s not other people’s job to read your mind and guess what hyperspecific trigger you have then manually tag everything for one person. I’ve seen people ask creators to tag images with the character their blog is about. Just block the blog. That’s not a safe blog for you.

It’s not other people’s job to explain that fucked up shit in fiction is not real. You’re not a child and we’re not your parents here to hold your hand and reassure you that the actor is only playing dead.

I think a good example of effective content warnings is Hazbin. They’re not gonna put one up every individual episode to tell you a show full of swearing and gore is gonna have swearing and gore. But episode 4 is more graphic than any other episode so it’s given a separate warning. Because someone signing up for the rest of the episodes might genuinely be taken aback by that one.

Or Hashtag Ruthless Productions always putting heavy topics in their politics section. Asking for a warning every episode would be silly when you can just skip the politics section. You know it’s gonna be venting and politics. So don’t be surprised when it’s about politics. But if they talk about dark topics that aren’t typically brought up in that fandom they do give warning. For instance most people wouldn’t expect a discussion about eating disorders when the hosts talk about the cult in Wayward Son. Or a spoiler for Star Trek in a podcast about Buffy. So *then* it makes sense.

It’s social kindness and being stewardess to recognize when you as a creator are putting out something unexpectedly and objectively shocking to people who didn’t consent to it. It’s not other people’s job however, to use common sense for you. Or to read your mind. Don’t click on a video about a movie and get mad at spoilers for that mobile. Don’t read the Bible and get mad about major character death (Christian’s don’t come after me with a ‘well actually’ I haven’t read it 😭)

Speaking of Christianity if you’re someone who gets mad at Christian’s being upset by goths wearing crosses (which is silly) but then get upset by what people are writing about your blorbos on ao3 you might wanna do some soul searching.

So no I don’t care about your DNI list. No I don’t care that you only want virgos to reblog your post about Home Depot. No I don’t care that you can’t tell the difference between an anime character and a person, between real life and a plot point, between internet drama and an actual crime. I find that dude from Friends ugly af to that point I cringe but I’m not gonna go harass fandom accounts or look up every bad thing the characters done and accuse blogs of being bad people. I don’t like a lot of ATLA ships and think both Zutara and Kataang are morally gross af but I’m not gonna say the writers or the fans are sympathizing with pedophilia or abuse. Cuz that’s ridiculous.

When I publish works I’m gonna make it clear what kind of story it is. And then I’m gonna step back and tell the fucking story. I’m not gonna pop up every other chapter to warn people that a gay character calls another gay character a fag affectionately. Or a character in a toxic relationship *shocker* is having a bad time. I’m not gonna tell people that the horror work has gore and a jump scare. It’s horror.

Cuz I’m not gonna infantilize my audience and trust that they can set their own boundaries when it comes to stories they want to consume. No one is forcing them.

Media isn’t sex you don’t have to check in with every escalation. Entertainment isn’t your textbook, Phillip Schuyler is allowed to have no sons. A character isn’t your child they’re allowed to wear what they want and go on dangerous ass quests.

It’s frustrating being told to choose between assholes who project their own privilege onto others and assholes who project their own trauma onto others. Nuance exists.

Now block me dear lord, you’re doing the inventor of the block button a disservice when you get off on being pissed off

#vent #media literacy #content warnings #ao3 is an archive #hellsite #don’t tell strangers your triggers #please use your brain cells #the second part is to adults who know better #I’m not mad at the kids who do it cuz it’s what they see #and no one’s told them not to overshare online #avese shares a thing

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theaudacitytowrite · 1 year

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A change is gonna come

Series Masterlist

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is my first try at a GvF fic, so please be gentle with me 😬 Not much Josh interaction yet but a nice introduction to the upcoming ‘slow burn’. I promise the upcoming Chapters will have Josh and the boys in it en masse:)

word count: 1.034

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated <3

”Y/N, where are you?” Ben’s tense voice rang in your ears, “The show is about to start!”

“I just arrived, I’m currently getting my guitar out of the trunk.” you tried to appease your bassist while you wrestled with your guitar case, all the while securing your phone between your shoulder and your ear. The sun had already started to set and a slight drizzle attempting to soak you from head to toe and spoil the rest of your evening.

“Just hurry, we still need to check if everything works.” he urged.

“I know, I know. But my dickhead of a boss wouldn’t let me leave earlier.” you huffed frustrated when you finally freed your guitar case from the car belt it had ravelled in. “See you in a minute.”

With that, you hung up, slammed shut your trunk and hurried towards the little bar where your band was doing another small gig for the evening. Your band had gotten some traction lately, much to the chagrin of your boss who had criticised you for not making as much overtime as you usually had in the past, even though you always informed him in time about your upcoming shows. He had argued with you as you tried to leave on time today, threatening to fire you if you would let your team down again, especially on a busy Saturday evening.

You shook your head dismissively, trying to leave behind all the stress of the day. It was showtime and no unhappy, middle-aged idiot could dissuade you from your dream of being a professional musician.

The bar was packed when you entered, every table was filled and excited chatter filled the room, much to your delight. A good audience was half of a good gig. You tried to squeeze around the people to get to the stage entrance, but only a few feet were separating you from the curtain. You ducked out of the way of an already intoxicated hunk of a man, making sure to not hit any bystanders with your guitar case. You spun around on your heel when you suddenly ran into a shoulder.

Instantly your clothes were soaked, the cool liquid making your shirt stick to your skin. A gasp escaped your lungs and for a moment all you could do was look down in shock at the puddle that had formed on the ground.

“Oh fuck. I'm so sorry.” you apologized profusely, trying to get the wet cloth from your skin, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, all’s good.” the poor guy whose drink you had spilt chuckled.

“Did I spill something on you.” you finally caught a quick glimpse of him before you scanned his clothes for any splashes of drink stains.

“No, I’m bone dry. Are you ok, though?” he asked sympathetically.

“Yup, all dandy.” you nodded and gave him a quick thumbs up before you remembered where you were supposed to be 2 minutes ago already. With another quick apology, you hurried past him to the stage door,

“Sorry again! I’ll get you a drink after the show, promised!” you called out to him over your shoulder.

“Y/N! Finally, you’re here.” Ben sighed in relief when he saw you.

“No problem...” he hummed as he watched you vanish behind the stage door, a small smirk remaining on his lips.

“I’m so sorry guys!” you continued your seemingly never-ending apologies for today.

“Is this an intentional choice for tonight?” he asked tauntingly when he noticed your drenched shirt.

“No, I ran into a guy with a drink.” you groaned.

“Poor guy.”

“Haha…” you threw daggers his way, “Hey Zack, can I borrow your plaid shirt please?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Zack snickered, throwing his shirt towards you.

“Good, now that that’s sorted, let’s check your guitar and go over the set list a final time,” Ben ordered focused.

“On it.”

With only 2 minutes delay you started your show. Luckily the crowd was too busy enjoying themselves to notice anything else than your music. The gig went over smoothly thanks to their energetic participation, you even got to play an encore.

When you already packed up your equipment the guy from earlier popped back into your head. He hadn’t come up to you after the show for his drink. You felt bad that you couldn’t even make amends with him. And it didn’t help that this interaction would probably haunt you for the upcoming years any time you would lay awake in your bed.

A few days later you unlocked the door to your rehearsal room which happened to be Zack’s garage. The guys sat huddled around a laptop at the far back of the garage.

“Guys I’m here! I have good and bad news…” you greeted them. With two large bags of food, you walked towards the comfortable couch that stood in front of your music corner. “The good one: I got us the leftovers from work for lunch. The bad one: That will be the last time for now… I got fired.”

You put the bags down on the coffee table and let yourself fall onto the couch with a sigh. When neither Ben nor Zack reacted to your news and stayed glued to the computer screen, you became unsettled.

“Earth to doofuses, are you there?” you teased your friends.

“We’ve been booked…” Zack finally mumbled as if he were in a trance.

“Not another one of those school assemblies, please!?” you asked worried by their behaviour.

“No.. nothing like that.” Ben gulped, “Something more long-term.”

“Who wants to book us?” your curiosity became unbearable, and you hurried to the screen, “Is this a scam?”

“I don’t think so.” Zack huffed, pointing to the contact details at the corner of the email, “We googled them… they’re legit.”

“Greta van Fleet wants us as their opening band?!” you asked dumbfounded as your eyes flew over the words of the email.

“And not just a few gigs.” Ben chuckled manically, “They want us to accompany their tour for at least 4 months.”

Chapter 2 -> coming soon

“GRETA VAN FUCKING FLEET WANTS US TO OPEN FOR THEM!” you repeated louder, your mouth hanging open in disbelief, pulling the guys into a hug.

If you want to be added to a taglist, let me know:)

Divider by @delishlydelightfuldividers

#josh kiszka #joshua kiszka #joshua michael kiszka #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka fanfic #josh kiszka fanfiction #gvf #greta van fleet

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royallyprincesslilly · 2 years

Text

Title: HALO: A MasterChief Collection: Truth Be Told {5}

Master Chief Pablo x Sergeant Reader

Warning: Plot

Words: 2.6k

Summary: You are part of the mighty SPARTANS as sergeant and a pretty badass addition to the team at that. One’s body never lies. Master chief John-117 is about to find the truths hidden within his.

Note: Guess who needs more fics? Master Chief!!! I’ve decided to make a Master Chief collection of standalone one shots. They all can be read separately to understand, but can also be read in sequence. I will put a number on them so anyone who is interested in reading in sequence can, but again not necessary. This might be an acquired taste, but it’s Pablo as Master Chief forever and always around these parts. Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

Previous: On Your Six | Feel Something | A Night Off | Apex Predators

~~~~~~

-Master Chief-

“Why did you come to me and not go to Halsey?”

He glanced at her standing there with the tablet in her hands scrolling through his scan results. Right now, her finger was hovered in air waiting for his reply. Swinging his legs over to rest on the floor be sighed.

“You know why.”

“I know nothing, John. For years I’ve watched as you and her relied on each other. I’ve watched as you confided and trusted in her and now seemingly out the blue here you are in my lab asking me to run every test and scan imaginable for reasons you still haven’t disclosed.”

Again, he sighed, then rubbed the back of his neck. Even now he still felt off. For months he hadn’t been able to put his finger on why. He was intelligent enough to know things were different. He felt different—off.

“I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m doing, John.”

He assessed her wondering if she could be trusted. Was she like her mother? Was this a mistake? He heard the ring on her communicator go off and when she pulled it from her back pocket he saw your picture. Instead of answering she exited out of the call and placed the device back in her pocket. He’d taken notice for weeks how often he’d seen you together.

“I didn’t know you and 144 were close?”

Miranda cocked her head to the side and took him in.

“Who said we were? How close can you get to a Spartan? Aren’t you genetically and systematically made to avoid getting close to anyone?”

He picked up the hint of sarcasm in her voice, but through her sarcasm she was being honest.

“If you aren’t close then why is she calling? Why go to a night club together? I’m sure if Halsey found out she wouldn’t like it.”

“Of course she wouldn’t. She likes to keep her toys away from me. Are you threatening me, John?”

He took a deep breath then sighed. “No. I’m not.”

“Good, because I’m sure this would end worse for you than me. I already have her disapproval and desertion,” Miranda added before going back to the tablet.

“So—tell me why you’re here. The scans look normal.”

“I feel off.”

“Off how? Sick, injured?”

“No, just—not like myself or the myself I’ve always felt like.”

Miranda’s eyebrow was cocked. “What’s different? Are you having erratic thoughts, pain, organ failure, or problems with your eyes, headaches?”

“Miranda slow down, no. None of those,” he clarified.

He was getting frustrated. It wasn’t frustration at her, it was with the situation. He didn’t know how to explain this.

“Why don’t you go down a list and tell me what feels different.”

He took a few moments to gather his thoughts and your face flashed across his mind only it was in an inappropriate context. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and your face inches from his in his quarters. It was the latest dream he’d had.

“I have dreams.”

“Dreams? Do—do you normally have dreams?”

“Never.”

Miranda sat up straighter and looked more intently at him.

“What kind of dreams?”

Closing his eyes he looked away. He couldn’t tell her the dreams.

“John?”

“Before I could easily focus, easily keep mission goals in mind and remain objective. Always, without fail. Now—my objectivity is gone.”

“Is it gone over everything or on select things? For instance, if the mission goal was to acquire an object at all costs before you would take any target out to complete the mission, now you go about the mission but aren’t able to complete it at all costs, you try to preserve life or go through a way to avoid civilians when the direct route is faster. Is that the objectivity you’re talking about?”

What she was referring to was mission logic. In his directives, human life was always to be respected. They weren’t the enemy. He’d experienced a slight difference there but that wasn’t the objectivity he was referring to. He couldn’t remain objective when it came to you. It had slowly been happening, but he’d reached the height of no objectivity on the last mission with you--the mission it had all come to head in one of the recovery rooms.

“Okay let’s try something. Come with me,” Miranda said standing and walking toward a second room.

He followed and when he walked into the room, he saw tens of electrodes hanging from the ceiling.

“I’m going to hook you up to these and I’m going to say a serious of words and sentences and monitor the change in your brain. This will tell me if there is something abnormal happening according to all the Spartan data I’ve looked over.

“Okay.”

She hooked him up then walked to the other side of the room where the console stood. He took several breaths and tried to calm himself.

“How you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, we’re going to start. Tell me about the last time you lost objectivity.”

“The day of the Spartan Games,” he quickly replied.

“Was it during the games or after?”

“Both.”

“Halsey.”

It was just a word for reaction. He watched Miranda closely but her features betrayed nothing.

“Sangheili.”

“The Covenant. Riz. Kai. Vannick. Captain Keyes. The artifact. Y/N.”

He felt the reaction within him, he didn’t have to see the consol. Miranda looked up with wide eyes. He did his best to reign in his rapidly firing emotions and thoughts.

“Woah, woah. John, you lit up like the lights in slip space. What happened?”

He didn’t reply.

“Y/N.”

Again, his body betrayed him. Miranda slowly came closer the tablet in her hands again.

“Every lobe in your brain is responding even lobes that—shouldn’t be. This is odd. According to the data all Spartans have no connection the left hemisphere of the temporal lobe. Yours is live and very engaged. It shouldn’t be. John.”

She said his name as if she’d discovered something.

“What is it?”

Quickly she walked to the wall and took a handheld scanner and approached him. She walked around his figure waving the scanner up and down. Then she walked out into the room they’d just walked out of leaving him attached and waiting.

“Detach and come in here John. I need you on this table.”

After pulling the electrodes off his body he walked into the exam room again and saw Mirannda standing beside it with the scanner in hand.

“What are you going to do with that?”

She hesitated. “Trust me, John.”

He nodded, approached and sat on the table.

“Lie down on your stomach.”

Obeying he lied down and waited. He felt her lift his shirt just a few inches then heard the whirring of the scanner.

“Interesting,” she said.

“What?”

“Your pellet it’s—malfunctioned.”

“My what?”

Miranda didn’t speak for several long moments.

“Okay. This may come as a bit of a shock. There is a—device, a small pellet that is lodged at the base of your spine.”

“What? No. How did it get there?”

Miranda paused again. his annoyance shot through the roof and he quickly sat up and looked at her.

“How?”

“It was implanted into all the Spartans as children. It was part of the augmentations.”

His head spun then went back to Soren’s words on after their coincidental run in months ago.

“That pellet in your back does way more damage than you think. Take it out and you’ll be surprised how much clearer the galaxy looks, how much more you are capable of.”

There was this feeling of intense heat that made him want to punch a wall again. It was a feeling he’d experienced several times since his conversation with Soren. It dawned on him then what Miranda’s words meant in connection to this pellet and Soren’s advice.

“What does it do?”

Miranda’s eyes shifted then her head dipped.

“Dr. Keyes,” he said as softly as possible.

“From what I know it controls you, or keeps you controllable. It blocks receptors and terminates impulses and feelings, sensations, drives. It’s meant to make sure you don’t feel.”

“What? Why?”

“Think about it. As humans we experience the world throughout feelings and emotions. If you cut those out then you are easier to be controlled, easier to give up control to others. It makes sense if you’re creating weapons to have a way to control them or in Halsey’s thinking keep them regulated. Emotions complicate things especially when you’re razing planets and species.”

Her words were bluntly spoken. There was no censoring or sugar coating. When she realized what she’d said she opened her mouth to try and smooth it over.

“Did you know?”

“None of this information was given to me. You know she keeps me locked out.”

“So how did you find out?”

Again, she averted her eyes.

“Did you hack into her research?”

Miranda put the scanner down and sighed. “And the data files and asked questions then put two and two together. Oh and Y/N helped a lot.”

“Y/N?”

She closed her eyes, frustration on her features. She said something she shouldn’t have.

“Tell me.”

She didn’t speak.

“All Spartans—does she have one of these pellets?”

Miranda didn’t speak at once, she looked conflicted as if she didn’t want to betray you.

“Tell me!”

She jumped and he groaned feeling an odd emotion, one he couldn’t place, but he felt like he’d done something he shouldn’t have something he had no right to do.

“Please,” he softened.

The expression on her face said it had worked. “Not anymore. She took it out months ago.”

He couldn’t believe his ears, but he knew he hadn’t misheard. His brain went over every detail of the last few months ago.

“She came to me and showed me the pellet. I’ve been running tests to better understand just what Halsey is doing. Without her pellet I wouldn’t have gotten this far. That’s how I know yours is malfunctioned.”

“How did she know?”

Miranda looked away and he knew she wasn’t going to give him that information. He clenched his jaw and thought for a few moments.

“Take mine out.”

“What!”

“Take it out. thanks to Y/N we know it can be taken out without problems. Take mine out.”

“John I don’t know if there are any adverse side effects. Even with the way Y/N took hers out I don’t know--.”

“I don’t care. If it’s malfunctioned it serves no purpose.”

“John, if you take this out there will be nothing--.”

“Controlling me.”

“Regulating your emotions and feelings, suppressing your body’s urges and drives. Everything changes. Yeah, it was malfunctioning this whole time, you were probably experiencing small and mild bouts of this but not on a grand scale. Ask Y/N, life without this has not been easy for her. The adjustment and learning curve is steep.”

He wanted to know everything, but he couldn’t do that without being on a equal playing field.

“Dr. Keyes,” he began.

“Plus what if Halsey finds out?”

“She hasn’t found out about Y/N.”

He knew his logic was shit but he didn’t care.

“Either you take it out or I’ll do it myself.”

She looked helpless for a few moments then sighed. “Fine.”

He sat there as Dr. Keyes gathered the instruments she’d need. His thoughts raced, never resting on one thing for too long. He’d been controlled this whole time. He’d thought that he and Halsey had a cooperative relationship all these years. Now he was thinking about every conversation they’d had. Then he thought about you and your behavior for the last few months. You’d gotten mouthier, more reckless, taken more risks, made more questionable decisions. He thought back to the Spartan Games when you’d hugged the ropes and slid down. logic should have told you it was a bad idea, but you still did it. Was your behavior due to you not having a pellet?

“How close can you get to a Spartan? Aren’t you genetically and systematically made to avoid getting close to anyone?”

Dr. Keyes’ words from earlier rung in his head then that night with you.

“Ready?”

“Without a pellet, what’s different?”

“Thoughts, feelings and emotions become less structured. You experience feelings, and emotions. Your body’s normal impulses and drives return and probably heighten from inexperience. Control will be harder but that might present different for a normal man and not--you. That could have a negative or positive impact on mission objectivity,” she warned.

He hadn’t had mission objectivity before. Lying back on the table he waited for her to begin.

“Do you want me to numb you?”

“No.”

“Show off,” Miranda muttered. He heard it but his thoughts were occupied with much more.

He felt the scalpel slice just at his tailbone to the left, but it was bearable. Definitely not the worst pain he’d felt—not by a long shot. The pressure increased and he felt her fishing around underneath his flesh. It started off mild until it was more forceful. After almost a minute all sensations went away.

“Got it.”

He began sitting up but Miranda pushed him down.

“Let me close you up.”

He wanted to tell her he’d be healed in a day or two and this was pointless but he kept quiet. After a quick spray to his skin to seal off the wound, he sat up and looked at the metallic pellet inside the small surgical dish on side table.

“It looks different from Y/N’s. Hers actually had steady blue lights on it, yours—flickers blue and red.

“Maybe mine is different for a reason?”

Miranda stood and walked out of the lab completely. He quickly followed behind her to an office. He watched as she placed the item in an observation pod then she sat before a console. Miranda tapped on the holographic keys and a minute or so later her screen zoomed by with codes of information. She pulled up her tablet and opened a file and scanned along with the new codes.

“It’s one hundred percent identical. There is nothing different about yours.”

She scrunched closer and paused the codes then scrolled through her tablet. “Ha, the difference is yours is malfunctioned. Something has damaged it. I don’t know…the artifact. Maybe when you touched it the first time it rewired things. How long have you felt off? Is this off feeling you having feelings? Anger, rage, happiness?”

“Somewhat, he slowly began. “It’s been months. It’s possible.”

“This probably hasn’t been working properly this whole time. Have you done anything within the last few months that you’d never done let’s say a year ago?”

He dropped his head and averted his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

She didn’t ask again but he could tell she knew he was lying.

“It looks like the first malfunction alert was a few months ago. If you’ve been experiencing out of the normal thoughts, feelings then looks like we have found the culprit.”

There were so many questions he had, but he realized the one he wanted to ask them to was you. Without another word, he turned and walked off.

“That’s it? Hey, wait—fine. You’re welcome!”

Ignoring her words, he looked into his communicator and found your location. You were at base. From your location in the base it was likely you were either sparring or training. Quickly he sent a message to you on the communicator.

Sky tower, 2100.

He knew you’d understand. he’d found you there a few times. Your excuse was you wanted to watch the lights. He found it odd the first time but now he understood. You were seeing the world. When he walked outside his intention was to find you, but that same world caught his eye, and everything was different. He’d seen it all before but now it felt as if he’d never seen any of this. He smelled things he hadn’t before, seen colors he hadn’t, details. He could even pick up on different fluctuations in voices. When he heard a laugh, he stopped in his tracks and gawked. He’d never laughed. He had smiled thought—with you.

Instead of going right the direction of sky tower he went left. He wanted to explore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

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#halo a masterchief collection #truth be told one shot #master chief #master chief fanfiction #Pablo Schreiber #pablo schreiber fanfiction #master chief x reader #master chief x you #master chief x black reader #master chief x ofc #halo paramount #halo fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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writefightandflightclub · 1 month

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Nine (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Shorter chapter this week (be warned, next week's will be the heftiest yet), but I hope you like this next instalment! It's really gearing us up for the FINAL TWO! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. If you've read this far, THANK YOU! ILY :-*

Word count: 3.8k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Today is a new day. It’s a new day and you’re done crying. You’re done holding on to anger and resentments.

Besides, you feel as though you gave Santiago everything you had last night, and - at least for now - there is nothing else left to give.

So, instead of wallowing, you plod downstairs to where Frankie is stationed in the kitchen, offering up your favourite pastries, coffee, and even pulpy, freshly squeezed orange juice. You pull up to the breakfast bar, hopping up on a stool to survey your extravagant pity platter.

It’s true then. “He’s gone.”

Frankie nods solemnly, leaning into the other side of the island like he’s a sympathetic bartender in some old Western flick. He claps his palm to your shoulder in a supportive gesture. “I’m sorry, chiquita.”

You shrug.

His face twists. That’s not all there is. “Don’t shoot the messenger, but…”

“What, Frankie?”

“He had to bounce but he didn’t want to wake you. Said you looked far too peaceful sleeping for him to come along and fuck that up.”

Your brow notches, absorbing all of that with a contrived neutrality. “How did he… seem?”

Frankie’s eyebrows raise lightly as he ponders, thinking back over prior events. “Calm, actually. Happy, even.”

“Hmm.” You smile softly to yourself. Makes a change from lately to hear that. You get it though. After last night, you can’t feel anything else either. Even if he technically didn’t say goodbye in words, you get it. You aren’t mad. Chances are one or both of you would have fucked it up this morning. This way at least, it leaves the night you spent together untarnished. Makes it feel like holding on to a good dream, before the realities of the day can set in and make things fraught.

Frankie’s face crumples with concern as you gaze wistfully into the middle-distance. “You gonna be alright?”

You pump your eyebrows. Search yourself for feelings. “You know what? Yeah. I am. I’m okay.”

Frankie’s eyes glint playfully then. “Oh. So you won’t need alllll o’ these yummy pastries?”

You laugh as he eyes the pain au chocolat pointedly. “Get stuck in, Morales,” you invite fondly, and he obliges, scraping up a stool and wiggling on his ass until he’s comfy.

“Hey. So,” he says through mouthfuls. “Did you two figure anything out?”

You groan at the sheer complexity of Frankie’s simple question. Did you? Or are you still going around in circles? “We know we love each other. The rest? Uh. I still don’t know.”

“He’ll get there.”

You puff air out from between your teeth.

“You don’t think so?” Frankie interprets.

You wrap your arms around your middle. “It’s not that. It’s… I don’t think it was all on him.” You don’t have any blame or accusations left. No grudges to hold on to - your hands are open. You’ve both made mistakes. Manufactured this distance, in your own ways - sometimes literally, sometimes not. You were both just trying to figure all this out as best as you could.

Frankie’s brows notch and rise with a silent question. How so? What do you mean?

The thoughts form as you speak them. Clumsy yet intrepid. “I guess... It just feels like we were… Both waiting for the other person to get somewhere, you know? But this whole time, we should’ve been heading there together. Otherwise, how the fuck were we supposed to know where to end up?” You slide a palm over your face. “Christ. Does that make any fucking sense?”

Frankie ponders. “I think so. Like trying to meet on the highway without a time or a place or directions?”

You reach out and clasp his hand. “You get me, buddy.”

Frankie blinks, tangling himself up further in your metaphor, but valiantly trying to muddle through. “And so… do you…?” He scratches his chaotic mop of hair. “Do you have a map now? A meeting point? I mean… What happens next? On the highway?” Your mouth lilts into a gentle smile at Frankie’s earnest question. He notes and feeds your amusement, going off the deep-end with this metaphor now. “Are you driving in shifts, chiquita? Grabbing cheez-its for the road?”

You laugh, the musical sound mingling with Frankie’s throaty chuckle. “What happens next?” You repeat the question out loud, carefully, posing it to yourself. Hasn’t that always been the question? However, the very sentiment which used to scare you now feels a lot more like potential. Like possibility.

Still, you feel -for the moment- like leaving that question hanging. You leave a pregnant pause. You let it breathe.

For now; you let it go. You let him go.

“Where are the other guys at, anyway?”

Frankie rides your tangent with ease. “Packing shit up.”

“We should help them.”

“Yeah, we should,” Frankie grins mischievously, and yet neither of you make any effort whatsoever to mobilise.

Instead, Frankie pours you a cup of coffee from the pot.

“You wanna call off the hike today?” he asks hopefully, Frankie increasingly a creature of comfort.

“No. Hell no. I need to move.” You lock your fingers and stretch your arms above your head, a satisfying stretch extending down your spine.

Frankie’s eyes sparkle across at you. “Just not in aid of helping the Millers pack their trunk, huh?”

“Exactly! What did I tell you, bud. You get me.”

You do though. You need to move. You need to move forward. No more standing in place. No more moving in circles, always repeating.

Still, when you think about it. When you think to what is ahead, to what is next, your stomach drops. You feel overcome by a sudden anxiety which you can’t place at first. Like having misplaced something dear to you. Like having done something wrong but not being able to recall exactly what. Then, all of a sudden, you understand it entirely.

“Listen. Tell me about this job, Frankie.”

He immediately tenses up. “What job?”

You take a bite of your pastry. “The one with Lorea’s cash house.”

Frankie simply groans. He always knows more than he lets on, this one. About everything. Everyone.

“Is it true? That you and the boys are in?”

You can plainly see his reticence to respond. But you know for a fact that he’s about to cave.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

“They need a pilot,” Frankie states, looking up at you with guilty, puppy dog eyes.

“Fuck me. He dragged you back in too, huh? You know… Sometimes I wonder if any of us are good for each other.” Your tone grows mildly irate, your heart quickening, but you recognise it for what it is. It’s simply anger veiling worry. You love these boys.

“Come on, don’t say that,” Frankie bargains. “We’ve dragged each other out of hell.”

“And back again.”

Frankie takes a deep breath. His tongue pokes around the meat of his cheek. “He says it’s simple recon. In and out. No mess.”

You jut your chin up. Stare at him levelly, unblinking. You know that Frankie will give it to you straight. Know that he can’t help himself. “And you buy that?”

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

“Not for a fucking second.”

You scoff, shaking your head. Not when it comes from Santiago, no. After all, you’ve fallen for Santiago’s bullshit plenty of times yourself. It’s the fact that Frankie would wander in with his eyes wide open to it that really gets you. It’s something else.

Still, before you can chastise him for being so stupid, Frankie glumly offers up some explanation. “Look. I need the job. I… I got my license revoked.”

Your heart drops - and your face with it. Your hands clamp over your mouth. “Frankie,” you say softly, with empathy. “Fuck.”

He hunches in on himself despondently, his hands disappearing up his sleeves, his fists clenching and his gaze cast downward. “I fucked up, man. Cassie has a baby on the way and I fucked up.” His eyes swim with a deep shame.

“Coke?” you venture, tentatively.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Slowly, he nods.

“Frankie.” Your hand swipes over your face, and your eyes fill with concern for him. His palm waves in the air, however, quickly dismissing any sympathies you may care to bestow.

“I’m back on track. Getting there. I am.” His eyes are nothing but determined. Sincere. “But I need this gig. No matter how fucking hare-brained a scheme that pendejo is cooking.”

“Think of the baby, dude.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Frankie says forcefully, in a harsh tone he rarely uses, and you know in no uncertain terms that the conversation is done. That he’s made his mind up, and that he won’t hear you out any further on the matter.

You swallow. Regroup. You chew on some platitudes, but none of them feel quite right.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Frankie says after a stretched, tense moment. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay,” you jostle his shoulder, and it shakes a little of the tension from him and the room. “I get it. And shit. I’m sorry for putting all of my bullshit on you this weekend. I wish you’d said something, Cat.”

He shrugs. Speaks with finality. “There’s not much to say. It’s done. I just need to make it right. And I will.”

“I believe it. But you do know that I’m… If you need… Anything, Frankie.”

He looks up at you then, the warmth back in his eyes as your voice cracks, searching for the words. But, he already knows everything you could ever say. You’ve said it before, a hundred times. He knows you love him. Knows you’re proud of him. Knows you’d do anything for him. Knows you want the best for him. He knows it already.

In turn, you are sure that he already knows everything you could possibly call him out on. That he’s already thought about it. Weighed it up. Thought about the risks. About the possibility that he’s acting out of desperation. The possibility that he’d probably be better off staying the hell away from Pope’s schemes.

He scrapes his stool back and comes to you, bundling you into a tight, warm, big brother hug. You tug in a deep breath, and you let it go. You’re done trying to control everything around you. It never really got you anywhere.

Still, there’s an undeniably uncomfortable knot in your chest as you think about them all gearing up. Strapping on their tac vests. Shoving clotting pads into their med packs. It makes you feel physically ill. And so, you can’t help yourself. “Do me a favour, Frankie? Don’t take Tom?” You muffle the words into his shirt, half hoping they will get lost there. That maybe he didn’t even hear you. But, you know when he braces his hands on your shoulders to get a good look at you, that your game is up.

“Why not?”

You see it then, in his eyes. That Tom is not a risk Frankie has considered. His presence not something he has weighed up.

You deliver your words as plainly and transparently as possible. “He’s too hungry, Cat.”

Frankie simply locks eyes with you, as though trying to weed out your motives. Shrewdly trying to assess your conclusions. Is this just your petty vendetta talking? Is this intelligence? Is this coming from your gut?

“Please. Just trust me.”

“I do,” he nods eventually, but you should know better than to feel any relief. And next, there it is. “I do but it’s not my call.”

Well. You’ve said your piece. You guess that’s all you’ve got. Absent-mindedly, you tug on Frankie’s lapels. “You’d better come back to me, Cat,” you plead plaintively. “And by God, you’d better bring those other fuckers back with you to boot.”

With a wistful affection, Frankie tugs you to him again and you stand there in silence for a few more moments, the sounds of the other guys evident in the background. In time, you and Frankie release each other and gravitate towards them, tucking yourselves under the porch to survey their efforts packing up the trucks.

“We should probably help,” you repeat again, and, to your side, your hear Frankie’s murmur of agreement. However, when you glance to him you see his long, lean frame stretched out up against the wooden porch post. He looks like a man with nowhere else to be in a hurry.

“Fuck,” he curses at nothing in particular, surveying the animated bodies of his buddies before him with both awe and trepidation. “How did we get here? Years of service and none of us have anything to show for it.”

That’s a Santiago sales pitch, through and through, you reckon. You recognise his propaganda. Funny, since he used to swallow the flag for breakfast. Is that how he got to him then? Convinced Frankie he could finally make bank? Take what he deserved? Ah. Or give his family what they deserved? Frankie is all about family.

A sad smile twitches your mouth. “Well. That’s not entirely true, is it? Not nothing.” You think of what you’ve gained from all of this. “I got a gaggle of weird ass brothers. A suitcase full of trauma. A fucked back. And! An array of unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Despite the darkness of your statement, Frankie’s eyes crinkle. What else is left to do but laugh, anyway? “Maybe Will should put that in his speech.”

You belly chuckle at that, moving to lean up against the opposite post. “Yeah. Scare those poor recruits off before they can end up like us, huh?”

Frankie looks wistful again. “It hasn’t been all bad.”

No. It hasn’t. He’s not wrong about that.

You ponder on it. If you could go back and change your path - would you? But, despite everything, your squad would be far too much to lose. “Sure. The weird thing is, as shitty as it’s been at times? I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

There is a beat, and Frankie reaches out across the space between you and wordlessly clasps your hand.

“Listen. You gonna be okay, Frankie?” He looks down at his worn sneakers, contemplatively, as though he really doesn’t know the answer yet. You give his hand a squeeze, trying to let him know that’s okay. “We’ll talk more, okay?”

He nods - a subtle, concessionary thing, like maybe he could really do with that.

“I get why you didn’t tell me. But I’m sorry. That I didn’t do a better job of asking.”

“It’s not on you,” he says generously. A little too generously, in your estimation. You’ve been rather wrapped up in your own shit. A little too self-involved. “I know I can talk to you. I just… I, uh. Didn’t want to ruin the weekend.” The irony of that statement causes a throaty chuckle to bounce in Frankie’s neck, and your palm slides over your face in regret even as you laugh in reciprocity.

“Christ. I did a great job of that all by myself.”

“Well,” Frankie says good-naturedly, shifting to bump your hip with his. Wrapping his crooked arm over your shoulder. “You had some help.”

It is your turn now to look wistful, as you contemplate the storm that is Santiago, and all the rubble he left behind. “He’s really gone again.” Frankie simply squeezes you a little tighter. “Hey. Anything else I should know, by the way?” you needle. “You’re not holding out on me?”

Frankie sucks air through his teeth. “Tom and Molly. She finally served him papers.”

You fold forward, hinging to collapse your upper half onto the porch rail. “Fuck. Shit. I really need to start being nicer to that shithead.” Still, from behind, Frankie’s familiar chuckle buoys you, even as you inwardly berate yourself for getting wrapped up in your own business. “We’re all messes, huh, Frankie? Do you think we can fix it?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I do.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

You toss him a soft, grateful smile, which extends as Will makes his way over to your position, greeting you “Hey, slackers!”. You and Frankie share a conspiratorial glance.

“All set for the hike, Captain?”

“No thanks to you.”

“I had an alternate mission. Ranks of pastries to deplete.”

Will feigns tiredness, but his baby blues sparkle even as he rolls them.

“Anyway. Didn’t need you. All set to head out as soon as you slackers get your act together. You wantin’ to do the usual route, hon?”

You brace your arms against the porch rail. Dig your fingers into the wood. “No,” you say, the words a little tight in your chest, but they feel good. “Not today. There’s somewhere else. Somewhere I always wanted to go.”

Somewhere new.

“Fine by me,” Frankie offers. “Just let me grab more pastries.”

***

You relish the hike, when it comes. You relish walking a path that is -to you- entirely untrodden. That he can’t touch. You walked the old, familiar trails for too long, and the only place it ever got you was right back where you started.

The bullshit ends here. You’ve decided.

And so, you turn your attention away from your sun, and to the wider constellation of stars around you. To yourself.

You even do your best to make peace with Tom. To put old grudges to bed.

You relish the hike. Enjoy the undulating landscape. You don’t know for sure what’s next, or where you’re going, but the difference is that for once, that feels okay. Full of potential.

You walk until your legs burn, and when you get to the summit you take a moment to drink in the crisp, clifftop air. To look out across the ocean. To see it from a distance and to know that this time, it cannot break you over and over and over.

Still, when you’re at the top, as if by providence, Santiago texts you.

“Hey. Sorry I had to take off early. I wanna say… Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the best night of my life.”

“Ah. Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself, and you press the button to call him. You immediately call him. He immediately picks up. “Hi.”

”Hi. What’s up? They just announced my gate.”

”That’s okay, I’ll be quick. I, uh. I just needed to tell you too. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For a proper goodbye.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I-”

“-I’m not mad, Santi. I think… I think we said everything we have to say, right? I think it was…”

”…Perfect?”

”Yeah. Yeah, pretty perfect.”

“Listen. It’s selfish, but. With everything coming up. The Lorea job and… I needed it, you know? Needed that image of you sleeping.”

There’s an ache in your chest and it’s bittersweet.

He cares for you in every way he knows how, doesn’t he? In every way he can. He’s not perfect, but hey, neither are you. You’re both a little bit broken, but that doesn’t mean you can’t heal. And most of all, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love while you’re doing it.

One day, he’ll turn up at your door, and he’ll be welcome. Whenever that is. Whenever it happens. But until then, you can’t just wait for him.

Until then, you’ll love him; from a distance.

No longer can you leave him in anger. No longer can he break you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Maybe one day, that will even be enough.

“Would you promise me something?”

“Sure.”

“Come back and visit soon, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”

You conclude the call, and you stretch your arms above your head. A pleasant tingle snakes down your back as it cracks. You haven’t felt so relaxed in a long time. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such peace.

The path that you are walking is yours, and you implicitly trust where it’s taking you.

***

You are grateful to slip into the passenger side of Frankie’s car, beginning the drive back to the city and signalling the end of your stay at the beach house. Still, there is something bittersweet there too as you leave behind the site of so many memories from over the years - and now, the site of your most perfect night with Santiago.

It reminds you of all you’ve been through. The ups and the downs and plenty of things which went sideways. You are starting to realise though, that perhaps the landscape of love is undulating. That sometimes the terrain is tough. It shouldn’t have been quite so tough though - so steep and unforgiving; and so, you hope for gentler, easier paths ahead.

It is bittersweet then, as you leave this place behind.

As you look forward, having said goodbye. As you wrestle with your past, future, and present.

Frankie swings the car out and onto the highway, the Millers up ahead and Tom behind, your vehicles forming a convoy through the dark, the glow of headlights illuminating the route ahead.

You sit in silence, eyes and thoughts unfocussed, in abstraction, as you watch vague shapes and colours slipping by the window, your own face occasionally reflected right back at you. You look older than you used to. More tired. But you don’t dislike that.

After a while, Frankie’s robust voice slices through the dark, his eyes on the road and hands threading the wheel. “I don’t know if this will make things better or worse but… Do you want to hear it?”

You swivel your head towards him, fractured, liquid panels of light slipping over the planes of his face as your surroundings pass by in a haze. “Hear what?”

“Pope’s heartbreak playlist?”

Your hands dig into your thighs where they rest. “Do I?”

“Well?” Frankie asks, his finger poised over the button, and evidently not willing to make that decision for you.

“Yeah. Fuck it.”

You brace a little, in all honesty. A tightness takes hold of your chest as you wonder if the first track to befall your ears might be angry. Resentful. Full of blame or sadness that you can’t hope to wrestle with and come out on top. But, as the first notes of the track sound out, you are surprised to find a full, unfettered laugh rises from out of your throat. The tears swell in your eyes next, for it is nothing if not bittersweet.

“That dickhead. I can’t believe…”

You can’t believe it. The fact he has chosen a song which reflects your life together? Which reveals a happy memory?

He loves you, doesn’t he? He has for a long time. And you can’t help but hope that maybe one day, that will even be enough. For tonight though, it will definitely do. You’ll take it. You’ll treasure it.

“Whiskey in the Jar,” Frankie scoffs as he catches on to the song, even if his fingers are drumming against the lip of the wheel involuntarily. “I mean. What the shit’s that all about? He’s a weird kid, I swear.”

“Frankie,” you laugh brightly, turning once again to look wistfully out of the window, as the view of the beach house and the ocean recedes into the distance. You catch another glimpse of yourself in the pane, and this time you look younger, you think. More alive. “Did I ever tell you about that night in Philadelphia?”

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #ride or die series

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mychemicalimagines · 2 years

Text

Ray of Sunshine-Dwayne Hoover-Chapter 4

Summary: Seventeen-year-olds Dwayne Hoover and Tyler Walker (or Ty as she’s affectionately known in the Hoover house) have been best friends since they were born. His mom and her mom are best friends too, so they had every chance to be together. They only have each other and are madly in love. However, the other person doesn’t know about their friend’s feelings. Will a chaos filled trip to California for his little sister’s beauty pageant allow these feelings to surface and let the childhood friends become more or will the the inseparable duo keep them bottled inside, not wanting to risk that cherished friendship that’s always been a little more?

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Language, Talk of Underage Sex, Mentions of Attempted Suicide - not by Dwayne or OC, Fat Shaming of a Seven Year Old, Absent Parent, Death of Character - Not Dwayne or OC, ALL Warnings for the movie apply to this series!

Words: 3,972

Tag List: Reblogged

A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter!! We’ve been focusing on a new series that we aren’t ready to post yet!

5 Comments = Next Chapter!

To Be Tagged: Comment, Message Me, Submit an Ask or Tag Yourself in My Bio!

Third Person POV

Early the next morning, the family plus one were on the road in the Hoover’s VW bus, all tired from the premature wake-up. Richard’s driving with his wife in the passenger seat. Frank and Olive are in the second row, with the younger one listening to her over-the-ear headphones, music blasting. Grandpa is sitting behind her, in the last row with Tyler and Dwayne next to him, in that order.

Her head is tilted back, staring at the front of the bus while her best friend reads next to her. Sheryl came in around five a.m., waking them up from their peaceful sleep. They had an hour to get ready with both of them taking separate showers before they were on the road. It’s only been a few hours and they’re all bored while their stomachs rumble.

Dwayne puts his book down as Tyler reaches over and takes his notepad off his leg. He raises an eyebrow as she scribbles on a new page, showing it to him. He closes his book and places it under his left leg, taking his pen from her hand. He places an X in the middle square, starting the game of tic-tac-toe she drew up.

Grandpa dozes off before shaking his head to try and stay awake.

“Jesus, I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. You know how tired I am?” He mumbles before turning to the teens beside him, causing them to look up at him. “If some girl came up to me…begged me to fuck her…I couldn’t do it.”

“Dad!” Richard glances back.

“That’s how tired I am.” He continues, ignoring his son.

Tyler glances at her best friend who shakes his head slightly at her. She looks back down at the notepad as his step-father carries on.

“Watch the language, huh?”

“She’s listening to music!” He looks at his granddaughter and speaks loudly. “Hey Olive, I’ll give you a million dollars if you turn around!”

Olive bobs her head to the beat of the music, oblivious to the world around her. Sheryl and Richard turn around to look at the young girl.

“Okay, still, the rest of us.” His son says, glancing back at him.

“But the rest of you…” He starts off before looking at the teens beside him.

He watches as Dwayne hands her the pen and she scribbles on the notepad, winning the third game. Tyler smirks to herself as her best friend grabs the pad and closes it, putting it on his lap. He crosses his arms and pouts slightly, losing two out of the three games. Before she can say anything to him, Grandpa gently taps her arm with the back of his hand.

She looks up first, causing Dwayne to turn in his head toward his step-grandfather.

“Can I give you two some advice?” He asks, causing Dwayne to shake his head no. “Well, I’m gonna give it to you anyway. I don’t want you guys to make the same mistakes I made when I was young.”

“Can’t wait to hear this.” Richard mumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Dwayne - that’s your name, right? Dwayne?” He asks, looking at the boy.

Sheryl raises an eyebrow and glances at her husband. He doesn’t know her son’s name and he’s been around him for eleven years? Grandpa continues, not allowing him to answer.

“And you’re Tyler? This is the voice of experience talking. Are you two listening?” Both of them nod their head slightly, wondering where he’s going with this speech, but they soon regret it. “Fuck a lot of women, Dwayne. Tyler, fuck as many guys as you can. Not just one. A lot of them.”

“Dad! Hey, Dad!” Richard speaks up, wanting the conversation to end quickly.

Both teens look away, blushing as he tries to give his wisdom. Mortified, Dwayne scoots in his seat toward the window, trying to get away from the older man. Embarrassed, Tyler sinks down in her seat slightly and digs her face into Dwayne’s shoulder, scooting with him. He uncrosses one of his arms to take her hand, trying to comfort her even though he’s in the same boat.

She squeezes his hand, wanting to go back home but they’re already too far away. Frank, amused, can’t help but glance back every so often. Richard proceeds to try to talk over his father.

“You guys are fuckin’, right?” He continues his investigation. “You can tell me. Are you guys fuckin’?”

“Dad! That’s enough!” Richard calls out, not wanting to know.

They quickly shake their heads no, not looking at him.

“Jesus! You guys are what? Fifteen?” He asks, slightly shocked.

“Uh, Seventeen, sir…” Tyler answers, glancing at him, but puts her eyes back on her and Dwayne’s linked hands.

“Seventeen?! And you guys aren’t fuckin’? What the hell do you guys do in that room alone?!” He asks, rhetorically. “You gettin’ any? From anyone?”

They shake their heads no again, wanting to crawl in a hole and hide.

“My God! You guys should be gettin’ that young stuff! That young stuff is the best in the world!”

“Dad!” Richard snaps. “Stop it!”

“Would you kindly not interrupt me, Richard?” Grandpa calls up to him before looking back at the teens. “Look, right now you two are jailbait, they’re jailbait. Next year, the minute you turn eighteen, BAM! You’re looking at three to five.”

He chuckles softly as his son yells again.

“Dad, I will pull this truck over right now!”

“So pull the truck over! You’re not gonna shut me up! Fuck you! I can say what I want!” Grandpa yells back. “I still got Nazi bullets in my ass!”

“Ah, the Nazi bullets!” Richard throws his hand up, tired of hearing about the bullets.

“You’re as bad as those fuckers at Sunset Manor!” His dad yells out to his son which causes him to smack the horn.

Tyler looks up at Dwayne as he squeezes her hand again. He blinks a few times, hoping she gets his silent message. She nods softly, knowing he’s asking if she’s okay. He pulls their conjoined hands so it’s resting on his knee. Leaning toward him again, she puts her head on his shoulder, hoping the conversation is over with.

Still embarrassed, Dwayne lays his own head on top of hers, and closes his eyes. Ty, still holding his hand, rubs her thumb over his knuckles and stares at their hands. She’s got this feeling that if she looks up Dwayne’s step-granddad will try to continue the conversation. Frank, remembering Sunset Manor from yesterday’s dinner, smirks to himself.

“What happened at Sunset Manor?”

“Frank, don’t encourage him.” Sheryl says, glancing back at her brother.

“What happened? I’ll tell you what happened. I paid my money. They took my money. I should be able to do what the fuck I want!”

Sheryl turns around and whispers, pointing to her nose, making sure Olive isn’t paying attention.

“He started snorting heroin.”

“You started snorting heroin?!” Frank asks in a normal voice, turning back to look at the older man.

“I’m old!” Grandpa says, his voice still loud.

“You know, that stuff’ll kill you.” He says, turning back toward the front.

“What am I, an idiot?” He says before looking back at Tyler and Dwayne, lowering his tone as he sees their position. “And don’t you guys start taking that shit. When you’re young, you’re crazy to do that stuff.”

Both reluctantly sit straight, removing their heads from each other before nodding softly, telling him they weren’t gonna start using drugs.

“What about you?” Frank tilts his head toward the back.

“What about me? I’m old. When you’re old, you’re crazy not to do it.”

“We tried! Believe me.” Sheryl says, glancing back at her brother again. “The intervention was a fiasco. He’s worse than a two-year-old.”

Dwayne lets out a soft snicker, slouches down a little in his seat, and tucks his face against Tyler’s neck to keep from letting out a louder chuckle. Tyler bites her lips to keep from giggling, both from Sheryl’s comment, but also from the feeling of her best friend’s breath against the side of her neck.

She plays with his fingers, focusing on just the two of them rather than everyone else in the van.

“Can we please talk about something else now?” Richard asks, glancing at the rearview mirror.

Frank had other ideas. He speaks up almost immediately after his brother-in-law.

“I take it you didn’t like it at Sunset Manor?”

“Frank.” Sheryl glances back at him.

“Are you kidding? It was a fuckin’ paradise! They got a pool. They got golf. Now, I’m stuck with Mr. Happy here, sleeping on a fuckin’ sofa.” Grandpa says, throwing a hand out toward his son.

He then scoots forward in his seat to talk to Frank, his elbows propped up on the back of the bench seat in front of him. Tyler leans toward Dwayne more, not wanting to get in Grandpa’s way. He removes his face from her neck and allows her to get comfortable. He watches her for a moment, relaxes in his own seat, listening to his step-grandfather.

Frank, noticing Grandpa’s movement, turns in his seat more to look at him.

“Look, I know you’re a homo and all, but maybe you can appreciate this. You go to one of those places, there’s four women for every guy.” He continues with his description. “Can you imagine what that’s like?”

“You must’ve been very busy.” Frank grins slightly.

“Woah! I had second-degree burns on my johnson. I kid you not.”

“Really?”

“Forget about it.” He says with a chuckle before sitting back in his seat.

Noticing her Uncle Frank was turned around, Olive takes off her headphones and turns around to look at her Grandpa.

“What are you guys talking about?”

Grandpa glances at Frank and the teens before looking at her.

“Politics.”

“Oh.” She says before turning around, putting her headphones on again, clearly not interested in the topic of conversation going on around her.

He waits till knows she’s listening to her music before tapping Tyler again. She looks up at him again, slightly nervous. Feeling her move, Dwayne looks away from their conjoined hands, looking up.

“Fuck a lot of people, guys. I got no reason to lie to you. Not just one person. Not just each other. A lot of them.” Dwayne nods softly, before turning his head to look out the window. “You heard what I said? Did it go in anywhere?”

“Yeah, I think we get the point, Dad.” Richard says, glancing back in the mirror again.

The teenage boy ignores him and lets go of Tyler’s hand. He picks up his notepad from his lap before clicking the pen. He begins writing, causing her to lean forward to catch what he’s scribbling.

“Don’t show me the pad. I don’t want to see the fuckin’ pad.” Grandpa says, looking away from them.

Tyler rolls her eyes and looks back down when he tilts it toward her slightly.

‘Can you take his voice box out?’

Tyler giggles and shakes her head. Dwayne gives her playful pout and scribbles on the pad again.

‘Please?’

She leans in close to his ear so no one else could hear.

“I forgot my fork.”

He bites his lip, stopping the laugh from escaping as he closes his notepad. Putting it under his leg with his book, he holds his hand open on his leg, glancing at her. She smiles softly and loops her arm around his before taking his hand again. She never notices the blush on his cheeks as he laces their fingers.

He also never notices the blush on her own cheeks as he looks out the window.

It’s been about two hours since the very awkward conversations between Grandpa and the two older teens that sat next to him. Since they skipped breakfast to get the early start, Richard decided to park at a diner that was located not far off the highway. Now, they’re all packed in a large booth, Tyler sitting between Dwayne and Olive.

They’re all looking at their menus, reading through everything. At this point, everything looks so good, but not even their family can eat everything on the menu. Olive looks up at her mother, adjusting her glasses.

“Mom, how much can we spend?”

“Um, I’d say four dollars?” Sheryl says, glancing down at her with a smile. “Anything under four.”

Olive nods as the waitress approaches with a small grin.

“Hi! You ready?” She asks, holding up her order pad.

“Yeah. I’m gonna have the uh, number five.” Richard says, closing his menu to rub his eyes. “And coffee, please.”

Sheryl waits for her to finish writing her husband's order before she places her own.

“A number seven, over easy. And grapefruit juice.”

“Grapefruit.” The waitress copies, letting the woman know she heard her as she writes.

“Fruit plate.” Frank says when she looks at him. “And do you have Chamomile?”

“Yes.” She smiles.

“With honey, thanks.” He says, closing his menu.

Dwayne pulls out his notepad and begins to write what he wanted. Tyler glances down, ready to order for him as she already has chosen what she wanted.

“The Lumberjack with coffee.” Grandpa says, staring at his menu. “Extra bacon.”

“Dad, you should probably…” Richard starts but his wife cuts him off.

“Richard, don’t start.” She looks down at Olive’s menu, helping her pick.

“He’s gonna kill himself.” He gestures.

“It’s his life.” She shrugs.

“Thank you, Sheryl.” Grandpa says, closing his menu.

The waitress looks toward Tyler, seeing she is ready next.

“Can I please get pancakes with bacon, please? With apple juice?” She smiles.

“You got it.” The waitress smiles as she writes it down.

“And he’ll have the garden salad, with apple juice as well.” Ty continues for her best friend.

“Garden salad?” The waitress asks, checking with Dwayne.

He nods, with her a small, strained smile. As the woman writes it down, he looks at Tyler with a grateful smile, who just grins at him.

“And, you?” The Waitress looks at Olive, her being the last one.

“Umm…I-I…Sorry.” She says, still looking at her menu. “I’m sorry.”

“Take your time.” She smiles, watching her.

“Don’t apologize, Olive.” Richard speaks up. “It’s a sign of weakness.”

Frank and Tyler look toward the man, glaring at him slightly as Dwayne drops his head in annoyance.

“Umm, well, I want…Okay! Okay! I know what I want. Okay, can I get the waffles and, uh, what does ‘A la mod-ee’ mean?” She asks, looking up at the waitress.

“Oh! It means it comes with ice cream!” She grins.

“Okay! A la mod-ee then!” She smiles widely.

“Olive, for breakfast?” Sheryl looks down at her.

“You said four dollars.” She answers, closing her menu.

“Okay. You’re right.” She smiles while handing the menu to the waitress. “Thank you.”

“Be right back.” She says, taking the menus before walking away from the table.

“Actually, Olive…” Frank starts, revealing some educational facts. “A la mode in French translates literally as ‘in the fashion’. A…la…mode…”

Tyler, Olive and Sheryl smile and listen, actually thinking it’s interesting while Dwayne stares at him, emotionless, not really caring, but he’s listening. Grandpa glances at Olive with a small smile on his lips, noticing she’s very entertained by the small lesson.

“Mode is derived from the Latin ‘modus’, meaning due or proper measure…”

“Frank, shut up.” Richard says, closing his cell phone.

“Richard!” Sheryl says, shock in her voice.

Frank shakes his head slightly, knowing this would have happened eventually. Tyler blows air out of her nose and bites her lip, keeping her mouth shut.

“Olive, can I tell you something about ice cream?” Richard asks, looking at his daughter who nods at his question. “Ice cream is made from cream, which comes from cow’s milk. And cream has a lot of fat in it…”

“Richard…” Sheryl says, lowering her voice slightly.

“What? ‘She’s gonna find out anyway.’ Right?” He raises an eyebrow, quoting her from the day before.

“What?” Olive asks, glancing at her mother. “Find out what?”

“Well, when you eat ice-cream, the fat in the ice cream becomes fat on your body.” He continues, causing tension around the table.

Grandpa looks at him with a hardened expression. Frank rolls his eyes. Dwayne stares at him with anger in his eyes. Tyler shoots Richard a death glare, despite him not paying her any attention. She shakes her head slightly, annoyed at the so-called ‘father figure’ at the table. Feeling a gentle touch against her thigh, she looks down to see Dwayne holding his hand out to her, discreetly and under the table.

Letting out a soft, quiet sigh, she places her palm against his, and laces their fingers together. With her free hand, she reaches over and plays with the hair ties he keeps on his wrist for her. The motions of her fingertips playing with the two bands on his wrist help to calm her down before she can say what she wants to Richard.

Dwayne gently squeezes her hand and a soft smile tugs on his lips as he looks down at the table in front of him, studying the worn out grain of the wooden table. Frank sneaks a glance at teen duo, and smiles to himself when he sees how close they are and how they are with each other. Olive looks around the table, confused.

“What? What’s wrong?” Her voice soft and full of innocence and confusion.

“Nothing, honey.” Sheryl shakes her head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“So if you eat lots of ice cream…” Richard speaks up again, ignoring his wife, and continuing on his rant about why not to eat ice cream. “You might become fat. If you don’t, you’ll stay nice and skinny, sweetie.”

He gently pats her hands that are resting on the table.

Sheryl holds the bridge of her nose, shaking her head in irritation. Who the hell says this to a seven year old? Especially their own daughter. Geez. Dwayne squeezes Ty’s hand, stopping her from doing anything as he feels her shaking slightly in anger.

“Mom…?” Olive lowers her voice, confused at the conversation at hand.

“Olive, Richard is an idiot.” Grandpa speaks up, hoping to make his granddaughter feel better. “I like a woman with meat on her bones.”

He looks toward Frank and Dwayne who are both nodding at his words, agreeing with both aspects of his statements.

“I don’t…Why is everyone so upset?” Olive asks, glancing around at everyone before her eyes land on her mom.

“No, no one’s upset, honey.” She says, glaring at her husband for a second before taking her daughter’s hand. “I just want you to understand, it’s okay to be skinny and it’s okay to be fat, if that’s how you want to be. Whatever you want, it’s okay.”

Richard rolls his eyes before speaking again.

“Okay, but Olive let me ask you this. The women in Miss America…? Are they skinny or are they fat?”

“Well, they’re skinny, I guess.” She looks up at him.

“Okay, so they probably don’t eat a lot of ice cream.”

Sheryl glares at her husband, who just shrugs with a small smirk, hinting ‘she’s gonna find out anyway’. Before anyone can open their mouth to retort, the waitress arrives with a tray.

“Okay! Coffee. Coffee. Grapefruit. Chamomile. Apple Juice. Apple Juice.” She says, putting the drinks down in front of everyone. “And here’s your ice cream. A la mod-ee right? I’ll be back with your waffles in a second.”

Olive just stares at the bowl of ice cream as soon as the waitress sets it down in front of her, and doesn’t even pay attention to her walking away. While she’s excited to be able to have ice cream with her meal, her father’s words echo in her mind. Taking in a deep breath and letting out a big sigh for such a little girl, she speaks up in a defeated tone.

“Does anyone want my ice cream?”

Sheryl closes her eyes, silently seething at what her husband’s now done to their daughter. Grandpa jerks his head up and looks at Olive, and tries to lighten the mood a little in an attempt to cheer her up.

“Yeah, I’d like a little.” He looks at her before grinning at the folks between him and Olive. “Dwayne? Frank? Tyler? Olive’s not gonna have her ice cream.”

The three of them all quickly look up, glancing between the youngest and oldest people sitting at the table. Frank gets a spoon, and looks at Olive.

“You mind if I have a little?” He asks.

Dwayne nods slightly, letting go of his best friend's hand to grab his own spoon. Using his napkin, he wipes the top of his utensil before digging in.

Tyler gives Olive a goofy grin as she grabs her own spoon. She scoops up a little of the ice cream, moaning at the taste once it touches her tongue. Olive cracks a small smile at the teen’s gentle, playful teasing. At her insistence, everyone at the table, with the exception of Richard and Olive, digs in, taking bites of the ice cream.

Dwayne gets some of the dairy and pretends it’s an airplane, maneuvering the spoon in the air in front of his sister and best friend before putting it into his mouth.

“Boy, this is good ice cream!” Grandpa says, loudly, grinning. “I feel sorry for anyone who doesn’t want to enjoy their ice cream so early in the morning.” He sneaks a glance at his granddaughter.

“Mmm!” Sheryl says, tasting the ice cream.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have some, Olive? Those waffles are gonna be so lonely in there!”

Tyler lets out a soft giggle as she takes a small bite of the dessert. “He’s right, you know?”

She gets another spoonful of it and holds it in front of Olive, doing her best to cheer up the young girl, who’s practically become like a little sister to her over the years. She sighs as she notices the young girl covering her face. They need another tactic, but it seems like Grandpa’s is starting to work.

“Hey, Olive.” She whispers, leaning close as she eats the ice cream off her spoon

She moves her hand, looking up at her unofficially adopted sister.

“How many times have we eaten ice cream together in the living room?” She raises an eyebrow, her voice is quiet.

“A lot…” She answers, slightly confused.

“Am I fat?” She grins softly.

“Wait.” Olive speaks up after thinking over her question.

Everyone around the table pauses with their spoons in the air and looks at her, waiting to see what she’s going to do.

“Stop! Don’t eat it all!” She exclaims.

Dwayne gives her, and only her, a gentle smile as he watches her pick up her spoon, fighting them off, and reaching for her bowl. Tyler grins and pats her shoulder.

“There we go!”

Olive has a big grin on her face as she takes a bite of her ice cream.

“Alright, Olive…” Richard sighs, shaking his head.

“Richard!” Sheryl glares at him, her tone one of warning and anger.

The tone of her voice alone is enough to get him to shut his mouth. Dwayne picks up his straw and tears a piece of paper off the end. Pulling out the plastic slightly, he puts the straw up to his mouth and blows, shooting the paper directly into his step-father’s face.

His best friend bites her lip, hiding the smile on her face. Dwayne smirks and puts his straw into his drink before once again discreetly putting his hand under the table. Tyler, feeling his movement, puts her own under the table, lacing her fingers with his.

#dwayne hoover #little miss sunshine dwayne #dwayne hoover little miss sunshine #dwayne hoover x reader #dwayne hoover imagine #dwayne hoover imagines #dwayne hoover x y/n #dwayne hoover love story #dwayne hoover fanfiction #little miss sunshine #dwayne hoover fanfic

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wetbloodworm · 1 year

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reposting some meta i wrote about zenith on my dw specifically so i can reblog and add to it, b/c i like to keep things together. what’s under this cut is gonna be partly outdated b/c i’m tweaking some stuff in the reblog don’t worry about it. if you haven’t read it or plan to reread it i’d maybe recommend waiting until i reblog the additions so all the info is together. though also there’s a lot here because i got that wordy bitch disease so like kudos if you make it though any part of this at any point. okay yeah so everything after this paragraph is Older Content

first, because i haven't talked about him here aside from some outdated aside in a list somewhere, a brief rundown! zenith (pseudonym, he/they) or vol'gelmeth (true name, it/they) is an aberration from the far realm who has projected an aspect of himself into the material plane in the form of a dhampir avatar. his plan is to gather enough strength to eventually be able to manifest fully in the material plane, and also to explore and experience and learn about the material plane because he's fascinated by it. zenith presents himself to others as a human cleric of the vol'gelmeth who's totally a different being and also has an eight pack. the intent WAS for his avatar to be fully human but sometimes you're too alien a being to stuff yourself into just a normal human body, and also he eats dreams, so, dhampir. it's fine. just gives him an extra layer of things to try to hide. second, pics! newest first

most recent design-tweaks to make him easier to draw, so this is his most up-to-date design. he looks more blond here than in other drawings but that's just shading though, his hair is white. the amulet is his Amulet of the Devout, since we were allowed two magic items to start, and it's not shown here but it has the symbol for vol'gelmeth that zenith designed himself lol

drew this when i had the realization that as a dhampir he'd have fangs even if the thing he eats isn't necessarily tangible. i toyed with a design that was ALL sharp teeth instead of just the incisors and i love that but eh. his true form has all sharp teeth so i'll get my fill there. not that anyone but haley as DM gets to see his true form yet. i've got my kid's secrets all laid out for the rest of the party i'm allowed to keep the design a secret even if no one cares but me lmao

drawn when i decided i was going to play him for CoS

lyrics from 'community gardens' by the scary jokes

one of my first pics of him, i kinda miss the scruffier outfit vs the more put-together outfit he's got now but we can mix and match. it's fine. it's all flavor text. and finally... the bullet points

to explain the pronoun situation a bit better, the actual character is comfortable with he/they/it. as zenith, the dhampir avatar pretending to be human, he uses just he/they. when referring to vol'gelmeth as if they're a separate being, it/they. the reason for the difference is one part zenith trying to create differences between his two aspects to make his disguise/deception stronger, one part him picking up on how humanoids most commonly use pronouns and adding that to his disguise/deception (meaning like, it/its isn't a common pronoun for humanoids, but they DO use it/its when talking about non-humanoids), and one part him gaining more of an understanding of gender as he spends time on this plane and deciding he/him is fine

if forced at gunpoint to describe his gender, zenith would go with 'agender' or 'no' or something along those lines. i have no idea what his species is like culturally, but i do know that gender is a new concept to him. he's largely uninterested in it personally, like it's a neat enough thing to learn about but it's separate from him, y'know? he generally prefers neutral language, so they/them and it/its feel comfortable and correct, but as his avatar is seemingly AMAB he's had masc language used for him by others who assumed and he's decided that's fine, both in that it doesn't bother him and that he likes it, again, as a thing that separates Zenith from Vol'Gelmeth. so i guess it's less that he likes he/him on a personal level, it's more just part of his disguise? he hasn't had enough experience with she/her to feel comfortable with it yet so he's just avoiding that set.

i swap his pronouns around more while talking out loud, like in-game. in writing you'll notice it's mostly he/him. that's just easier for me. it's fine.

i talked so much more about gender than i originally intended but like [gestures at self] to be expected i guess

from reading the WOTC lore, my understanding of how dhampir work is that they feed on aspects of humanoids but they don't necessarily need to in order to survive? they're described as having ties to the undead/vampires but not being fully there, and they have their hunger but can control or suppress it through intense willpower. which to me reads like they can eat other stuff due to being partly/technically alive but they crave whatever it is they hunger for? if they NEEDED it they couldn't control/suppress it without starving, right? if anyone has a different interpretation of the text lmk. obviously we can throw WOTC lore in the garbage as necessary and as approved by the DM but i like having the framework sometimes and dhampir are new enough to dnd that i only have so many sources to formulate opinions on.

zenith in his true form i think like... ONLY eats dreams, or at least primarily does? maybe just primarily, the way i designed his true form he's got a mouth and teeth and all of that implies to me that he's a creature that at least CAN physically eat things, not just psychically. zenith as the humanoid avatar... i'm not sure??? i know he CAN eat other stuff and does, and i think right now i'm hesitantly going with 'needs to eat human food to maintain the humanoid body, needs to eat dreams to maintain the rest of him and get stronger'? so i'm backtracking on the 'dhampir don't NEED to feed their hunger to survive' thing for zenith specifically, not my concept of dhampir in general, since he's a weird situation being an aberration which isn't necessarily supported by the game stats, if that makes sense.

NEW BULLET I'M CONFUSING MYSELF okay. zenith has to eat both human food and also dreams. needs human food more regularly perhaps so that the humanoid body doesn't just fucking collapse, craves dreams more intensely. i think that's what we're going with. maybe.

i like being able to do whatever i want with the lore but i also struggle if the framework given isn't clear enough by my standards and i'm struggling here

god looking at the dhampir stats and i forgot zenith doesn't need to breathe and also has natural spider climb. fantastic. just a normal human dude, hello fellow humans

he also has the fanged bite ability which i'm looking forward to perhaps using some day

zenith definitely had a ROUGH time when he first manifested on the material plane because of a combo of four things; 1) being in a new alien plane, 2) being in a new alien body, 3) being in two bodies/places at once, 4) being exhausted from whatever ritual or spell or whatever he did to accomplish the split in the first place

some differences between the far realm and the material plane are that the far realm is composed of an infinite number of layers that shift continuously, and the air is described as syrupy thick with time and gravity being things that don't exist. far realm denizens move through the air by 'swimming' and can pass through the layers with a thought, or exist on multiple layers at a time. the far realm is specifically described as Lovecraftian and being 'beyond sanity', and is so far outside even the outer planes that it's often not included in the standard cosmology. which is why it's also referred to as just 'Outside'. so basically it's a real fucked up alien world

zenith, while very much an alien, is not the same degree as Unknowable and Unfathomable as other far realm denizens can be. i imagine it's a scale, and he falls significantly closer to the end that doesn't drive you crazy if you look at it. this allows him to (mostly) successfully communicate with dreamers of the material plane (though i imagine that took lots of trial and error) and gives him motivations that normal people can understand for the most part; he's driven most by curiosity and by hunger. so he's got a good head start there for successfully transferring to the material plane. he's at least not so completely divorced from reality as its known there as to make him incompatible with it.

doesn't make the transition easy, though! for all the reasons why waking up in the plane i described a couple bullets up would be jarring for us, waking up in the material plane is jarring for him. i imagine gravity is weird to contend with suddenly, the air simultaneously heavier and thinner. less resistance and more resistance at the same time. the surroundings aren't just completely different, the way you perceive the surroundings is different with the lack of shifting layers. i'd imagine everything feels incredibly still in comparison. so there's all that and more as a thing to adjust to!

also, new human/dhampir body! his true form is a (mostly) physical one that's very different from a humanoid but it's got a head and eyes and limbs so that's a good start, but still. new body. it's weird.

ALSO yeah, existing in two places at once! piloting two bodies at once! that can't be easy on top of everything else, there was no way for him to practice or gauge how any of this would feel, he just fucking did it, so it'd just be.... 'disorienting' is probably putting it mildly?

at the start of the campaign it's been uhhhhh i think we determined like 6 months or so since he manifested on the material plane. so he's had the chance to figure this out! this plane is still alien and weird to him but he can move around in it without feeling like he's having the WORST kind of bad trip anymore. the biggest thing that's still a factor is he's still got two bodies in two different planes. i imagine he has to cope with that by like... focusing 100% of everything on one body at a time. i'm thinking he like parked himself somewhere safe back home, somewhere quiet and secure where he could puppeteer his material avatar from, so he just has to settle in and focus completely on being Zenith and it's fine.

i'd think that he can't ignore his original body all the time, so when it's safe he'll switch focus and like... stretch, move around, check things out. not for long, he doesn't want to get used to what home feels like and then have to go back to the material plane and adjust to that again, and also the humanoid body is so much smaller and squishier and more vulnerable and he doesn't like leaving it unattended

he largely avoids switching between the two as much as he can, because it'll always be jarring and it'll always leave him vulnerable.

one big drive for him to gather enough strength to manifest fully in the material plane is so he doesn't have to be split like this anymore. that's probably like one of the top two motivators, have access to all his power and not be in two places at once.

i don't fully know what 'eating dreams' looks like yet. i'm sure we'll figure that out as we play but right now i don't know if it's a fully psychic thing or what? i feel like it's not as easy for him to do now that he's split vs when he could just hunt for dreamers from home with whatever psychic power he's got that lets him cross the planes to eat dreams. i don't know if he has to be within a certain physical proximity to the dreamer now that he's on the material plane, or if he has to actively touch/interact with the dreamer, or how exactly it works. i have no fucking clue. i know there's some aspect of hunting dreams down, just not 100% sure what that looks like. on the outside like some form of meditation maybe? idk!

deep speech is the native language of aberrations, and it has no script on its own but mortals use the espruar script to write it down, which implies to me that far realm denizens don't have a use for reading/writing. which means that zenith has taught himself how to read and write, probably mostly while actively on the material plane. maybe picked up a little while he was learning common via dreams but dreams aren't reliable. you ever try to read in a dream

since he's proficient in deep speech, common, and abyssal, he can definitely read and write fluently, but i think he has the classic problem of not always knowing how things are written/pronounced if he's never heard/read it. like he'll tend to say and write things phonetically and need to be corrected. there's also just a bunch of words he hasn't encountered yet though understanding context clues helps

his handwriting his probably atrocious

he doesn't NEED to be able to write in deep speech, it's not a super well-used language in the material plane, but he absolutely learned how because that's his language and he wants to be able to write in it!

before coming to the material plane, zenith LOVED talking with humanoids via their dreams! they're interesting and he likes talking to people! and then he gets to eat the dream when he's done so it's a great time for him. socialization/entertainment and food.

i think that if someone were to pray to him zenith would be able to respond back, but i'm not sure if he can communicate through dreams while he's split like this? mostly because it feels OP to give myself that ability. the Dream spell can do that but it's a lvl 5 spell and i don't feel like i can just say Oh I Can Do That y'know lmao. that was very frustrating for him to discover, that he can't do that anymore. another reason for him to want to manifest fully in the plane, hopefully be able to manipulate dreams again instead of only eating them, he likes the manipulating part.

zenith has absolutely no idea what the experience is on the other side of the dream-eating thing. no clue what it feels like or if it hurts or what happens at all. he'd be interested in knowing but he doesn't particularly care on an emotional level. he's pretty sure it doesn't KILL the dreamer because he's talked to people more than once before but it wouldn't stop him if it did tbh

part of the reason i'm writing all this down is b/c i know i've been asked if zenith wants/has followers and i have absolutely no idea what my answer was because i said it out loud and didn't write it down but i'm pretty sure my answer has changed? maybe? i have no clue. any way zenith would be thrilled to have followers. i don't think he's tried taking on warlocks or anything like that, like he hasn't shared his power to be anyone's patron, but it's not something he's opposed to. not his priority at the moment but like, sounds like fun! he likes attention and seeing what people do and as long as it doesn't rob him of too much of his own power he'd be down to try! he'd be down to be someone's god. the idea of being a god sounds REAL nice, actually. he loves that.

outside of actively being a patron, does he have followers? people that pray to him? i don't know! the idea is interesting to me! he'd be happy to chat with people though i don't know what all he'd be able to do in return outside of share any info they want about the far realm or any other realm he's learned about. i know in this split state there's even less he could do than if he was at full power.

i think right now he's mostly focused on just exploring the material plane and gathering power to manifest in it fully, but after that.... after that, being a patron sounds like fun. being a god sounds like FUN.

something i wrote before on a related topic; "zenith doesn't necessarily WANT to kill anyone. he'll do it if he feels he has to but that's not his goal. the likes the material plane and its denizens! they're interesting! he just wants to explore and learn and experience! and eat but don't worry about that one. and maybe gain followers but that's one's fine. it's a plane full of creatures that dream and if you play your cards right they might worship you. just gotta get stronger and put out feelers and consider giving gifts of power in exchange. power can be exchanged for worship and services. and perhaps food. he loves this plane."

aberrations are generally considered monsters and zenith would be mildly offended at the implication though he also wouldn't fight it too hard. he preys on people for food so like he doesn't have much room to argue. but like don't be rude about it

zenith's only introduction to the material plane before showing up on it was via dreams, so his concept of the world and its general culture was very skewed, though he figured that out quickly. he's still learning stuff and i've got a google doc with a list of facts and 'facts' he's picked up on in the campaign so far. he's now under the impression that mushrooms can talk just in general, though it's not recommended, and as far as he knows it's normal for water ordered at taverns to be murky.

i wouldn't say that he's gullible, he just... y'know, he's an alien. and he doesn't want to tell anyone that he is so he's afraid to ask for clarification on things. so people say things with a certain confidence and he makes assumptions. or he asks for water at a tavern and he's handed a glass of water that's murky and he figures that's technically what he asked for, so, guess that happens sometimes!

i've also got notes on the lies that he has planned for his disguise. he picked an isolated town he visited once as his fake home town and has a story about his fake family and why he might not know things that he perhaps should etc.

i think... that's it for now... i'm sure i'll have more to talk about another time. i like this character a lot so i think about him a lot!!

#zenith tag

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