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lovifie · 9 days

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Villager!Reader and Villager!Ghost They're in love but their families are enemies...

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💚A Village Apart💚

The Riley family, and yours, have a history of feuds and quarrels going back years, decades, and if there were writings to back it up, centuries.

It is a small village, where houses are inherited and everyone knows each other. Therefore, all the inhabitants of the small village are aware of the enmity between the families.

And being such a quiet village, the amusement of many arises from taking one side of the families and criticising the other.

It is natural at this point in the story, and each generation that is born the rest of the village waits for the children of each to marry so that they can see how the story continues.

The Riley family earned their name and respect for their construction work in the village. Rare is the house that his family did not build.

Simon began working in his father's shadow almost as soon as he could walk, and as soon as he could carry weight, he became a bishop in his father's small army of builders.

It was not because he was the boss's son that he had it easier, some even say he was the one who had it harder.

It is a hard job, with admirable physical effort, but unfortunately, it left most of the workers without energy to enjoy the little free time they had after a long day's work.

Simon found a reason to keep a little extra energy reserve for when his day was over.

And that reason is you.

Your family is not as well known as his, well, everyone knows each other in the village; but yours is accorded less respect than his.

Unlike his, your family is humble, with enough cattle to feed the family and sell the leftovers when there are any.

It is a humble job, with difficult working hours, considerable physical effort and often little profit or reward.

But there is always food on the table and animals to look after; the people may not appreciate your family's work as much as they should, but the innocent animal eyes you look into every day make it worth it.

Another reason driving you on was Simon.

It was difficult at first, as you both knew it was a forbidden relationship. Your families had told you again and again to stay away from each other's families.

"They are women, Simon. We haven't worked as hard as we have to stoop to that level."

"They think they're better than everyone else for moving stones, sweetheart. You don't deserve that treatment."

"If they see you hanging out with her, the rest of the people in the village will think they have the right to talk to us like we're equals too."

"They're machines, honey. They're not capable of producing emotions those Riley's, you deserve better than someone obsessed with money like that."

But still, despite everything; it was impossible to avoid the sidelong glances as you passed each other walking through town.

When you went to mass, when you went to the village fairs, when friends in common met.

Normally, for a girl like you to meet boys would be frowned upon; but with the village being so small, they were the boys you played with years ago and it was an idiotic feeling to deny such good friendships.

Besides, they were the perfect excuse for you to see him when he joined the meetings; which, curiously enIt had nothing to do with the fact that he would ask before attending if you were going to be there.

Many times in the evening Simon would be exhausted from working all day, but if he was told that you were going to be there, there was no physical exhaustion that would prevent him from seeing you.

Many times he would be on the verge of falling asleep when they were gathered together, waiting for the chance to be able to walk you home.

"A young lady like you shouldn't have to go home alone."

"It's a couple of steps, Simon."

"Not if we follow my route."

"Your route?"

"Yes... Do you want me to show it to you?"

It turned out, knowing the structure of all the houses in the village, Simon knew perfectly well what route to follow that kept you hidden from the eyes of all the villagers.

The first night, it was pretty much just awkward silence. Both of you still internally debating whether it was worth the possible quarrel with your families just to meet the other person.

But the second night you got back together, the decision was made and the conversation flowed as if you were lifelong friends.

Innocent questions about each other's lives evolved into questions about each other's future plans,

You both decided to ignore the voice in your mind that told you not to continue, if anyone in the village, and God willing, anyone in your families, found out; a war would break out.

Your family was much more permissive than his, which meant that if you dared to associate with Simon, they would send you to a convent or marry you off to someone else.

You knew that those were the good options, you preferred not to think about what might happen to him.

It was easier to forget the possible consequences, especially when your hands brushed as you walked. When you felt the heat emanating from Simon's body, warming the side of your body that walked beside him. He walked slower, both so you could keep up effortlessly and to slow down the walk so he could spend more time with you.

In spite of everything, and knowing full well everything you stood to lose if it was discovered. It was during the harvest festival that Simon kissed you for the first time. Hidden in the barn of your family's farm, lying on the hay.

You were both lying down, with you on your back and your head resting on Simon's arm and him lying next to you on his side.

His other hand, the one not under you, rested delicately on your waist, pulling you close to him as if afraid you were going to run away.

His lips were full and warm on yours; a kiss almost innocent and overflowing with inexperience on both sides. Your hand slowly moved up to his jawline, stroking the nascent hair of his beard.

You were both pushing against each other, needing each other's touch and proximity. A mess of tongues to the point that you no longer knew whose was which, as your hands travelled up and down each other's body.

It is because of that proximity that you found it impossible to ignore as Simon's shaft grew in size and hardened against your thigh, the discreet hip movements seeking more friction and rubbing.

"Simon" You called out to him, panic invading your senses.

"Easy... I don't mean to do anything but kiss your lips, sweetheart. But I can't help it when I finally have you in my arms after so long dreaming about it."

And he kept true to his word, his hands never went beyond your hips nor were his lips more daring than kisses at the corner of your lips.

If you noticed moisture on your thigh on the side where he was, you said nothing. Nor did you mention the growing wetness between your legs.

But once you tasted the honey, you couldn't help but visit the hive.

Until then, it had been easy to avoid temptation; you didn't know the sweet sensation, the warmth of each other, the security of being together, the desire, the passion, the possibilities....

But you had to continue to be careful, you didn't know when someone could surprise you.

But when the innocent kisses in the barn turned into something more than kisses on the lips, you could easily expect the punishment you were facing.

"Simon, we can't" You moaned as you noticed Simon's hand move up from your ankle up towards your thigh underneath your dress.

"Why, why delay the inevitable when I know you're the one for me?" he murmured with his lips pressed against the skin of your neck, kissing you wetly and raising every hair on your body.

"But we can't..." You tried to insist, but no longer with any strength against his hand. "I must come pure to the marriage, Simon. Our parents would never forgive."

"Then let us marry, my love. Here and now. The moon and the stars as witnesses that I am yours far more than you will ever be mine, that I was born decades ago but not until I joined you did my heart begin to beat. Witnesses of my love, that there will not be a day that you wake up that is not in my arms, that there will not be a day that you wake up that you do not feel loved. That my work in this life will be to love you each and every day of it. That I don't care if I go thirsty and hungry every day if at nightfall it is your arms that pick me up, that there is no wound or blow that hurts me like when you reject me, when you take me away from you. Don't you realise, love? Don't you realise that I need you more than air? I promise you, my love. That if you accept me you will never ever regret it."

One kiss from your lips was all the answer I needed, the seal of the contract of your unorthodox union.

He kissed you back with the same fervour, a moan escaping his throat as he finally savoured you without thoughts in his mind that would take him away from you and the now.

He moved his hand under your dress, lifting your petticoats in the same way so he could reach your wet folds.

You whimper against his mouth, the touch of the man igniting something inside of you that was waiting asleep in the depth of your body. It is easy for his finger to slip inside between the folds, arching your back at the feeling of the intrusion.

You feel his lips on your jaw, travelling calmly to your ear where he stays professing his love for you, making you mewl when it mixes with the feeling between your legs.

“Simon!” You moan when he adds a second finger, the palm of his hand rubbing against your clit sending a shockwave up your column

You are still surrounded by the feeling of prohibition, the tension of possible discovery with its corresponding punishment. But the sensation of Simon's fingers so deep inside you leaves your mind blurred and you can only moan in moans and whispers of his name, urging him to continue, to give you more, to love you as intensely as you love him.

Your self of mere weeks ago would drag you away from the farmer, scolding you for this lack of decorum, this promiscuity.

But then you look into Simon's eyes, and you doubt which shines brighter; the love that overflows from his eyes or the moon that shines from the window.

"You are the most beautiful woman my eyes have ever had the grace to glimpse, my darling." He says suddenly, forcing you to tug at his shirt to crash your lips to his so he doesn't see your blush.

The man who is normally so stoic, perfectly cordial but not saying a word beyond the obligatory. Suddenly turned into a poet in your presence.

If it weren't for his broad fingers caressing that spot inside you that you didn't know existed and that has you swaying your hips to receive his every wrist movement, you would think beyond the now. Of how you will continue this without anyone knowing, how you will continue together when you know perfectly well that none of your families will allow it.

But not now, now all you can think about is how good Simon makes you feel and how you need him to give you more.

You find it impossible to ignore as Simon continues to move his hips against your side, the hardness of his crotch obvious and pressed against your thigh.

You lower your hand, feeling it's only fair to return the favour; but before you even reach the waistband of his pants, Simon takes your hand, raising it to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

"Don't worry about it, love. I just want to make you feel good, don't worry about me." His lips travel up to your neck once more, leaving wet kisses and licking the spot that makes you cry harder.

There's a knot in the centre of your stomach, which becomes tighter and tighter as Simon continues to touch you. Your hand gripping his shirt squeezes tighter and tighter as the knot tightens.

Never before have you felt this sensation that has you with your face tight, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed and your lip between your teeth to prevent a scream from escaping.

This is futile when you feel the knot suddenly loosen, feeling as if your body is drained of energy. Biting your lip proves useless in preventing the moan that escapes your lips before Simon presses his hand over your mouth to prevent the entire village from hearing you.

His hand continues to move, slowing and slowly slipping out of you; the wet sound it emits as it leaves once again causing your cheeks to flush.

"Simon... Let's do it... You said it, why delay the inevitable." You say, repeating his words.

He again touches his lips to yours, letting your bodies speak when you are at a loss for words.

You notice him moving, sitting up to kneel between your legs. He lifts your dress, leaving you completely exposed to him with your legs wrapped around his wide hips.

Your glistering folds shine on the moonlight calling him in, but the pain on his groin makes him selfish enough to limit himself to free his hard shaft from his pants, slightly slapping your sweet cunt with it.

It makes your legs shake and a whimper to leave your lips, desperation flooding from you as your hand goes down between your legs. Simon can't help but stare as your inexpert hand finds his tip making his shudder when you press it against your wetness.

His hips move involuntarily pushing himself between your hand and your folds, making his moan your name. His hands lands on your hips, physically stopping himself from moving more against you knowing perfectly fine he wouldn't last long.

There are already beads of his milky seed threatening to spill from his tip, but it is your hand the one that slowly pushes him lower until it catches on your entrance making the both of you shudder.

He looks at you, catching you looking back at him; last chance to pull back. But your hand moves to his hip, silently urging him forward and he gladly complies.

He slowly pushes in, his length getting engulfed inch by inch into your warm cunt making him whine in unison with you. The stretch makes you hiss just for a second before the juices make it easy for him to move.

He moves back and forth torturously slow, entering inch by inch, moaning when he finally bottoms out. The two of you need a moment to adjust; you to the feeling of getting filled to the brim and him to the feeling on your tight muscles choking him in.

Simon is no stranger to the feeling of his callous hand around his length, already used to the constricting feeling; but never in a thousand years would it compare fairly to the feeling of you around him.

You clench around him, desperate for his movement; but it sends him to bend forwards, his hands resting beside your head. But then he comes face to face with the image of you sprawled under him.

Your legs spread to adjust to his wide hips between them, your folds just as spread to let his girth into your core, your soft hands resting on his ribs to feel him close, your hair messy resting on the hay, eyes half closed blinded by the lust, lips glistering with the mix of saliva from both and cheeks blushed as if by the cold of the morning.

He realises then and there that you are the only thing he needs to survive. That he will fight and kill God himself if he dares to try and pull you away from him, let alone a mere mortal. That he will love you for as long as you love him, and that when you stop doing it he will make you fall in love with him again. That he will travel to the deepest level of hell and back if Death feared to steal you from him.

His hips begin to move, making you arch your back when he finally does and it urges him to compose himself only to manage to feel you come undone around his length.

He has a clumsy rhythm to it, voluntary and involuntary thrust mixing together in a weird dance but still consistent enough to make you feel the knot on your stomach tighten again.

He feels it too, when you start to clench around his length. Softly crying his name as your hands move down to his thighs, urging him to move closer, deeper.

He sees how you close your eyes, head falling back with your mouth open in a silent cry with your wet cunt choking harder and harder his shaft, until you finally breathe out, a moan loud enough to awaken the dead from the tomb and wetness making his way around his length when you finally fall over the edge.

Simon barely has enough control to pull out, the first dribble of his milky sticky spent falling on your pubes before he spurt thick and heavy over your stomach; the change from you welcoming cunt to his dry hand almost keeping him from coming.

He looks down, his seed painting your body, marking you his, soft abdomen moving up and down with your difficulted breathing from the orgasm pulled from you.

“Do you really love me, Simon?” You suddenly ask, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The fear of the consequences finally setting in on your minds now that lust is no longer driving it.

“I do, love. I love you more than anything on this land.” He says, still breathless as he bends down to kiss you again.

Tomorrow, when you meet across the church; the two of you will act as if you didn't know each other. You will ignore the dull pain between your legs and he will ignore the pull of his pants when he remembers how pretty you looked under him.

Every other night the two of you will meet, back in the barn. Professing love and exploring each other's bodies.

And in a couple of months, when you come crying to him, holding onto his shirt; about how your father has told you that he is marrying you to another man. He will hug you, consoling you, and tell you to meet again two days later.

When he will arrive, in his father's cart being pulled by his two better horses; and the two of you will disappear from the village at the crack of dawn, never to be seen again.

In the village there were no more arguments between the families, both ashamed that they lost their kid to their stubbornness. That if instead of fighting they would have supported the two of you, they would have met their grandkids years later and the eternal fight between the families would have ended in a love story.

Instead, Simon and you settled down far away from the village. Where nobody knew where any of you were, and where everyone was told to address you as Mrs. Riley. Where you build your home and your family, and you both lived happily ever after

Taglist: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @cod-z @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @mothymunson @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr @yuki2129 @mikaronn @idk-justkane @shanhalen @crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @wolfieisacat @kayden666

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stormsbourne · 5 months

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alright listen

I know we're all having an evaluation of how eagerly we believe people who present with even the slightest air of authority and frankly good! we all need to be less credulous of people on the internet who tell lies.

but I think there are also other lessons to learn from james somerton. namely about his raging and blatant misogyny, which I've often seen similar forms of in fandom and on this specific site. to paraphrase bombs himself in the ctrl alt del video, if you see shitty behavior within your sphere, it's important to recognize it and try to fix it instead of rejecting it and asserting that no REAL members of the ingroup are like that. and nerds have a misogyny problem. including tumblr. so let's reckon with it.

do you append "white" or "straight" to your comments about women even when those things have little to do with the topic being discussed, just to make your comments seem more legit? (and no, m/m shipping discourse does not give you a ticket to say it's all straight women -- it's fictional characters, james.) do you often theorize about how (hurriedly appended "straight/white/cis") women are responsible for a problem in fandom, nay, all problems in fandom? have you made up a guy based on a single post that annoyed you and extrapolated to say that all (appended signifier to make it ok) women in fandom are like that? do you see women as uniquely fetishizing, uniquely stupid about politics or social issues, uniquely annoying to talk to? do you assume when there's an issue, even a real one and not the fake ones james made up, that a woman is probably at the root of it?

all of this still applies to you if you're a woman. it also applies if you're gay or a person of color or trans. being an oppressed group doesn't mean you are immune from sexism, and sexism is still rampant in everyday life for pretty much everyone.

your shipping and fandom discourse isn't immune from this. no, I'm not talking about how not enough people like yuri. I'm talking about how women who like "bad" ships like r*ylo or whatever are seen as open targets for harassment. how women who are into "bad/problematic" fandoms are seen as idiots and enablers who deserve what they get. how there's an attitude that women who like shitty bad porn must think it's good, must be too stupid to know better, and must need to be handheld and taught about good, acceptable fiction. I've already talked a lot about tumblr's complete refusal to admit that fujoshi wasn't a term coined by delicate japanese mlm to complain about evil women (and I wonder if james contributed to that idiotic concept), but the way I've seen people assert that women into m/m must be straight, must be stupid, must be lying about their identities, must be hurting gay men in real life in addition to wanting some anime boys to kiss ...

I've seen how some of you people talk about amb*r h*ard, is all I'm saying, and I've seen what you've tried to do to dozens of female creatives that, for some reason, you've decided deserve to be taken down or taught a lesson. I've seen the descriptions you use. shrieking, bitchy, whiny, uppity, shrewish, karen (don't get me started on how karen has been turned into an easy excuse for misogyny). you're not bystanders to what james did and is doing, you're a part of it. sure, you might not have the nazi fetish, but you've said things about women that put somerton to shame.

just a thing to keep in mind while the plagiarism discourse is ongoing. somerton is a shithead for many reasons but this is one that's important to remember because I think people often treat misogyny like a lesser crime, a smaller concern, and it's not. just think of what laws are passing and what views popular movements have of women and then, for one moment, consider that maybe your reflexive need to blame women or pick them apart might have been influenced by the Society In Which We Live.

#james somerton #hbomberguy

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nanamiluvs · 2 months

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wriothesley nsfw alphabet !

pairing : wriothesley x reader

rating : explicit

wc : 1.7k

warnings : smut content, reader is afab, wriothesley being both a cutie and an ass, handcuffs, biting, breeding, choking, oral (both receiving), wriothesley is clingy, slight cum play, roleplay, jerking off, spanking, creampies, rough sex, it's wriothesley what do you expect, dirty talk

a : aftercare

wriothesley gets cuddly after sex. it may or may not lead to another round, but he loves the feeling of aftermath with you in his arms. has mad separation anxiety, leading him to make sure you're not leaving his side by pulling you closer into his embrace, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

b : body part

wriothesley is everything but a humble man. he knows his body is one sculpted by gods and wouldn't shy away from admitting it. if he has to choose one, he would pick his biceps or torso. if you asked him about his favorite body part of yours, he'd say hips and ass without hesitation.

c : cum

wriothesley is generally a messy person, and there's no exception when it comes to sex. he likes it messy. he likes seeing your body covered in ropes of white cum, loves filling you up to the brim and then fucking his cum back into you. off-white in color and a little thick in density. he also cums a lot, so there's that.

d : dirty secret

wriothesley loves being handcuffed and dominated. treat him like he's some filthy criminal and he's cumming in his pants. also likes it when the roles are reversed, and most likely not going to hide that version of the scenario.

e : experience

wriothesley has had a fair share of men and women in bed before and it's quite obvious. he knows he's experienced, he knows how to make you beg for mercy and come untouched. not proud of it, but not embarrassed either.

f : favorite position

wriothesley's favorite position is doggy style and he doesn't even try to hide it. he loves holding your hips while thrusting into you, fucking like an animal and watching as his cock disappears inside. he would lean forward, press his chest against your back and bite your neck, kitten licks and kisses following. he likes it especially as he can whisper filthy things directly in your ear. that being said, wriothesley fucks in a lot of different positions and likes to try them out, so nothing is off the table with him.

g : goofy

wriothesley has a variety of moods when it comes to sex. if it's usual, he's going to be the little shit he is. if it's intimate and gentle, he will whisper reassurements and praises, repeating how much he loves you and how well you take him. if he's jealous or stressed, it's obvious from how angry he gets.

h : hair

wriothesley likes body hair in general, and doesn't prefer to groom himself often. he's not at the level where it gets in the way, but definitely likes it to be there. he likes it better when you're also not shaven, but it's only a preference for him and not really a game changer. he loves seeing the hair down there get sticky with your mixed fluids, like i said, wriothesley likes it messy. he would shave if you tell him to because he wants to appear as the best form of himself in your eyes. won't tell you he did it because of you, instead saying he had a change of mind.

i : intimacy

wriothesley doesn't see sex as a necessarily romantic thing. yes, it can be, but most of the time it's the pleasure and release it brings. on rare moments of vulnerability, when the your usual act of fucking becomes making love, wriothesley is whipped. he will caress your body, holding you in his arms as he slides into you. he doesn't believe he deserves this moment, not with you. making love is very intimate to wriothesley and it takes a long way of trust to get to that point. regardless, wriothesley mostly fucks and wouldn't change that.

j : jack off

wriothesley isn't shy at jerking off to the thought of you. at work, when he's especially stressed, he doesn't mind palming the bulge formed in his pants, wishing you were there to help him out. he prefers to do it with you, obviously, but when you're away and he has no choise he's alright with masturbating. he also likes to watch you get off by yourself, dick hardening to the sight of you chasing your high.

k : kink

wriothesley has a long list of kinks up his sleeve.

‎ ‎ ‎ biting : wriothesley is a biter. doesn't matter where, doesn't matter when, he will bite and that's that. he will bite your lips while kissing, bite the insides of your thighs before going down on you, bite your neck while pounding into you, just bite and bite wherever he can.

‎ ‎ ‎ breeding : wriothesley would get aroused to the thought of cumming inside you, filling you up with his cum over and over until he sees your belly bulge. he loves to see the cum gush out of your hole, sore with the way he abused it with his cock. also loves it when you say you want to breed him. breeding is one of the things he won't admit he particularly likes, yet it's so obvious with the way he grunts and groans in your ear.

‎ ‎ choking : wriothesley loves having control of you and you having control of him. his hand reaches out to wrap around your neck, pressure just enough for you to feel it yet need more. he would also get turned on when you do the same, choking him while you ride him, he thinks you're just too adorable with your hands around his neck.

‎ ‎ ‎ spanking : considering you have given him the permission to do so beforehand, wriothesley loves spanking you as he fucks you from behind. he thinks it's just so cute seeing your ass redden with the impact, his large palm immediately coming down to soothe the area with his touch.

l : location

wriothesley may get off to the risk of getting caught but he doesn't want anyone else seeing you like that. so sex with wriothesley is mostly in his office, your bedroom, the shower, any closed space where you two are alone can be a place to fuck.

m : motivation

wriothesley gets turned on to everything about you. he's generally a quite horny person, so just seeing your body writhing under his much larger one is enough to keep him going. he's also motivated to pleasure you the way no one else can.

n : no

wriothesley is very much larger and stronger than you and sometimes fails to control his strength. so with him, things like knife play are out the window. he may be extremely kinky and like it rough, but he would never forgive himself if he actually hurts you.

o : oral

wriothesley is a man who will eat you out for his own pleasure. he loves the taste of you, loves dipping his tongue between your folds and lapping up your slick, the taste getting him drunk the more he has it. he wants you to come on his face, to squirt on him. his tongue will work you through your orgasm, careful not to waste a single drop while your walls clench around the small muscle. regardless of how much he likes going down on you, he thinks it's even better when it's your pretty lips wrappiny around his cock, your saliva mixing with his precum and staining your chin. he would hold your head and thrust inside of your mouth, lost in the feeling of your tongue swiping across his member. he likes to cum inside your mouth but he wouldn't mind cumming on your face either.

p : pace

wriothesley is ruthless when it comes to bed. he can and will pound into you without mercy, the bed creaking with the force of his thrusts. no matter he's being fast or slow, wriothesley knows how to push in deep.

q : quickie

wriothesley is up to every single kind of sex, so quickies aren't off the table with him. but he would much prefer a long, dark night to spend with you, to take his time relishing in your body and pleasuring the both of you.

r : risk

wriothesley is talented when it comes to sex, almost everything he tries turns out to your likes. he's very experimental and thinks trying everything at least once won't hurt anyone.

s : stamina

wriothesley can go longer than you ever can. it takes a lot for him to cum, and even then, he can last several rounds with ease.

t : toys

wriothesley doesn't really care about toys unless it's for binding. he loves being handcuffed, he loves handcuffing you, he loves tying you up and he loves getting tied up by you. anything restricting movement is a turn on for him.

u : unfair

wriothesley may as well be a criminal the way how cruel he is during sex. he will use anything and everything against you, wanting to get you all riled up before even properly touching you.

v : volume

wriothesley doesn't moan, but he's definitely a groaner and grunter. almost guttural as he pounds into you, voice deep and low with vibrations straight down to your core. he speaks a lot, too, with dirty talk being an indispensable tool to him.

w : wild card

wriothesley likes being dominated every once in a while. he wants to be at your mercy, to give up the authority and power he has to bear all the time and just submit to you. you wanting to dominate him makes him want to fight back, turning it into a battle of power igniting the thrill in his gut.

x : x-ray

wriothesley is longer than average and quite thick down there with a slight curve to the right. the shaft is a shade darker than his skin, the tip having a reddish tone underneath. has veins sparking up here and there, overall, wriothesley likes the way it looks.

y : yearning

wriothesley has quite the high sex drive, he's going to be up for the act whenever you want him to be.

z : zzz

wriothesley wants to hold you in his arms and drift off to sleep after making sure you did. he tires himself out during each session so it doesn't take long for him to fall asleep. he can stay awake if he wants to, but honestly, why would he?

i might expand on the dirty secret with a drabble if someone requests it bc i know i want that.

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x y/n #genshin impact smut #wriothesley genshin #genshin x reader

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sanjisblackasswife · 9 months

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𝕋𝕪𝕡𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝 ℍ𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤

Ft. Zoro, Luffy, Sanji

Bad Summary: Just describing girls they’d be interested in the Modern AU.

CW: None reallyy.

Sanji

Says he doesn’t have a type but he always finds himself gravitating to a woman of a particular kind.

It’s true he doesn’t discriminate but if he HAD to build a woman she’d be a pervert like him.

He wants a woman that understands him, he’s attracted to woman that loves to sit down for hours and listen to his problems.

He loves a woman that expresses her true feminine side, he will spoil you until the ends of the earth. Don’t worry about paying bills, or anything like that he’s got it. He really wants a woman that is strong willed but is also willing to submit to him and let him be the breadwinner of the relationship.

He loves a woman that is caring and so sweet he gets a tooth ache just from being around her. Being so sweet and tender with him makes his heart melt.

He wants a woman that can be his safe space.

He wants a woman that isn’t afraid to eat.

He wants a woman that is able to see the good side of him, because he has struggles seeing it himself

He wants a woman that isn’t afraid of his touch.

He likes a girl that can be open with what she wants from him, willing to speak up and always tell him “ i love you” even at the most randomest times.

He wants a woman that doesn’t want to change him. Only to help him be a better person.

He is in love with big pretty smiles, it just makes him try harder to make you smile even more.

He wants a girl that babies him, he loves being spoiled too whether he admits it or not.

He wants a woman that can carry his children. He does want his own family one day and knowing she does too makes him the happiest man on earth.

Zoro

He’s attracted to a strong woman, not in physique but emotionally and mentally strong. Not wanting to back down from any obstacle that approaches her life.

He wants a good headache. He is a Tsundere at heart and having a girl that can annoy him (In a healthy way) is something he doesn’t mind adding to his life.

He wants a woman that is patient. He isn’t the best verbally expressing his FEELINGS and if you’re willing to work with him on that he will absolutely make it worth your while.

He wants a funny woman. He loves to have a good time laughing and making memories with her, cracking jokes and just taking it easy

He wants a woman that’s cuddly. He wants his girl to like his personal stuffed animal when he is laying down or sleeping.

He wants a woman that can bring the best out of him.

He likes a micture of a girly girl and a tomboy. He loves his woman to be feisty, smart mouthed and little, but still knows her boundaries as his girlfriend.

He wants a girlfriend that isn’t easily jealous, he doesn’t care for women that expresses little to know trust in him. It’s a bother.

He wants a woman he CAN trust. Showing his feelings is hard. And he wants that reassurance he can work through it with you.

He wants a woman that gives constant hugs and kisses, whether he says it or not he loves the affection and attention of one woman. Everybody else can literally go away when he’s with her.

He wants a private woman. He isn’t a fan of putting his relationship all on social media nor for everybody to know about. Not saying he wants it hidden but not everything they do together needs to be displayed for the public

He wants a woman that knows her self worth. He will never allow her to sit and talk down about herself or think she doesn’t deserve him because in reality he KNOWS he doesn’t deserve her.

He wants a woman willing to listen to him.

He wants a woman he knows he can spend the rest of his life with and not just anything temporary.

Luffy

He wants someone adventurous! He wants a girl that can wake him up from his nap to go hiking or to the park or even out to eat!

He wants a woman that is a tomboy at heart. He doesn’t mind really any kind of girl, but knowing he can be a little more rough with her is actually better for him

He wants a woman that doesn’t try to change his beliefs or his lifestyle. He’s a carefree man and if she is more “strict” living it may not work out

He wants a woman that laughs a lot. Nothing makes him smile more than seeing his girlfriend cackle at his jokes.

Speaking of jokes he also wants a funny woman. He likes girls that doesn’t care for people’s opinions, and willing to be herself regardless of who is around

He wants a woman that can teach him new things. He’s easily impressed so if she is the smarter one in the relationship it helps a lot.

He wants a woman that isn’t sensitive. Nothing wrong with feelings and expressing them but if he cracks a joke and she gets pouty and upset with him over and over and over again it gets tired. Real fast.

He wants a woman taller than him. Height usually isn’t a PREFERENCE for him, he isn’t out looking for a tall woman but he gravitates to them more…..He likes climbing her back.🧍🏾‍♀️

He wants a woman that loves PDA. Luffy likes to touch, touch, touch, he has no shame. Kissing, hugging, hand holding, all of it.

He wants a woman that stands up for herself. He also finds it attractive when she defends hum as well.

He wants a clingy woman. One that is stuck at the hip with him. He doesn’t like to be alone anyways so having his favorite person always around him soothes him.

He wants a goofball of a girlfriend.

He wants a foodie girlfriend

He wants a playful girlfriend

He wants a girlfriend that can be by his side.

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cjrae · 17 days

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Stunted Love. Or: The Theme of MaoMao's little finger.

Maomao's little finger is a recurring motif in the Apothecary Diaries, and it receives even more emphasis in the anime's first season - it represents her belief that romantic love leads to pain and destruction. Spoilers primarily for the anime, but also the epilogue of light novel four and Chapter 15 of light novel six below.

Love In A Cage

The motif is first introduced in "The Unsettling Matter of the Spirit" - Concubine Fuyou's story. Maomao has already noted the parallels between the red light district and the Inner Palace, but here we see what happens when romantic love is introduced into the mix. On paper, Concubine Fuyou is a literal object of pity. Her personhood is being gifted to an officer who recently distinguished himself on the front lines, discarded after having failed to please the Emperor. It's telling that this is one of the first times we see Jinshi interacting with a consort where he is completely serious, without bringing his charm to bear. We never hear him say anything, but it's clear that he's communicating the Emperor's order with respect and understanding the gravity of the consequences for Fuyou.

As the events of the episode unfold, the parallels between courtesans and consorts get stronger as Maomao introduces the concept of having a contract bought out - if a man wants a courtesan enough, she is also an object to be purchased, albeit at potentially astronomical price. At first glance, it would seem like these women have absolutely no power in these scenarios - but by the end of the episode, Maomao shows us the feminine side of this transaction - how a woman can manipulate the system she is trapped by in order to get what she wants. All she has to do is lower her value - a rather counterintuitive measure that can go horribly wrong all too easily, as we see later.

And what Concubine Fuyou wants is to escape the Inner Palace to be with the man she loves - a task that she succeeds at. She has played a long, patient game in the service of freedom. Trapped in the cage of the Inner Palace herself, Maomao holds her scarred finger against the freedom of the sky and wonders what kind of medicine love would make.

Devotion

We see further flashbacks to Maomao's past through multiple episodes, but the next time the concept of love is brought up is when Fengming is confessing her role in the death of Consort Ah-Duo's baby in "Honey" (episode 11). Maomao is brought up short by Fengming's confession - she flat out says to the audience that she's never loved anyone with that depth of devotion Fengming displays toward Ah-Duo, so she doesn't know how Fengming feels. But if she doesn't have empathy to offer, she does have a rough kindness. Another person might have said that Ah-Duo deserved to know why her son died, that the knowledge might have provided closure. Maomao, however, believes that knowing the baby's cause of death would only cause more pain (it's never the crime and always about the cover-up) without providing any actual benefit.

With these two episodes framing her early character development we see that, whatever Maomao's natural inclinations are (and I will leave discussion of neuro divergency to those better qualified to discuss it), there is a certain distance between Maomao and her emotions most of the time. It is implied that this distancing from her emotions is a trauma response as the image of a woman holding a knife above her head while kneeling on a bed is shown but not explained (it is the only recurring image during the montage before the discussion about her potential execution with Jinshi).

Lakan and Fengxian

In "Lakan" (episode 18) the motif begins recurring more often as Maomao's parentage is revealed. We've caught glimpses of the sick woman in the annex before, but as the camera pans over the bed, it's clear that this is Maomao's mother (as always in anime, the hair is a dead giveaway). We've seen Maomao in this room, always curled in a fetal position, staring with blank eyes, but here we see Maomao actually caring for a woman who she describes as driving her out over and over again. The camera's focus is on Maomao's eyes as she watches her mother continuing to deteriorate - they're blank yet again, echoing her earlier line of "This is stupid. She's gone."

This is not the look of a girl who genuinely doesn't care about her mother. The image of her mother with the knife upraised is straight out of recurring nightmares that wake her gasping with terror and continue to haunt her after she's returned to work. While there is no AFFECTION involved, there are certainly very strong emotions here. Later, in the bath with Meimei, Maomao wonders if Meimei's in love - and immediately shies away from the thought, insisting that "love is an emotion I'm sure I left behind in the womb."

Interestingly, this is immediately belied as the Three Princesses (the women who took on the maternal role that her mother discarded) begin to pamper Maomao in the bath, and she relaxes into their touch, flushed with belonging and pleasure at their attention.

Confrontation

In "Blue Roses," (episode 22), everything has built to a head. By hiding Maomao back into the Rear Palace, Jinshi is acting as her shield - and Lakan responds with a power play. Both he and Jinshi are aware that Lakan knows his true identity, so Lakan provokes Jinshi with a political test. "Nothing is impossible" for a man with Jinshi's power - so providing some blue roses at a garden party in early spring should be simple, right? It's a near impossible task and Lakan knows it - even if Jinshi were to figure out how to dye the roses to be the appropriate color, they're still out of season.

Up until now, Maomao's response to Lakan has been to hide. But, with Jinshi's reputation on the line and seeing how worn out he is, Maomao has finally had enough. So she takes Lakan's challenge on and, while she's in the process of growing the hothouse roses so that Jinshi can best Lakan, she diverts unwanted attention from the Crystal Palace's handmaidens by showing Xiaolan how to do a manicure - something that draws attention to the deformed pinky on her hand and changes her perspective of the damage to the finger.

The art should be paid attention to here - we see close up shots of two other people's hands after having the manicure done - Xiaolan and Consort Lihua. In both of these shots, there's some subtle detail paid to their little fingers as well - Xiaolan's is ever so slightly crooked rather than perfectly straight, while Lihua flexes her fingers so that the pinky is extended as she looks at her hands. In the next shot, Maomao has done her nails as well - and when Jinshi draws attention to the fact that he's surprised she would do her nails (like Hongiang, Maomao usually prefers work over fashion), she looks at the finger and remarks that, even though her little finger is twisted and scarred, it looks better than it did before - an acknowledgement that the finger is not actually a hindrance, but a piece of her identity.

Healing

Giving Lakan the opportunity to finally do right by Fengxian is the most grace and forgiveness that Maomao can extend to either of her parents. Their romantic love is certainly sympathetic to an outsider, but Maomao was shaped by the consequences. Lakan's carelessness and Fengxian's willingness to break the rules of the pleasure district in order to deliberately lower her value so that she could be with the man she loved, is the guiding cautionary tale of her life.

But Maomao has also grown over the season. She is neither the terrified little girl, abandoned by mother and father alike (however unintentionally on Lakan's part) nor a teenager full of fear fueled rage at Lakan's persistence. She is Luomen's daughter and proud of that fact - she has found her family and a place in the world. It is with that more adult understanding of the world around her that she dances atop the wall of the Rear Palace, giving her parents the only thing she can, which is her blessing and best wishes for their short future, as she sends her mother off.

Sure enough, who is watching her as she takes a step toward a more mature identity but Jinshi? Other characters have provided a shield between Maomao and Lakan - Verdigris' madam, Meimei and even Luomen. But it is on Jinshi's behalf that Maomao decided to face Lakan herself. She loves her adoptive dad and granny and sisters with all the affection she never received from Fengxian, but Maomao's actions have always spoken much louder than her words - Jinshi protected her and she, in turn, chose to face her childhood bogeyman to help him.

Is it stating the obvious that Maomao tripping and Jinshi catching her is an obvious metaphor for falling in love?

As she dances on the wall, we see the two seemingly disparate sides of her identity coalesce into a whole. The moment she lets down her hair is a uniquely Japanese moment of eroticism (this is why maiko and geisha use the oshiroi that bare the nape of their necks), even as she's also deliberately reapplied her freckles.

The moment she realizes that Jinshi truly sees all of her in a uniquely emotional moment, she trips and is made terrifyingly vulnerable as she nearly goes over the edge - only to be caught safely in Jinshi's arms.

Safely back atop the wall, the little finger comes up one more time - except that this time, instead of looking at the damage inflicted and seeing the scar, Maomao looks at her pinky and shows it to Jinshi, telling him what sounds like a strangely gruesome medical fact. That a fingertip can regrow if cut off. For all the trauma that her biological parents caused her, for all that her pinky will be scarred for the rest of her life, the wound did heal. Maomao has healed - she is capable of friendship, loyalty and love that can inspire devotion - even if she rarely displays open affection.

Love Creates Fear

This motif comes back again, at the end of light novel 4 (what will be the end of Season 2, if the studio continues to stick to two light novels a season for pacing, which I expect they will). Jinshi has officially cast aside his cover as a eunuch and stepped into the political limelight as the Imperial Brother. Maomao, as a result of their adventures, has returned home, to her apothecary shop and, as she works she thinks about how everything has changed.

"Jinshi must have finally gone back to being whoever he really was. Maomao didn't know his real name: she couldn't have used it even if she did. The worlds they lived in were simply too different…Anyway, now that Jinshi was no longer a eunuch, he couldn't get away with keeping some lowborn girl around him…So it was for the best, really, that Maomao had come back to the apothecary's shop in the pleasure district."

As Maomao ruminates to herself about how she will never see Jinshi again, she retreats to what she knows best - medicine. She's got her emotions under lock and key and she's begun experimenting, working on creating a more potent painkiller. However, her pain tolerance is too high to work with her previous methods.

Or, to lay the metaphor bare, Maomao has dealt with abandonment before, but not like this. Her usual methods aren't working - so it's time to up the ante. What she does next is extremely telling.

"'Got to cut deeper if I want to be sure'. Maomao looked at her left hand, then tied some string firmly around her pinky. She stood and took a small knife from a cabinet. 'Here goes!'

Just as she was about to bring the knife down, a beautiful voice interrupted her: 'WHAT are you doing?'

Without a word, she turned to see a man in an unusual mask standing in the entryway of the shop…'Done with all your work?' Maomao asked, undoing the string around her finger and putting the knife back in the cabinet."

The thought that she and Jinshi are now living in such different worlds that they will never see each other again is painful enough that cutting her finger off in a thinly justified experiment is preferable to feeling her own emotions. What Maomao wants in this moment is a return to the emotional numbness of the past - only this time, she will do the damage herself.

But Jinshi is not Lakan and abandoning Maomao for any reason is simply not an option. Just as he caught her on the wall, Jinshi catches her again. A prince is standing in an apothecary shop on the edges of the red-light district, a place where he should not be - except for the fact that it's where Maomao is.

Connection and Communication

Finally, as a callback toward the end of light novel six, Jinshi and Maomao are beginning to reconnect after Jinshi screwed up and lost a lot of emotional ground in light novel five's epilogue, and he does the following.

"She reached out for the package, which Jinshi had put behind his back, but he planted a palm on her belly to keep her from sitting up and she couldn't reach it. She kicked her legs from sheer frustration and this time he grabbed her ankle. She was just trying to decide what he might be planning when he brushed the tip of his pinky finger along the back of her foot.

'Hrk?!' Maomao choked, squirming...The back of her foot, and her back as well, were hopelessly vulnerable to a gentle brush of the fingers.

'M-Master Jinshi...That's...not...fair!'"

While Jinshi is still the instigator in this scene, this is the the first instance of romantic and sexual contact that Maomao accepts, eventually bursting out laughing - and when he gets that laughter, Jinshi also immediately backs off, accepting that he has pushed her as far as she can go right now. But that first contact was via that tiny fingertip representing love.

His hard-learned patience is rewarded when Maomao is finally willing to speak to Jinshi about how she's feeling about his desire to marry her, first obliquely as they discuss the plot of a very familiar tragic romance, before she addresses the issue directly.

"Instead of answering, she murmured, 'I don't want to be an enemy.' Jinshi gave her a sidelong look as if to ask whose enemy she meant. 'To Empress Gyokuyou,' she said.

Would Jinshi understand what she was saying? If not, that was fine, Maomao thought. There were things even he didn't know.

'You - '

He seemed about to ask her something else when a horse whinnied outside..."

Maomao may be hesitant, she may feel very confused, but she finally gives Jinshi something to work with here - communicating to him not that she simply doesn't care about him that way, but that she has a very real, concrete fear about what a romantic relationship with him would mean, not only for them, but for everyone else around them.

That's a lot to balance on the tip of a pinky.

#kusuriya no hitorigoto #the apothecary diaries #maomao #character analysis #jinshi and maomao #jinshi x maomao #jinshi #long text post #apothecary diaries meta #jinmao

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victimsofyaoipoll · 6 months

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Finals

Propaganda Under Cut

Sakura Haruno

Her husband is gay and her author doesn't know how to write women. So many people say she's the worst but she. DESERVES. BETTER!!! Save her from this franchise.

My baby girl my bestie my best friend. She committed the crime of um being written by kishimoto who both doesn’t know how to write women and somehow writes men in the gayest way possible specifically naruto and sasuke. Like the thing is naruto and sasuke ARE gay and also she gets so much hate for the crime of kishimoto writing her one dimensionally in love with sasuke. I know her personally she is a butch lesbian to me just trust me she’s in love with Ino and has a lesbian thing going on with Karin okay just trust me. My everything. She needs to divorce the loveless lavender marriage she’s in

What is there to say, even? The OG Threat to my 90s anime brain, the only woman I've ever hated with such a passion she made me turn away from the color pink. I used to write fics with my friend where she got left behind on purpose so our OCs could join the Naruto and Sasuke team instead. I loathed this bitch until I was 16 and realized the author simply couldnt write women and decided it was time to make peace with Sakura. It is not her fault she's vaguely written and obsessive over Sasuke. She deserves better. Sasuke and Naruto still should be together and Sakura shouldnt be with Sasuke but I no longer believe this because I hate Sakura, it is because I love her. She deserves a spouse who will actually put in the time to treat her like the hero she is.

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime

#poll #finals #sakura haruno #naruto #misa amane #misa misa #death note

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chronically-ghosted · 6 months

Text

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled.

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.”

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder.

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.”

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.”

Partner.

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself.

And then he met you and the definition changed again.

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why.

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days.

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions.

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts.

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed.

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here.

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all.

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.”

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime.

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath.

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee.

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold.

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.”

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee.

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets.

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.”

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night.

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids.

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it.

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since.

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks.

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair.

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation.

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay.

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold.

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love.

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants.

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare.

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him.

“Baby–,”

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall.

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer.

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in.

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut.

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars.

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day.

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is.

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head.

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful.

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you.

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you.

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees.

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now.

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it.

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch.

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart.

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips.

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs.

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes.

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it.

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford.

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair.

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.”

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole.

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair.

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh.

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty.

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible.

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean.

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face.

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine.

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point.

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now.

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level.

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls.

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest.

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table.

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock.

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?”

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich.

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.”

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.”

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork.

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist.

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain.

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.”

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.”

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done.

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.”

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him.

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow.

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy.

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire.

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust.

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again.

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm.

“B-baby, please–,”

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer.

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.”

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.”

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him.

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name.

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep.

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again.

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more.

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst.

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs.

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet.

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling.

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor.

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull.

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face.

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.”

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest.

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.”

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips.

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all.

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed.

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you.

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.”

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach.

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.”

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

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yandere-romanticaa · 3 months

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The moon has risen and the clanking of mugs in the air rings loudly inside the bustling tavern, signaling the end of another working day and the start of a new fun filled evening. Well, for the patrons at least, not the bartender. He didn't mind, despite his stoic face. As per usual, the young master mixed the drinks and created absolute perfection, the colorful liquid shimmering brightly against the light as his fingertips swiftly danced across the wooden counter, serving yet another satisfied customer. They thanked them profusely and he nodded politely, his face neutral and curt. Amongst the hustle and bustle, no one was able to see that the bartenders mind was quite preoccupied.

You were wearing the red dress he had gotten you recently. Diluc could feel the corners of his mouth twitching in excitement as the happiness of the simple gesture made his chest swell with pride.

The dress he had picked out was modest but tasteful. He was no prude by any means, anyone with a pair of proper eyes could see your beauty. He lowered his ruby red eyes up and down your body, admiring each and every curve he could see. Each little bow, every piece of exposed skin - it set his heart ablaze. Diluc licked his upper lip as he felt the tips of his ears turn red, shame overcoming him.

What was he doing? He was no wild animal, he had no right to oogle you in such a manner. He ought to give you the respect you deserve. Yes, perhaps he ought to keep him hands to himself, just to be safe. Maybe later in the evening if he felt brave enough, he could go say hello. Offer you a drink too, non alcoholic, obviously. It was a brand new creation of his, he was curious to hear your thoughts on it. You always gave him such colorful reviews, he couldn't help but to turn you into his unofficially official favorite taste tester.

Besides, he just liked to spoil you with free drinks. It was the least he could do.

And just like that, all was well. The night was slow but he was used to it. He had a lot of energy that evening so he insisted on taking things in stride for the time being. He watched the various patrons enter and exit the bar, all of various ages and genders. Old men past their prime, flocks of young women who he could hear gossiping about him even from the other side of the bar, a few loners here and there, nothing too out of the ordinary.

Taking a glass in his hand, Diluc raised it slightly in the air and pointed it in your direction, an attempt to hide his true motives. To anyone near him it just looked like he was searching for a stain but Diluc knew better.

He could not get his eyes off of you.

Strong fingers gripped the frail glass, a few cracks forming on it as Diluc felt his heart leap straight out from his chest as the sound of your laughter reached his ears. There really was nothing quite like it, no love song, no hymn could ever compare. The man closed his eyes and savored the sound, like one would when eating a decadent chocolate. Lovely and divine, Diluc could already feel the burst of sweetness inside of him, taking over his entire being as he got swept up in the moment.

A moment which was all too cruelly taken away from him once he saw a man place his hand around your waist.

Diluc staggered and choked on the air for a split second, nearly causing a commotion by dropping the glass from his hand. He managed to catch it in a nick of time, it just barely touching the ground.

...That was too close for comfort. The same could be said for that mysterious companion of yours. What was he doing, touching you so carelessly? Even from that far away there was no mistaking the flames of want in that man's eye and if he could, he would steal a kiss from your sweet lips right there and then. Diluc pressed his lips in a tight line as he continued to clean the mugs in a hurried manner, his mind going haywire by the minute.

You remained oblivious to his pining, as did the man. He despised the fact that the sweetness in his heart was gone, replaced with this vile, putrid blob of inky blackness, shredding his insides bit by bit. A few flickers of angry fire accidentally left his fingertips and it took all of Diluc's willpower to not grab the greatsword hidden in the back and slash the man into minced meat. He could already feel the taste of copper in his mouth as the man would scream and scream in the night, but no one would hear him, no would would come to his aid.

Diluc was far too intelligent and rich to ever have such a crime be traced back to him.

Jealousy consumed him, the all too familiar feeling of the green eyed monster was a demon Diluc had to grapple with on a daily basis, and he did not have a clue on how to tame it.

His heart ached for you, it burned for the need to merge your soul with his but for the love of Barbatos, he always promoted to tail you from the shadows instead, shooting himself in the foot in the process. He could not resent you for not being aware of his feelings because he was a fool, a coward too scared of being rejected, forcing him to simmer in his own bitter feeling.

It was torture.

Diluc lowered his gaze downwards and sighed. He recalled the love stories he had read over the years and this was not how he pictured his playing out. All of those stories made the pining sound so romantic and eloquent but he knew better now.

Lies. Those were all lies, he was in Hell and he was angry.

Later in the evening when he could, he was going to strike. He could not risk it, he could not risk you falling for anyone other than him. He was a selfish man and he hated himself for that.

But seeing you in the arms of another... Now that, that made him seethe.

🎀 TAGS: @genshinarchives, @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @xiaopleasecomehome, @mayulli, @cc-6789, @saturnalya, @alatusprinz, @lakxcpsta, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss, @goldenglow149

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stardewremixed · 11 months

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Justice for Stardewies

Because people need jobs and purpose...

Jodi

has been a single mom for so long, even though Kent returns in Year 2. She was a Registered Nurse, and replaces Maru at the clinic when Maru decides to go back to school. Jodi starts to feel her confidence grow as she works outside her home. And Harvey is a good boss, letting her work around Vincent's school schedule.

Maru

Inspired by Harvey, Maru wants to pursue and advanced degree in medical technology. With her poor eyesight, her dreams of becoming an astronaut faded. But she still gets to tinker and play with technology, which is something she loves.

Marnie / Marlon

deserves better than a "secret" relationship with Lewis. His family has wealth and historically held positions of power. The Governor is his cousin after all. Still Marnie deserves real "out in the open" love. Marlon asks her out one day after she visits the Adventurer's Guild with the weekly dairy delivery. Their first official date is the Flower Dance. And they dance together for the whole town to see. Lewis is jealous but... he had his chance. #sorrynotsorry

Shane

is sober and working at the movie theater during the evenings. He attends vet school during the day. Shane wants to open an animal clinic, with an emphasis on chickens... 🐔 er... farm animals. And he makes his famous pepper poppers for all town events.

Pam

Pam went to rehab. She is now reemployed at Pierre's. She really enjoys helping customers find what they are looking for, and she joined Caroline's class to get fit. She has already dropped almost 20lbs.

Robin

Robin does so much for the town. She is convinced by the people to run against Lewis. And then she actually wins. Since she finally has help from Alex, Robin's business is booming. She is able to hire on another employee so she can focus on her new important duties as Mayor of Pelican Town.

Linus

Is anyone surprised he actually has money? And lots of it? Linus gets involved with other veterans like himself with much encouragement from Gus. Now with properly flowing taxpayers' dollars, Linus is able to build a tiny Veterans Village for former military men and women to "get off grid," find healing, and a fresh start. Kent gets involved too after he starts counseling for his PTSD.

Alex

Robin hired Alex as a handyman. Alex is surprisingly good with his hands and figuring things out, especially electrical. With no formal training, he can rewire televisions and stereos. At first, he just tinkers in Robin's workshop. But then he starts doing bigger projects. After getting an electricians license, Alex helps wire houses and rewire faulty electrical in other homes and businesses around the Valley. It's blue collar work but it pays really well, and his skills are sorely needed. And he can work as he wants. So he still has plenty of time to toss the gridball around with friends, and take Dusty to the dog park, and even help Granny in the kitchen.

Evelyn / George

Ev still helps out at the community garden. She starts growing spices and herbs to bake in her breads and cookies. Once the Community Center is repaired, Evelyn hosts a bake sale to help with the upkeep. And Haley joins her in organizing a cake walk. George gets motivated, with encouragement from Jodi (since she is a vet's wife), to do the Valley's own version of Special Olympics. Alex helps his grandpa train.

Abigail

finally graduates after six years. She knows what she wants. She is going to pursue a master's in folklore and mythology. While it isn't business like her dad wanted, Pierre is still proud of his little girl. Abi leaves for Zuzu City (on the repaired bus line). She also has an internship lined up, translating manuscripts (since she learned ancient Dwarven).

Sebastian

takes coding to the next level. He finds a partner in Zuzu. They start a tech company together. Seb still comes home on weekends to spend time with his family (he and Demetrius patched things up ever since his stepdad got his official diagnosis as autistic). Seb always brings rice pudding for Demetrius, from the Asian Market he lives above. Seb is also working on releasing his first video game, inspired by his experiences in the mines.

Sam

After the band breaks up, Sam decides to go solo. He leaves for Zuzu City for some gigs. The first weekend he is there, he makes a connection with a talent scout who thinks Sam is really good. Sam starts landing bigger and bigger shows. Next thing he knows, he's traveling the world, opening for big name bands. It is a dream come true. He never stays in one place too long, but that's just what he loves about his "work."

Elliott

publishes his romance novel. And then his editor suggests a series. It is super successful. With his new steady income, Elliott upgrades his cabin to a proper beach cottage. He teams up with Penny to write a children's book.

Penny / the children

returns to school and obtains a proper teaching license. With help from Robin, she opens an after school enrichment program for Vincent, Jas, Leo, and a few other children. And she partners with Professor Snail to offer summer camps on Ginger Island. Penny also organizes a beach clean-up day.

Vincent starts an entomology club with the Prof, much to his delight.

Jas works with Emily to create costumes for a play. The story of the Winter Star is the first show they put on for the town. And this seriously helps Jas' confidence.

Leo repairs the treehouse with the help of Alex. And Pam, who attended cosmetology school, gives him a proper "big kid" haircut.

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shigayokagayama · 28 days

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The Beach Omake And Authorial Intent

initially i was going to save this for a big teru analysis i had cooking however i eventually ended up deciding that it would feel like a really long tangent in its original context and probably deserves a separate post.

when it comes to the whole "teru's parents" thing i generally see two competing ideas on it

a. terus absent parents are the real villains of mob psycho and are the direct cause of everything wrong with his life and any and all teru analysis must center around this fact

b. terus parents being absent in the first place is only revealed in an omake and only exists for plot convenience and is not something that should be focused on at all when writing him

and whenever i see either of these my mind always drifts to the question of authorial intent. i know how people are reading this information, but how are we supposed to? i know death of the author is becoming more of a common thing in fandom spaces (albeit usually misused) but i feel like a better understanding of why this omake exists and how we're supposed to read it might help to better synthesize two takes that seems to be completely at odds with each other.

okay first i want to go over the actual placement of the beach omake in the update schedule of the manga because, unlike most other omakes, i feel like this ones placement in the schedule of page releases is actually super relevant

the vast majority of omakes come at the end of weekly updates. you finish reading the usually 15-20 pages ONE put out and then you get a little bonus comic at the end, usually something funny or a slice of life but but occasionally more serious. multi part omakes are usually spread out over multiple updates, making you wait a couple weeks for a punchline.

beach omake is not that. between chapters 99 (mob gets hit by a car) and 100 (the whole rest of the omake) there was a 6 week hiatus from normal pages and in this hiatus is where we get beach omake. reading it all together immediately cuts away the sort of "slice of life sunday paper comic" tone other multi part omakes have and make you read it as a part of the actual main story, since that's how you're used to reading these weekly updates.

now the actual tone. generally the multi part omakes exist to be long punchlines and the rare emotional ones are a single page for maximum impact. beach omake has a very different structure compared to, say, the haunted doll omake or the pot of happiness.

off the bat from the first two pages there's not really a joke. the tone mostly seems kind of melancholic. mobs expression for the middle section of the second page (maybe purposely) is obscured by the panel breaking off, it's hard to tell his reaction, all our attention is directed at teru. with all of the panels taken up by dialogue (primarily his own), we're being asked to focus on what he's saying:

-teru lives alone

-he lives alone because his parents live overseas

-he hasnt seen them in a while

-he doesnt like having nothing to do

-he doesnt like being alone

all of this information is delivered with an extremely casual expression from him, implying that it's not something that seems ll the out of the ordinary for him. mob, on the other hand...

the hesitation before he says anything and the way his expression is obscured seems to imply something is... off... about this information to him. this isn't a handwaved "oh mob is walking home from school after passing out because he needs to for plot reasons", we're reacting to this information like it's weird.

the next two pages are, mostly, a lot more of what we expect out of a mob psycho omake. the first one works as a standalone joke page, teru is bad at identifying animals which leads to him showing reigen a roach, something reigen is terrified of, instead of a beetle.

the second page starts similarly, we get a dumbass joke about reigen trying to pick up women at the beach (note: i think this is the singular time we get an indication reigen is even into women) but then the next two panels take on a more melancholic tone again. we get a small panel of mob and ritsu playing on the beach and a much, much larger panel of teru sitting on the beach, watching them. the dialogue bubble forces us to pay attention to the fact that he is silent.

the ending of this omake is where we bring it home. generally the last panel centers the punchline of the page, or of the whole omake, but the final panel of this isn't really what was being built to in this case.

we start our second page on teru. his expression is obscured, reigens speech bubble is shoved to the side so we can see that teru's hat is being held in his hands.

when we see his face in full view he looks... confused. he looks like he doesn't know how to react to someone going through all this trouble for him. teru is a character who, up to this moment, we have seen as extremely independent. he always rushes into things alone, he always has to be the hero, he always has to be the one to save the day. hell, this omake is immediately followed by the confession arc. where... you know.

so what are we supposed to get out of this omake?

teru's been doing everything on his own up to this point

but he doesn't have to anymore

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #teruki hanazawa #pic #edit: even though the hair makes this difficult to date timeline wise #i like to picture this as post confession arc #i feel like it makes the most sense

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clavissionary-position · 3 days

Text

(Translation) Gilbert's Beast Manual Case 3: The Correct Way to Love Gilbert

Part 3 of Gilbert's current party event, wherein Emma learns something new about Gilbert.

Spoilers. Yeah this one's just a straight-up translation. Also I read using a translator so expect le errors. Case 1 | Case 2 | His POV

Gilbert was a fiendishly jealous man—something both he and others attested to.

Not only the men I spoke to, but women and animals as well; they all become the target of his jealousy. The same jealousy across the board.

But lately that hasn't been all.

Gilbert: This tie keeping your hair up, it gets to be with you 24/7, doesn't it?

Gilbert: ...You're so mean for setting me aside. Actually, wouldn't it be better to just wear your hair down?

Gilbert: Your chair here, doesn't it basically get to feel your warmth the entire time you're on it?

Gilbert: I'm going to hold you on my lap because it's kind of pissing me off. Sharing your body heat with a chair is more than it deserves.

Gilbert: This hallway you tread on every day—

Emma: Okay, can you please not be jealous of the literal hallway!?

The more time we spent together, the more the potential targets for his jealousy went up.

I didn't get how he could be so jealous of every little thing.

Because even though I loved Gilbert, jealousy was something I didn't really feel much of.

(Oh...)

Gilbert: —I see. So they've already completed their draft. Excellent, excellent.

Roderic: It seems experiencing your wrath this morning made them respond accordingly.

(...Roderic's here)

Having just finished my bath, I quickly hid myself in the shadows.

If I stepped out in the open wearing only my bathrobe over the black negligee Gilbert had made for me, not only would Roderic's life be in danger but mine as well.

(Still... I've never really had a chance to see Gilbert when he speaks to Roderich when I'm not around)

(...I wonder what that vibe is like)

As my curiosity got the better of me and I covertly took a peek...

Gilbert: I'd like for them to submit the draft before it ever gets to that point next time.

Roderic: It's only because nobody can come up with out-of-the-box ideas like you.

Gilbert: They're all conclusions one can arrive at rationally. It's not like I'm making unreasonable demands of anyone.

Gilbert sat at his desk, a serious expression on his face as he moved his quill.

He definitely wasn't smiling like he usually did, but at the same time he didn't seem angry either.

It was an expression I didn't recognize.

Gilbert: ...Also, the draft was poorly-constructed. With this there's too gaps for us to drive that old man into a corner.

Roderic: Then I'll have it returned to you in such a way that we can.

Gilbert: I only appreciate haste. You help them too, Roderic. I'd like to have the contents finalized before our next regular meeting.

Gilbert: If we leave that old man unchecked, he may soon start a losing battle against neighboring countries.

Roderic: ...Understood, sir.

Gilbert: What's the next document?

Roderic: It's here, sir.

Gilbert: ...I know I keep asking, but is there more still?

Roderic: There's a mountain of things I'd like you to look over.

Gilbert: I thought I'd delegated my authority out.

Roderic: This just means that Obsidian needs you.

Gilbert: That's certainly a problem.

Roderic: No, sir, it's not.

Gilbert: ...*sigh* Unless we can get everyone past the idea that failure is some sort of capital crime, won't it be difficult for you and I to manage all this work on our own?

Gilbert: Seems like my presence is a hindrance after all.

Roderic: Please don't say that!

Gilbert: Fine, fine. If you don't like it, then go give out this PSA.

Gilbert: "As long as there's no fraud or corruption at work, I won't kill you over a simple failure. So please rely on your own judgement more."

Roderic: ...Very well, sir.

(So that's the kind of vibe Gilbert has doing official duties when I'm absent)

The atmosphere about him was so serious and earnest that it naturally made me want to stand at attention, and I found myself captivated.

(If he's not smiling, then maybe that's his real expression)

(Gilbert's known Roderic for a long time, so he's able to drop his guard around him)

(...Okay, what's this gloomy feeling I'm having...)

Roderic: ...Sir, let's deal with the rest of this tomorrow.

Gilbert: Hey. You definitely didn't see anything, right?

Roderic: I saw nothing and I noticed nothing.

Gilbert: Is that so? That's fine, then. Thank you for your hard work.

Roderic quickly gathered up his documents and took his leave.

An air of nervousness seemed to cling to him as he made a beeline for the exit, not once looking astray.

The door closed behind him and Gilbert stretched out his arms as if trying to relax.

Gilbert: Now, then, little rabbit.

Emma: ...So you'd noticed me after all.

Gilbert: Well that's a given.

(I'm sorry about the position I put you in, Roderic)

Once he'd beckoned me closer, he prompted me to climb onto his lap.

Emma: Pardon me.

Knowing that my only two choices were to either sit on his lap or be made to sit, I obediently sat down of my own accord.

And Gilbert wrapped his arms around my waist to support me.

Gilbert: You were throwing Roderic such a passionate look.

Emma: I was looking at you!?

Gilbert: He was positioned in the same line of sight.

Gilbert: As you know, you have a very troublesome man on your hands. So you're aware of what you should do at a time like this, right...?

Emma: ......

I placed my hands against Gilbert's cheeks and started kissing him.

I kissed him so much that I began to feel a faint warmth from his cold lips. But when I tried to pull away, Gilbert bit my lip, leaving behind a faint stinging.

(You're still jealous, aren't you?)

Emma: ...Did I interfere with your official duties?

Gilbert: *pouts* Roderic's the one who interfered. Showing up at this hour with documents for review.

Emma: That's probably because you were busy during the day.

Gilbert: *grins* Hehe... I showed you a lot of things I don't like about Obsidian today.

Emma: ...And I want to know about even more of them from now on.

Emma: Because I also want to be able to assist you.

Gilbert: Ahaha, that's reassuring.

(...There are still so many things I don't know about Gilbert and Obsidian...)

(I'm sure some of those things are intentionally being kept hidden from me)

(Things you can talk to Roderic about, but not to me...)

Once again I felt something in my heart falter.

But before I could convince myself that I was just imagining things, Gilbert's cold fingers caressed my cheek.

Gilbert: You're pulling such a long face even though your words are so reassuring,

Emma: ...I wasn't lying.

Gilbert: I know that. So what's eating at you?

(...What's eating at me?)

Emma: ...I can't really put it to words.

Emma: It's just... I'm envious of Roderic.

Emma: He's able to assist you more than me, and knows everything...

(......)

(Oh, this is...)

The moment I realized the true nature of my anxiety, Gilbert broke into a broad smile.

Gilbert: Wow... I'll have to give Roderic a bonus.

Emma: ...I see now. So this what you've been feeling all this time.

(Well no, compared to Gilbert, my 'jealousy' is to a much lesser degree...)

Emma: Hehe... What should I do? I'm really jealous here.

(We match now.)

I wrapped my arms around Gilbert's neck and brought our foreheads together.

Even though it should have been a negative feeling, I felt laughter build up inside me, perhaps because I was one step closer in understanding Gilbert.

Gilbert: Serious jealousy is nothing like that though, you know?

Emma: Are you saying there's more to come?

Gilbert: Yeah. Your jealousy's in the early chapters.

Gilbert: The more and more you come to love me, the less you'll be able to contain that kind of adorable jealousy.

Gilbert seemed truly pleased with my jealousy.

And it was precisely because I could sense that feeling that the anxiety in my heart turned into something endearing.

Emma: I'll work diligently then.

(Because I think being jealous is the most correct way to love Gilbert)

Gilbert: Hehe... I can't believe you've cheered up this much just from turning into a jealousy fiend.

Gilbert: Taming the conquering beast is difficult, isn't it? But it might be easy for you.

Gilbert: Because I'm so madly in love with you.

------ a/n: I'm sorry for any errors! I mostly just clean up whatever the online translators spit out. Sometimes I get really lazy. Also, I haven't really done a full translation post like this in a while, so I just wanted to mention that I took the formatting and translation style from @/hotaru987 sensei!

#ikemen prince #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri jp spoilers #ikepri translation folder

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decolonize-the-left · 6 months

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Thinking about Project2025 and how it's at every level and branch of government. How entire cities are now under their thumb.

How Biden is saying "Israel has a right to defend itself" while calling Cop City protesters terrorists for not wanting a more deadly police force to be trained. But didn't stand with rail workers when they demanded better treatment when it was freezing and trains were being derailed.

How an epidemic on par with HIV ravaged the globe and Biden allowed pharma companies to exploit the world with price tags after promising it'd be public access.

Thinking about how in all this Israel and the USA are said to test tactics and weapons on Palestine.

How the USA stands with Zionists and how many people have told me, a native American, that Palestinians are in the wrong.

How the last 75 years don't matter. Only the last 2 weeks.

And real fucking talk?

For all the "progress" liberals pretend we made how are we here?

Americans and several of the Allied countries would not hesitate to conduct Manifest Destiny 2.0 and have blatantly stated as much.

Americans are saying things that my great grandmother heard about reservations and then later about native liberation. They're saying things the pilgrims told us before that. We're animals. Savages. That we are to blame. That when we die out it'll be because we didn't fight hard enough. That we don't deserve to even be here.

And you know what, I would hope this post would reach some of them but I genuinely feel as if liberals are as far gone as MAGAs are.

They will read this and just go and on and on about how bad the other guy is.

How justified they are to keep voting blue. Just like MAGA's whine until their privileged lives being "ruined" by "woke lies" justified them voting for Trump. Just like Israel is justified. Like every fucking war criminal ever has been.

BUT

I implore you to STOP trying to fucking justify everything! Nobody fucking cares about the reasons you use to support a genocidal war monger who's legacy before this was signing one of the most racially marginalizing bills in US history.

How about you try justifying taking a fucking risk, instead?

People in Palestine are being bombed every fucking day and you want to twiddle your thumbs about NOT voting for the guy who said it was okay and for what? Because your life might not be as comfortable as it is right now? That's your concern from your home with a roof?

Call me a fucking conspiracist but I haven't been wrong yet: Biden is a fucking Project2025 plant. And him and Hillary both have done nothing but make the democrats more and more conservative by catering to the "centrist" votes for decades.

Now we're here. They've compromised so much and want to look so "fair" that a genocide is being paid for on American tax dollars and what are liberals tellings us, what are they saying? ITS JUSTIFIED???? AND TO VOTE FOR BIDEN AGAIN

Y'all are so worried about everyone voting blue to avoid republican fascists that you don't even CARE how bad the people youre voting in are. You haven't even noticed the fascists you put in office yourselves.

You forgot your boundaries.

And isn't it funny how rad/fems and TERFs got mainstream around the same time? You know, the white supremacists based ideology that seeped into the mainstream because nobody was critically consuming or gatekeeping what was "empowering to women" for fear of being 'cancelled'?

Why? Cuz if you hate them you hate women. Just like if you criticize america then you're an anti-american Russian/spy/plant. Like if you support Palestine then you hate Jewish people. If support BLM then you obviously hate white people.

And that's it, isn't it. That's what it all boils down to.

White supremacists are and have been manipulating & gaslighting us en masse.

You know your friends that learned to gaslight an audience with therapy speak? The one that makes you afraid to call them out cuz they're better with words than you and could just as easily turn everyone against you if they use enough buzzwords?

That's the tactics white supremacists are using.

"I must be quiet so I don't say something wrong and look like a bigot" "if I speak, I may say the wrong things" "I may say the right thing the wrong way"

They have made you AFRAID to speak against genocide!!! Wake the fuck up!!!!

They aren't event trying to hide it! The IDF made a post that straight up says "you are an anti-Semite if you speak against Israel"

WHICH IS JUST STRAIGHT UP UNTRUE!! So may Jewish people have come forward against Israel and against Zionism and to support Palestine!

Israel's government is Zionist and that is not an inherently Jewish trait! Making you you believe otherwise is part of the propaganda and manipulation so you Stop speaking up. You can support Jewish people and Palestinians both.

Israel and the USA want you to believe that it is one or the other and that's not true.

The only people who benefit from trying to make you choose between which humans get to live are the white supremacists who cheer when this rhetoric starts to normalize conversation about which people are more worthy of living than another.

You have been gaslit into supporting genocide.

Gaslit into going down a white supremacist pipeline.

Gaslit into giving your silent consent.

Snap out of it.

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spookyscarydemonbabe · 7 months

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Beauty of the Blue

A/N- This is technically my second Buggy fic since i didn’t like the first one very much but i think this perfectly embodies how i think Buggy would act with the reader 🥰 also i want to make it clear that this is for the live action Buggy and not from the anime, so i’m using the little knowledge i have of him and his character 😅 i’m sorry if he also seems a little OOC, this is my first time writing for someone with his personality so i’m doing my best :p i hope i get better in the future and i can’t wait to see more of him in season 2 😍

Summary- While waiting for someone to give you the offer of a lifetime, you’re shocked that a clown in a pirate hat is able to persuade you to join him.

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- Reader is described with female features, alcohol

Tag List- None yet!

(tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like to be added)

Word Count- 2.5k

“Alright,” You shouted with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you sat back in your chair, “who’s next?”

The bar was packed full of pirates from all over the east blue, just waiting to get the chance to talk to you. Men, women, fish men, all different kinds of sailors from all different backgrounds were just waiting for their turn to convince you to join their crew.

You wouldn’t really consider yourself a pirate, you weren’t sure how you would address yourself. You weren’t feared, but more so admired by all other ships on the sea, pirate and marine alike. You had your bounty, but not for any malicious reasons.

You were very convincing, someone who could get whatever they wanted just with a little wink and a smile. A beautiful woman who was cursed with a body and features that anyone would kill for. You’d been able to convince captains for a little extra of their treasure that had on board their ships just from flirting a little across the bar. You were able to convince shop and restaurant owners to give you their very best, all free of charge of course. You had even managed to distract a sailor long enough to take his ship and all the supplies onboard, just from a simple kiss on the cheek and a giggle.

It was a gift and a curse, and you knew that, but that also meant that you were wanted by every sea captain for miles around. They would come by each and every night, trying to convince you to join their crew and use your beauty to help get them further to becoming king of the pirates, but not one offer had been good enough for you.

Fame, riches, mansions and jewelry and countless other things were offered to you, but none of them were good enough. You wanted someone to give you the offer of a lifetime, someone who could promise you the life you knew you deserved, and it seemed like every day that dream was getting smaller and smaller.

You sighed and grabbed your glass from the table before you, sipping your drink as you glanced around at the other patrons, just waiting for the next person to come up and give it their shot at letting them have you as a part of their crew. Not one person had come up to you, until you heard the heavy boots of someone approaching.

You quickly looked over, drink in hand, just waiting to hear whatever offer they had for you, but their appearance threw you off quite a bit.

He was a larger man, lots of muscle, wearing a striped singlet and his face was painted with makeup you’d only seen in circuses and at carnivals. You flashed him a smile and curiously wondered who he was, or whose crew he was on.

“Hello there. Something to say?” You set your near empty glass back onto the table before you and he nodded his head as a sign of respect to you.

“Miss (y/n), it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He said with a smile, clearly a bit flustered at being in your presence, “My captain has heard many great things about you. He would like to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

“Oh really?” You sipped the last of your drink and sat back into your chair, crossing your legs, “And who might your captain be?”

“Captain Buggy. He’s been quite interested in you for some time.”

“Hm, i don’t recognize the name.” You shrugged, “But i’m sure he’s not too serious about this offer he has for me. He couldn’t even come to me himself.”

“He wanted to make sure you were the real deal, so i was sent in his place. And may i just say, you are much more beautiful than your poster leads on.” He said with a smile and a flustered laugh, you could see the blush on his face just from seeing your smile.

“Awe, aren’t you sweet!” He’s lucky that flattery worked quite well on you, “I’ll tell you what, if he can come to me himself and tell me his little offer, i may consider it.”

He nodded excitedly and quickly left, you giggled watching him wander out of the bar.

A few moments had passed, a handful of other captains and crew members had their own try at offering you a new drink in exchange for a little bit of your attention, but it seemed like none of them were worth your time.

As you looked down into your empty glass, you noticed the bar get quiet, the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor and approaching closer to your seat. You looked up and as soon as you saw him, you knew this had to be the captain of the muscle man. Captain Buggy.

He was a tall, lean man, pale skin with a bit of muscle on his body. He must’ve been at sea for a long while to gain such a figure. Blue hair, big red nose, and he had the clown makeup to match. You’d never seen someone with such a look, many times you’d seen captains with their strange choice of outfit for themselves and their crew but nothing quite like his. And you had to admit, for a clown in a pirates hat, he wasn’t a bad looking guy either.

He slowly approached your table with a smile, the muscle man walking behind him, keeping himself in Buggy’s shadow. He pointed to the chair in front of him, opposite you,

“Is this seat taken?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” You set your empty glass back onto the table.

“So sorry,” He said with a laugh, “where are my manners. Captain Buggy.” He gently reached his hand out for your to shake, “May i say, it’s wonderful to see such a pretty face, your wanted poster doesn’t do you justice.”

“Well aren’t you charming.” You smiled and reached your hand out to his, he took it gently and kissed the back of it, a bit of the red makeup on his lips leaving a little mark.

“I do have my moments.”

You nodded to the chair, letting him sit across from you, the bar went back to it’s normal pace but you could see almost all eyes were on you two.

“Your friend tells me you’d like to make an offer?”

“I would.” He snapped his fingers and within moments the muscle man behind him returned with a bottle of alcohol and another glass, “And i know it’s one that’ll be hard for you to refuse.”

He popped the cork off of the bottle and poured some of the amber liquid into your empty glass before filling his own. Whiskey. And it wasn’t the cheap stuff either.

You gently lifted the glass to your lips and crossed your legs,

“Well then, let’s hear it.”

He smiled and quickly swallowed almost the entire glass, giving himself a bit of liquid courage before reaching for the bottle again and pouring more for himself.

“I’m sure you’ve had more than enough people offer you the same things, day after day. Money, jewelry, fame and riches you could never dream of. But i’m not here to offer you any of those things…”

You took another sip and cocked your head to him, watching the way his lips curled into a smile, the red makeup around his mouth only made it seem bigger.

“So what exactly are you trying to offer me then?”

He looked into his glass, sighing as he watched the dark liquid swirl as he twirled the glass in his hand,

“The life you deserve.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as your gaze stayed on him, looking over his face for any sign of emotion, but all you could see was complete seriousness in his turquoise eyes. They reminded you of the ocean. You were curious as to what he could possibly mean.

“Go on…”

He sat back in his chair, pulling his orange captains hat off and tossing it to the floor next to him,

“You may not know much about me, but i know plenty about you. You’ve managed to steal ships without even having to lift a finger. You’ve had marine and pirate captains alike giving you their berry without a second thought. You’re a beautiful woman with a remarkable talent, a talent i would love to have on my ship.”

He definitely had a way with his words, each one making you eager to hear the next. He seemed so calm, so collected, it may have been the alcohol keeping him like this but you preferred it over the others who were either too drunk or too nervous to get the first sentence out. He had gotten the furthest than anyone else ever had, and you were willing to hear out the rest of this offer he had for you.

“And what would you and your crew do for me in return?” You asked him with a cheeky smile.

“Anything your sweet little heart desires. Someone with your ability shouldn’t be thrown off as another one of my crew, first class treatment. Nothing but the best.”

Your gaze softened, your eyes locked, and all you could see was honesty behind his eyes. And that was quite rare for a pirate, especially a captain.

“So…” You sipped the last of your whiskey and reached the glass out for him to pour you another, “let’s just say i do take this offer. With what you’re telling me, i have almost, if not the same amount of power you would over your crew.”

“You’re exactly right.” He lifted the bottle and poured you another glass, “Beautiful and smart, you’re quite the catch, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words. No one had been that confident to so openly be flirtatious, he was the only one who had gotten so far. You admired it. Damn him and his charm.

“So i’ve been told.” You sipped from your glass as he set the bottle back to the table, “So tell me, how big is your ship and your crew? I want to know what i’m getting myself into.”

“Biggest one in the east blue. And my crew is filled with dozens of the best, strongest freaks and fighters you’ve ever seen. We’ve taken over more islands than you can imagine.”

You nodded and thought about just how big his crew might actually be. If the muscle man he sent was just one of them, he must have at least two dozen other men just as big, if not even bigger than him.

“What about food, supplies, clothes, a place to sleep? I’m going to need to have everything, i don’t have much on the little ship i’m using at the moment.”

“Oh, that won’t be an issue. Like i said, anything you want, you’ll get.” His smile never left his lips.

“May i ask…” You looked down into your glass as you spoke, “why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why, are you making such an offer to me? You’re willing to give me anything i ask for, all in exchange for my help to get your ship closer to the one piece?”

“Oh, no.” His response took you back, curious as to why he was offering so much to you for such little in return, “You being able to help us get closer to the one piece is just a perk for us. I just want you.”

You widened your eyes as you stared at his smile.

No one had ever been so willing to give you anything you asked for, not in exchange for your ability, but just for you. All he wanted was to have you with him, to be able to say that he had the most beautiful creature of all seas on his side.

He was quite convincing.

“So if i decided to not help you get what you needed, if i didn’t want to do any of my normal dirty work and get you supplies, boats, and the like, that wouldn’t be a problem for you?”

He shrugged,

“Not at all.” He let out a long exhale before swallowing the last of his drink, you doing the same, “I’ll be honest with you (y/n). You’re a woman that’s been admired across all seas, by every pirate captain i’ve come across and every marine vessel that’s tried to best me, all of them have your wanted poster tacked up on their walls like you’re some kind of tool for them to use to get one step closer to the one piece. Your talent is a gift, i’ll give you that, but i know no one else has ever given you the opportunity to move forward. To let yourself be more than just your beauty. And when i find the one piece and become king of the pirates,” He set his glass onto the table and leaned forward, looking deep into your eyes, “i’d be more than honored to have you be my queen.”

His words left you speechless.

Countless times you’ve had people offer you their life’s savings, their most extravagant ships and their strongest men, you’d even had one man be so bold as to offer you his entire island just to be able to say that you were on their side. This was the first, and only time, someone has ever made you feel like you were more than just a pretty face. You were someone to be respected, loved, and given nothing but the best.

“So what do you say?” He grasped the bottle in his hand and poured you each another glass of the remaining liquid, “Do we have a deal?”

He slid your glass over to you and you stared at it for a moment.

If you agreed, it would mean that every other vessel on the sea would be no match for Buggy and his crew. Especially with you sitting pretty on the sidelines.

“I say…” You grasped your glass and slowly looked up to him, leaning your glass forward for him to click his with it, “we have a deal.”

You smiled with one another as you clinked the rims of your glasses together, each sipping the last of the warm liquid before setting your glasses back to the table. Buggy grabbed the empty bottle and handed it back to the muscle man in the singlet, another full one replacing it in his hand just moments later.

The entire bar was watching you two at your table, barely being able to hear your conversation, but the moment they saw your glasses clink together they knew it was over for them. No more having to wait their turn to get their chance to get your attention, it was finally won over. By a clown in a pirates hat.

“You know,” You said with a giggle as Buggy poured you another glass, “for a clown, you don’t seem very funny, you’re acting all serious. Aren’t clowns supposed to be funny and make people happy?”

He sipped his glass and reached out his empty hand to yours, his soft off white gloves holding it so delicately,

“Trust me, i’ll make you very happy.”

You smiled and could feel a heat rising to your cheeks, hoping that no one would be able to sense it. You wanted him to make you happy.

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