#i had this in my sketches for a while and had completely forgotten about it lol

[kittkattys]

"SINCE WHEN YOU ARE BI?!" maiko moment

no flag version

[cosmiclily]

Can you write a Vi oneshot y/n is two years younger than Vi and is Jinx best friend. Vi sees y/n as a younger sister since she and Jinx have been childhood best friends while she has had a crush on Vi since she first met her. Jinx knows and teases her about it but is rooting for the reader and Vi to get together. Vi is protective of y/n especially when she sees people flirt with y/n. As they grow up y/n starts trying to move on since she believes Vi won’t ever have feelings for her but Vi does love her but never made a move because she is Jinx best friend and thinks Jinx wouldn’t approve. Vi finds out by Vander that Jinx is helping y/n get ready for her date and encourages her that she needs to confess her feelings before it’s too late and has to watch y/n be in a relationship. Vi confesses goes to y/n place and confesses her feelings and is surprised when y/n kisses her and tells her that she’s always loved her since they were kids the two sleep with together and are each others first the next day reveal their relationship and Jinx and Vander are happy for the two. Fast forward the two are married and have two kids together

BFS - My Best Friend’s Sister - Vi x F!Reader

wc: 4.6k

cw: none, i think.

notes: uhm, i got a little carried away with this one 🤡

anyway, thank you for the request, hope you enjoy! ⋆˚✿˖°

The first time I met Jinx, I had no idea my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t even imagine. We met on the very first day of high school. My first impression of her? The bright blue hair, of course—it was impossible to miss—and the fact that she was insanely smart, like should-have-skipped-high-school-and-gone-straight-to-college smart. Her intelligence wasn’t just impressive; it ended up saving my skin more times than I can count.

One of those times was during our first biology project. The teacher paired us together, and Jinx offered to work on it at her house. She mentioned that her dad wasn’t home and her sister would probably be out late because of basketball practice. It worked perfectly for me because my house was not an option.

So, off to Jinx’s house we went. She lived in this quirky, mismatched house attached to her dad’s bar. The second I stepped into her room, I knew I was in a completely different world. The walls were covered in her sketches—like, really good sketches—and there were mechanical parts scattered around from her various projects. It wasn’t messy, though; it was… creative chaos. Her room had so much personality, like every inch of it told a story about her.

We dove into the project and worked on it for hours. Time flew by so quickly I didn’t even realize how late it had gotten until her sister came home. And wow—Vi. That was her name, as I later learned. She was two years older than us and looked incredible in her basketball uniform. She had this effortless confidence about her, like she didn’t even have to try to be cool.

“Who’s this?” Vi asked Jinx, tossing her hair back casually and wiping her forehead with the bottom of her jersey. The motion gave me a quick glimpse of her abs under the loose uniform, and—wow—I definitely wasn’t prepared for that.

“Oh, this is Y/N,” Jinx said before I could even attempt to respond. “She’s in my bio class. We were working on a project, but she’s about to head out.”

I was grateful Jinx stepped in because, honestly, I felt like I’d forgotten how to speak. Vi was… hypnotizing. The way she stood there, so effortlessly cool, it made my cheeks heat up instantly. I was pretty sure I wasn’t drooling, but the tightness in my chest told me I was one awkward moment away from embarrassing myself.

“H-Hi,” I managed to mutter, giving her a tiny, shy wave. My voice cracked slightly, which only made me want to crawl under a rock.

Vi’s lips curled into a teasing smile as she crossed her arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Hi,” she replied, her voice warm but laced with playful sarcasm. “Nice to meet one of my sister’s friends. First one, in fact.”

“Hey!” Jinx protested, rolling her eyes. “I have friends.”

Vi raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you do.” Then, turning back to me, she added, “You must be special. Jinx doesn’t usually invite people over. Did she bribe you with snacks or something?”

I laughed nervously, still hyper-aware of her presence. “No snacks, just… science, I guess.”

Vi chuckled, the sound low and almost musical, and it sent a weird flutter through my chest. “Well, don’t let her scare you off. She might be a pain, but she’s harmless.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jinx muttered sarcastically, tossing a pillow in Vi’s direction. Vi caught it with ease, smirking before tossing it back onto Jinx’s bed.

“Anyway,” Vi said, straightening up, “it was nice meeting you, Y/N. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

I nodded, still feeling like I was stuck in some kind of surreal dream. “Nice meeting you too,” I mumbled, trying not to sound as flustered as I felt.

As Vi turned to leave, she glanced back over her shoulder with a playful wink, and my heart practically stopped. Once she was gone, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“So,” Jinx said, breaking the silence with a sly grin, “you’re blushing.”

“What? No, I’m not!” I protested quickly, though the heat radiating from my face told a different story.

“Oh, you so are,” she teased, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to fall for Vi’s charm. She has that effect on people.”

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, feeling more embarrassed by the second.

──────────────────────

From that day on, I made every excuse possible to go to Jinx’s house. Studying for a test? Jinx’s house. Working on a project? Jinx’s house. Binge-watching the new show we both got into? Definitely at Jinx’s house.

And don’t get me wrong—it wasn’t just because of Vi (though Jinx would totally argue otherwise). I genuinely loved being there. Jinx’s house had this warmth to it, a chaotic but comforting energy that made me feel like I belonged. After I met Vander, Jinx’s dad, the place felt even more like a second home. Vander was the kind of guy who made everyone feel welcome. He’d always crack a joke or offer food, and he treated me like I was part of the family from the start.

But… yeah. My crush on Vi? It only got worse. I found myself lurking in hallways or hanging around the kitchen, hoping to catch even a quick glimpse of her. Every time I saw her, I tried to muster up the courage to start a conversation. The problem was, as soon as I opened my mouth, my brain seemed to short-circuit.

One morning, after a sleepover at Jinx’s, I went downstairs to grab a glass of water. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, but there she was standing in the kitchen in sweatpants and a sports bra making breakfast.

“Good morning,” Vi said, her voice casual as she kept her eyes on the pan in front of her. “Do you want breakfast?”

For a second, I forgot how to form words. “Oh, uh—if it’s not a bother, yeah, I’d like some,” I managed to say, grabbing a glass of water and sitting at the kitchen table.

The silence between us grew heavier by the second as she scrambled eggs, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. My mind was blank—well, except for the part of me panicking about how awkward I probably looked. Desperate to fill the silence, I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head.

“Did you know that eggshells have, like, 17,000 pores?”

Vi froze for a moment and slowly turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised, like I’d just sprouted a second head. “Uh… no. I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” I said weakly, feeling my face heat up. “Fun fact, I guess.”

She gave me a small, amused smile and went back to cooking. But the damage was done—I was mortified. From that day on, I vowed to never start a conversation with Vi unless someone else was there to save me from myself.

Of course, I made the mistake of telling Jinx about the whole thing. She laughed so hard I thought she might pass out, and for the next week, she didn’t let me live it down. Every time we hung out, she’d drop random egg facts just to tease me.

“Hey, did you know an ostrich egg can support the weight of a grown man?” she’d say, smirking.

Or: “Apparently, chickens can lay blue eggs. Do you think Vi would be impressed if you told her that?”

──────────────────────

During our sophomore year, my crush on Vi only grew worse. I didn’t miss a single one of her basketball games—not one. Did I know anything about basketball? Absolutely not. I couldn’t even follow the rules half the time. But it didn’t matter. Watching her on the court, seeing her light up whenever she scored, and that radiant smile she wore when her team won—it was enough to keep me coming back.

Of course, I dragged Jinx along to every game. She didn’t care much for sports and made a point of complaining loudly about how boring it was, but I think deep down she knew why I was so invested. “You’re hopeless,” she’d say with a smirk whenever I got flustered after Vi waved at us from the court.

The best part, though, was after the games. Vi always made a point to come over and talk to us. Well, to Jinx mostly, but she’d smile at me, too, and ask me questions like, “What did you think of the game?” or “Did you see that last play?” And every time, I’d stumble through some vague answer because honestly, I’d been too busy staring at her to pay attention to the game itself.

Being around her made me so happy. Just those small moments of acknowledgment, those little smiles and casual conversations, were enough to keep my heart racing for days. But deep down, I knew the truth: Vi only saw me as Jinx’s younger friend. A little sister, at best. She’d made that painfully clear on multiple occasions.

Once, when we were all hanging out after a game, someone jokingly suggested that I had a crush on Vi. I don’t even remember who said it—maybe one of her teammates—but I remember how Vi laughed it off immediately. “Oh, Y/N? She’s like a kid sister,” she said with a grin, ruffling my hair like I was some kind of puppy.

It stung, but I tried to play it off, laughing along even as my chest tightened. I told myself it didn’t matter. Having her in my life at all, even as a friend or honorary sibling, was better than nothing. But the truth was, every time she called me “kid”, it felt like a gentle reminder of how impossible my feelings for her really were.

──────────────────────

After Vi moved to college, I knew I had to let go. The multiple reminders that she only saw me as a kid—Jinx’s best friend who told weird egg facts—played on a loop in my head. I told myself it was time to move on, to stop clinging to a fantasy that would never happen. But trying to move on was so much harder than I expected.

I started looking for pieces of her in everyone I met. Every girl I got to know, every potential crush—I couldn’t help but compare them to Vi. How a girl would act a certain way, and the first thing I’d think was, “Vi would never do that.” Or if someone treated me poorly, I’d find myself muttering, “Vi would never treat me like that.” It wasn’t fair to anyone, but it was like she’d set this impossible standard that no one else could meet.

I’d only see her during winter break when she came home for the holidays. And every time, I’d convince myself that I was over her. I’d spent months trying to push her out of my heart, convincing myself that I was ready to move on, that I’d grown out of the crush. But then she’d walk through the door, her hair tied back, that easy smile on her face, and all those carefully constructed walls I’d built would come crashing down.

The feelings would flood back, twenty times stronger than before. It was like no time had passed, like I was still the same lovesick kid who couldn’t even hold a conversation with her without blurting out the first time that came to mind.

It became a painful loop. I’d spend most of the year trying to heal, trying to forget her, only for everything to unravel the second I saw her again. Seeing her with new eyes—older, more confident, and more out of reach than ever—made it even harder. She’d tell us about college, about her team and the new people she’d met, and I’d smile and nod like I wasn’t aching inside.

Jinx, of course, noticed. She always did. “You’re still hung up on her, aren’t you?” she asked me one night, not unkindly.

I didn’t even bother denying it. “It’s not like I can help it,” I said, shrugging helplessly. “It’s just… her.”

Jinx sighed, shaking her head. “You’re gonna have to let her go someday, you know.”

“I know,” I whispered. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

It wasn’t just a crush anymore. It was a pattern, a piece of me that I couldn’t seem to shake. No matter how hard I tried to move on, Vi had become this impossible figure in my life—someone who I loved deeply but knew I could never have. And every time she left again for college, I’d start the process all over, trying to forget her, trying to move forward, only to be thrown right back into the same cycle when she came home.

──────────────────────

Senior year was chaotic. Between applying for colleges, writing essays, and preparing for exams, Jinx and I barely had time to hang out. But at least we were both focused on our futures. Amid all the stress, though, something good did happen: a new transfer student arrived at our school in the second trimester. Her name was Ava. She was tall, athletic, and impossibly chatty.

Ava was different, she was the kind of person who could talk to anyone and make them feel at ease. It wasn’t long before the three of us were inseparable, hanging out together whenever we could. By the time we finally had a breather, it was almost Christmas, and things had shifted. Ava and I had started dating. We hadn’t officially gone out on a date yet, but with classes winding down, we finally had the chance to.

But just when things seemed to be falling into place, Vi came home for the holidays. I hadn’t seen her in months, and I’d convinced myself that I was over her, that I had moved on. But the second I walked into her house, I saw her standing there, and all those feelings I thought I’d buried rushed back like a tidal wave.

She was leaning against the doorway, effortlessly cool in a casual outfit, talking to Jinx. She laughed at something Jinx said, and the sound of her laughter hit me like a punch to the gut. I froze, just watching her, telling myself over and over that I was with Ava now, that I was past this. But seeing Vi again made it feel like I hadn’t moved on at all.

She turned and caught my eye, her smile softening as she waved. “Hey, kid,” she said, her voice light and teasing, the same as always.

I waved back, trying to mask the rush of emotions flooding through me. “Hey,” I replied with a smile, turning to Jinx for a distraction. “Are you free to help me with my outfit for my date?” I asked, pretending that everything was normal, even though my heart was doing flips.

Jinx grinned, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Date night, huh? Sure, I’ve got you covered.” She shot a playful glance at Vi before pulling me toward her room.

As I followed Jinx down the hall, I couldn’t help but notice the way Vi’s gaze lingered on me for just a moment too long. Maybe I was imagining it, but part of me wondered if she had noticed my discomfort, my attempt to shield myself from the rush of emotions that still tied me to her.

Once we were safely in Jinx’s room, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “I’m fine,” I muttered, trying to convince myself as much as Jinx.

“You sure about that?” Jinx asked with a knowing smile. “I’ve seen that look before. You’re definitely not fine.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’m just… trying to keep it together. I thought I was over her, you know? But the second I saw her again…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Jinx said softly, her voice carrying an understanding I hadn’t expected. “Listen, before you get into this relationship with Ava, I think you should talk to Vi. I know you think she’s this impossible person to reach, but you’ve liked her for so long, and you deserve to know where you stand. Give it a shot, at least. You have my blessing, you know.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” I said, pushing the thoughts aside as I pulled a few outfits out of my bag, trying to distract myself with the decision of what to wear for my date.

The night passed in a blur, but on my way home, Jinx’s words echoed in my mind. It wasn’t fair to Ava. I was starting something with her, and yet I couldn’t shake the weight of my feelings for Vi. How could I be with someone when my heart was still stuck in the past? Maybe Jinx was right—maybe I owed it to myself, and to Ava, to talk to Vi and finally face whatever was left unsaid between us.

What did I have to lose? Next year, I’d be moving out and I’d never have to face this awkward tension again. But if I kept pretending, kept pushing my feelings aside, would I ever really be able to move on?

It was hard to ignore the familiar ache in my chest, the one that seemed to tighten every time I thought of Vi. But Jinx was right about one thing: I couldn’t keep dragging Ava into something if I wasn’t emotionally available. It wasn’t fair to her. I needed to know, once and for all, if there was something left between Vi and me.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was running out of time to make that choice. If I didn’t talk to Vi now, I might never get the chance. So, what was stopping me? Fear? The same fear that had held me back all these years?

──────────────────────

I texted Ava, asking if she could come over earlier than we had planned. I had made up my mind—she should be the first person I talked to. If I was going to sort through this mess of emotions, I needed to be honest with her, no matter how hard it felt. As nervous as I was, deep down, I knew that what I was doing was the right thing.

When I heard the soft knock on the door, my heart jumped into my throat. Taking a deep breath, I opened it.

“Hi,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Ava stood there, her tall frame filling the doorway, her face puzzled but kind. Her brown eyes searched mine, like she could sense something was off.

“Hey,” she said slowly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah... well, no,” I admitted, stepping aside to let her in. “Do you wanna come in so we can talk?”

Ava hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepping inside. She followed me to the living room, where we sat across from each other on the couch. The air between us was thick with unspoken tension.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice soft but direct.

I swallowed hard, clasping my hands together to keep them from shaking. “Ava, you’ve been nothing but amazing. You’re funny, kind, and so easy to be around. But... I don’t think I’ve been fair to you.”

Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my words before they left my lips. “When we started talking, I thought I was ready. I thought I was over... someone from my past. But seeing them again recently made me realize that I’m not. And it’s not fair to you to start something when I’m still trying to sort through those feelings.”

Ava’s expression softened, but I could see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “So... this person, they’re the reason you’ve been hesitant with me?”

I nodded, guilt twisting in my chest. “I didn’t mean to let it get this far without telling you. I really like you, Ava, and I didn’t want to hurt you. But I need to be honest—with you and with myself. I can’t give you what you deserve if I’m still stuck on someone else.”

She was quiet for a moment, processing what I’d said. Then she let out a small, humorless laugh. “Well, at least you’re honest about it. I can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but I appreciate you telling me now instead of dragging it out.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” she replied, though I could tell it wasn’t. “You’re doing the right thing. And for what it’s worth, I hope you figure it out—whatever it is you need to do. You deserve to be happy too.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, all I could do was nod. We sat there in silence for a little while longer before Ava stood up to leave.

As I walked Ava to the door, she turned back and gave me one last hug. It was warm, yet it carried a bittersweet finality. "Take care of yourself, okay?" she whispered before stepping away.

I stood at the doorway, watching her retreat down the sidewalk, the weight of the conversation still pressing on my chest. But just as Ava disappeared around the corner, I noticed someone else walking toward me.

Vi.

Her flushed cheeks and uneven breathing told me she had been running. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a look in her eyes I couldn’t quite place—somewhere between urgency and worry.

“Am I too late?” she asked, her voice breathless as she approached me.

“Too late for what?” I asked, utterly confused. What was she doing here? Why did she look so distressed?

She paused at the bottom of the steps, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. When she stood upright again, her eyes met mine, and I saw something there I hadn’t seen before. “Yesterday, after you left, I talked to Jinx and my dad...”

Her words hung in the air, unfinished, and I felt my heartbeat quicken.

“Okay... and?” I prompted, unsure where she was going with this but unable to ignore the flicker of hope rising in my chest.

Vi rubbed the back of her neck, her usual confidence faltering. “Jinx told me everything,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “About how you’ve felt... for years.”

My stomach dropped. “She what?”

“She told me,” Vi repeated, taking a tentative step closer. “At first, I didn’t believe her. I mean, how could I? I always thought you just saw me as... Jinx’s annoying older sister.” She let out a nervous laugh. “But the more she talked, the more I realized how blind I’ve been. I guess I just didn’t want to see it.”

I was frozen, my mind spinning. “Vi, I—”

“Wait,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “Let me finish.” She stepped onto the porch, now standing just a few feet away from me. “After I talked to Jinx, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I talked to my dad too, and he basically told me the same thing Jinx did—that I’ve been an idiot for not noticing what was right in front of me.”

Her words hit me like a wave, and I struggled to process them. “Vi, what are you trying to say?”

She took another step closer, her expression softening. “I’m saying that I might’ve been blind before, but I’m not anymore. And if there’s even a chance that I haven’t completely screwed this up... I want to try.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Try what?”

“You and me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you still feel the same way, I want to see where this goes. I know I’ve probably hurt you by being clueless all these years, and I’m sorry for that. But I don’t want to miss this chance. Not anymore.”

I stared at her, my heart racing. This was everything I had ever wanted to hear, but it felt almost too good to be true.

“Vi...” I started, my voice trembling. “You don’t have to say this just because Jinx told you. I don’t want you to feel pressured—”

“I’m not,” she cut me off firmly. “This is me, finally realizing that I’ve been pushing away something—someone—who means more to me than I ever let myself admit. So, what do you say?”

Her eyes searched mine, filled with a mix of vulnerability and hope, and for a moment, all the words I could’ve said vanished from my mind. Talking had never been my strong suit anyway, and I knew there was only one way to show her exactly how I felt.

I took a deep breath, closed the small gap between us, and kissed her.

The world seemed to freeze for a second. Her lips were soft, and the warmth of her touch was more grounding than I ever imagined it could be. For a heartbeat, I worried she might pull away, that maybe I’d misunderstood her words or her intentions. But then, she kissed me back, her hands gently resting on my waist, pulling me closer.

Every emotion I had bottled up for years seemed to pour into that kiss—every moment of longing, every glance I had stolen, every dream I thought would never come true. And now, here she was, holding me as if I’d always belonged there.

When we finally pulled apart, her forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath. She chuckled softly, her voice warm and teasing. “I guess that’s one way to answer.”

I smiled, still too overwhelmed to form a coherent sentence. “Words aren’t really my thing,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“They don’t have to be,” she said, her hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. “That was pretty clear.”

──────────────────────

And that’s how I find myself today—married to the love of my life, Vi, with two beautiful daughters who are the perfect mix of chaos and joy. Sometimes, when I look at her across the dinner table or watch her playing basketball with the girls in the driveway, I can’t help but wonder how different things could have been.

If Jinx hadn’t told Vi about my feelings, would I have ever found the courage to tell her myself? Would we have gone our separate ways, lost to time and distance, living entirely different lives? Would destiny have been kind enough to let us meet again later in life? And even if it had, would the outcome have been the same?

I think about it often—how fragile our connection once seemed, teetering on the edge of a confession that might never have come. It’s a reminder of how one brave moment, one nudge in the right direction, can change everything.

Jinx, of course, loves to remind me that she’s the reason for my happiness. “You owe me big time,” she says with a grin every time the story comes up. And honestly, she’s not wrong. If it weren’t for her meddling—or as she calls it, genius matchmaking—I might not be sitting here today, surrounded by the family I never dreamed I could have.

But destiny, as unpredictable and wild as it is, seemed to have a soft spot for us. It gave me the love of my life, someone who challenges me, grounds me, and loves me unconditionally. And while the what-ifs might linger in my mind from time to time, I know one thing for sure: I wouldn’t change a single moment of our journey.

Because every twist, every hesitation, every step forward brought us here—to this messy, beautiful life we’ve built together. And I couldn’t ask for anything more.

[writerslittlelibrary]

Were you expecting someone?

masterlist

summary: thinking it’s a day like any other, you simply busy yourself with some homework and your hobbies, until there’s suddenly a gun pointed at your head

pairing: Natasha x daughter reader, Yelena x niece reader, Melina & Alexei x granddaughter reader

warnings: a gun? 

genre: fluff

words: 1265

a/n: I thought there should be way more content about the Widow family. I love to see more of the concept of Melina and Alexei with a grandchild

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work 

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

When you woke up this morning, you were not expecting the situation you were currently in. Because you were wearing your headphones, you had not heard anyone enter the house. Your mom told you she would be gone until late afternoon, and while you were busying yourself with some drawings, you had completely forgotten the time.

Not that it mattered, really. Usually, when your mom comes home she’d always let you know, whether she’d send you a text or simply come into your room and say hi. 

This situation however, was slightly different. One moment you were peacefully sketching some ideas you were working on, and the next moment you could feel the cold metal of a gun pressed against your temple. You slowly looked up from your sketchbook, not making any sudden movements. 

You thought the woman in the room was simply another Widow from the Red Room, sent to assassinate you. You’d been dealing with those ever since you escaped two years ago. 

When you didn’t feel the woman relax her grip on the gun, nor feeling a bullet piercing your skull, you decided to handle the situation yourself. You turned around swiftly, grabbing the gun and pulling it towards yourself, managing to yank the woman forward and knee her in the gut. You pushed her to the side, holding the gun tightly as she let it go in surprise. 

She made a move quickly, hitting you across the face. You replied by swiping her legs from under her, letting her fall to the ground as you ran out the room. 

You made a run to the stairs, moving to get down as fast as possible. When you did, you saw two other people standing in the living room. It was a man and a younger woman. She couldn’t have been older than 25. 

Your eyes widened in surprise as you made a move to run to the front door. You could hear the woman from upstairs making her way down as well. Once you reached the door however, it opened, revealing your mom standing in the doorway holding some groceries. 

She smiled at you, then frowned when she saw blood on your face. 

“We have to go,” you said quickly, grabbing her hand and trying to run away. She however, didn’t move. You turned around to see her stifling a laugh. 

“Were you expecting someone?” you asked her, letting go of her hand and looking at her. “I’m sorry,” she just told you, letting a laugh escape. 

She grabbed your arm and dragged you into the living room, setting her bags down before pushing you onto a chair, making a move to grab the first aid kit. “Natasha, Who is that?” you heard the woman from before ask in a strong Russian accent. “I should have warned you,” she said, sitting next to you and carefully cleaning up the blood from your face. 

“Yeah, you really should have,” you told, wincing slightly when she pressed the alcohol cloth onto the wound. 

“I’m not too pleased you injured her though,” Natasha told the woman. “She attacked first,” the woman replied. You frowned and looked at the woman. “You held a gun to my head!” you told her. The younger woman grinned, clearly finding the situation amusing. 

“Y/N, meet my family, guys, meet my daughter,” Natasha said, putting a band-aid on your forehead before cleaning up the things she used, stashing the first aid kit back into the cupboard it came from. 

“How?” the younger woman simply asked, sitting down on the other side of you. “Dreykov created her using my eggs after I was sterilized. I didn’t know about her until two years ago,” Natasha explained, grabbing you a glass of water to help with the headache she knew was going to form. 

You thanked her for the water and looked at the other two people standing in the room. They hadn’t made a move to sit down yet. 

“Y/N, meet Melina, Alexei and Yelena,” Natasha introduced, motioning to the person she meant when she said their name. “Yelena’s my sister-” “And now an aunt too,” Yelena interrupted, also having a heavy Russian accent. She seemed ecstatic by that fact. You smiled at her and simply drank some of your water. “Are you going to stand and glare or…” you said slowly, referring to Melina and Alexei. 

Slowly they sat down. The moment they did, Alexei smiled. “Welcome to the family!” he said excitedly, motioning his hands up a little. 

Melina now smiled too, getting up and moving towards the fridge. “We need to celebrate,” she simply said as she opened it and reached for a bottle of vodka. She opened some cupboards until she found the one holding the glasses, and grabbed some shot glasses. 

She put them on the table and filled them. There were five of them, but you decided not too say anything. Natasha would never let you drink it anyway.

Melina put a glass in front of everyone, you included. 

She lifted her glass, as if to make a little toast. “Welcome to the family,” she said as she drank the vodka. Yelena and Alexei did the same, while you just looked at Natasha and smiled awkwardly. 

She returned your smile, grabbing her own shot of vodka and drinking it. You didn’t touch yours. “You are not drinking?” Melina asked, stating the obvious. You smiled at her and shook your head. “I’m 16,” you told her, and Melina frowned. 

“So?” 

“We’re in the United States… It's illegal here. Besides, it's like three pm…” you told her, glancing at the clock. “It is always good time for a drink,” Melina simply replied, pouring herself another glass. You smiled and grabbed your water, finishing the glass. Of course you drank vodka before. You were a Russian after all, but your mother didn’t need to know that.

After Yelena swiped your glass and drank it herself, you turned to your mother. “Can I go now?” you asked, wanting to get out of the awkward family get together. 

Natasha smiled and nodded. You got up from your chair and made your way upstairs, immediately jumping onto your bed and grabbing your phone, wanting to tell Wanda everything that just happened. 

You talked with Wanda on the phone for a while, explaining how Melina had you at gunpoint and about how bad you felt you threw her on the ground. Wanda laughed at certain things you told her, feeling as though it was a situation you could both laugh about, and you didn’t actually feel bad about something. You two talked for a few hours, simply enjoying hearing the other talk. Then Wanda had to go, saying her dinner she ordered had arrived. 

A few minutes after hanging up the phone, you heard a knock on your door. When it opened Yelena walked inside. 

“So this is your room huh?” Yelena said as she looked around your room, picking up some stuff and flipping through your sketchbook. “Cool,” she said, sitting down on your desk chair. “Natasha told me to come get you because the food is here.”

“Thanks,” you told her, rolling from the middle of the bed to the side, so you could plug your phone into its charger and get up. 

“I think we’ll be good friends,” Yelena said, getting up herself and exiting your room, followed by you. You smiled. This definitely wasn’t how you expected meeting Natasha’s family, had you known about them, but you couldn’t deny you were excited to get to know them better. 

[cami040405]

Between Art and Silence - Vincent Sinclair x Reader

Chapter 1: Arrival at Ambrose

Summary: Your GPS breaks down in the middle of the road, but lucky for you there was a small, isolated town just a few meters away, Ambrose.

Chapter 2 here!

You never liked to follow the obvious paths. While your friends preferred beaches and trendy parties, you felt drawn to the forgotten, the strange, to what held stories in its cracks. It was the same with the places you visited, the people you met and, especially, with your art.

So, when the old town of Ambrose appeared on your route, it was impossible to ignore.

You were driving alone when the GPS stopped working. The tank was empty, and the suffocating heat made the inside of the car unbearable. When you saw the small dirt road and the aged sign indicating "Ambrose – 14 miles", you felt a shiver of curiosity. The name sounded familiar, as if you had heard some legend about the place.

You decided to take a chance.

The streets of Ambrose seemed abandoned. Not completely—there were signs of life, but something seemed… still. As if time had stopped. The old storefronts, the silent church, and, mainly, because there were no people on the streets.

You got out of the car and picked up your sketchbook. You always did this when you found a place that intrigued you. The details of the architecture, the contrast between shadows and light, all of this enchanted you. You walked to a small convenience store that seemed to be the only business open.

When you entered, a bell rang.

Behind the counter, a man looked at you with an appraising expression. He was tall, wore a cap and had a somewhat cynical smile. His relaxed manner didn’t completely hide his perceptive gaze.

“Well, well… It’s not often we have visitors,” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter.

You smiled slightly, trying to ignore the discomfort you felt when you noticed how his gaze seemed to study you.

— My GPS stopped working and I’m almost out of gas. I saw the city sign and decided to stop.

The man nodded slowly, still studying you.

“Hm. Lucky you. Not everyone finds Ambrose,” he said, his tone filled with a strange humor.

You didn’t answer right away. You opened your notebook and began to scribble a quick sketch of the store’s interior, your eyes glancing at the man. He noticed and arched an eyebrow.

“Do you draw?”

“Always. I like to capture different places. This one… has a unique atmosphere.”

He chuckled.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He took out a cigarette and lit it absently. “But I don’t know if you’ll want to stay long enough to capture everything.”

There was an undertone to that sentence, a hidden warning. But you didn’t back down.

“Maybe I will,” you replied defiantly.

The man smirked, as if he found it amusing.

“So, why don’t you start with the wax museum? It’s the biggest attraction in town. I bet you’ll like it. By the way, my name is Bo.”

“Y/N!”

You looked out the window toward the old building, its faded sign barely visible beneath the dust. Something in the way Bo spoke sounded like an invitation and a test at the same time.

“I think I’ll take a look.”

Bo just smiled.

“If you need anything, just call me.”

But you knew that, deep down, it was him who was watching you.

.

The museum was an impressive place, but something about it made your skin crawl. The way the wax figures looked too real, as if they were on the verge of movement. You walked through the dusty hallways, feeling like an intruder. Each room revealed something new and disturbing—frozen expressions on some faces, anatomical details too perfect to give you the creeps and a sense of eeriness.

But instead of running away, you took out your notebook and began to draw. The dim light flickered as your hand glided over the paper, capturing every detail. 

That was when you felt it.

Someone was there.

The silence grew heavier, filled with an invisible presence. You stopped drawing, your breathing steady. Your gaze moved slowly, scanning the darkness between the statues.

Then you saw him.

A shadow stood out against the gloom. A tall man, dressed in black, with a wax mask and long black hair covering his face.

He didn't move immediately. He just watched you.

You felt your heart race, but you didn't back away. Instead, you held your sketchbook tightly and looked directly at him.

The man didn't attack. He didn't approach you in a threatening way. His dark eyes slid down to your drawings. There was something different about that look.

Then, slowly, he took a step forward.

You didn't move. Something about him told you he wasn't a threat. At least, not yet. 

He bent down, picked up a piece of charcoal that had fallen to the ground, and, without hesitation, began to draw beside you. The line was firm, precise, too realistic. You watched him in silence, fascinated and cautious at the same time. 

That was how he communicated. 

.

You didn't know how long you spent next to that mysterious man, exchanging strokes on the paper without exchanging words. 

The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken—a tacit understanding between the two artists. The man drew with almost obsessive precision, and you felt your curiosity grow. Who was he? Why was he hiding behind that wax mask? 

But, for now, you didn't ask. He finished the drawing before you, leaving on the paper an impressive portrait. 

Not of one of the sculptures, nor of any face, but of you. Your hair falling in waves, your eyes captured with a disturbing intensity. It was as if he had studied you long before that moment. 

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

Before you could say anything, a noise echoed through the museum.

— Vincent! — the voice came from the entrance.

You turned quickly and saw Bo standing in the doorway, his eyes alternating between you and the mysterious man, whose name you now knew was Vincent. His tone was controlled, but it carried a hint of surprise.

— Oh… So you made a new friend? — he said, a lazy smile appearing.

You closed the notebook slowly, trying to understand what was happening.

Vincent didn’t answer. Of course not. But something in his posture indicated that he didn’t want Bo to interrupt that moment.

Bo took a few steps towards you, watching the interaction with interest.

— What did you think of the museum? — he asked you.

You hesitated before answering.

— It’s… different. Impressive. The sculptures are very realistic. Who made them?

Bo smiled.

— My brother. He’s talented, don’t you think?

You looked at Vincent, who remained motionless next to you.

— Yes. Very. — You looked down at the drawing he had made of you. — I’ve never seen anything like it.

Bo watched your reaction, seeming to be amused by it.

— Well, if you liked it so much, why don’t you stay in the city a little longer?

That question set off an alarm in your mind.

“Stay?”

You looked out the window, noticing how empty Ambrose seemed. The sun was lower in the sky, you hadn’t checked your cellphone since you arrived. Did you still have signal?

Bo noticed your hesitation and laughed softly.

— Relax. No one will hurt you, dear. And you can stay at our house, we have a spare room! —

— Still… I need to get back on the road — you said, trying to sound casual.

Bo sighed slowly.

— I don’t think that’s going to be possible! —

.

[fullymyself]

While you were sleeping - part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word count: 2,847

Summary: The story is based on the movie While You Were Sleeping. You work at a café and have a secret crush on Steve Rogers, the super soldier who has been coming to the shop every week to grab a coffee and sketch. One day, he is attacked right in front of the café and, even though you manage to save his life, he falls into a deep coma. All it takes is one misplaced comment and now the whole hospital and the Avengers think you’re Steve’s secret fiancée. What’s worse is that now you find yourself falling for his best friend.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of injury but very light, lil bit of angst

Notes: Hi, hope you are doing well! This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote many years ago when I had a different tumblr. This story has been stuck in my head for a very long time so I had to rewrite it. It's gonna be at least 3 parts but I'll try to post the others as soon as I can. This part is more to situate the story, it's not set on any specific time or event of the MCU so everyone is alive, happy and thriving (like the olden days Avengers fics). To compensate for the lack of Bucky on this chapter I added a special easter egg at the end.

Also, this fic deals a lot with the theme of loneliness, which is something I struggle a lot with too. So, if you happen to relate to the themes in this fic, pease don't forget that even though you might feel like it you're not alone and if you need someone to talk I'm always willing to listen! (And I know I'm not the only one)

Hope you enjoy it and feedback is always welcome!

Part 2 - Part 3

You’d grown accustomed to being alone, not by choice but lack thereof. Having no family was already hard, but trying to find friendship and community in a city like New York, as an adult, was almost impossible. It’s not like you were completely alone, you had friends from work and acquaintances, but no one was as close to you as you would like. You really wish more people would talk about how lonely and shitty adulting could be.

Life was monotone, everyday felt pretty much the same. Wake up, commute, work, commute, get home to your cat, watch something to distract yourself, clean up, sleep and repeat. Few things actually brought something different to your daily life, so that’s why when Steve walks into the café on a especially hard day, you get an immediate crush.

He was the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen and every time he walked into the café you could see people stop on their tracks and pretty much collectively sigh – you included. First time he came to the shop you froze, absolutely butchering the order you were taking care of and spilling burning hot coffee all over yourself. Thankfully, you didn’t really get any significant burns, but Steve almost leapt over the counter to help you. And that’s what did it, not his beautiful smile or his great ass, how he actually worried about you on that moment and came to the rescue.

You tried to reason with yourself that that moment was just a reflection of his job — you were pretty sure being a hero was not a 9 to 5 and more of a life commitment – but even thought you knew you were not special and that he’d do it for anyone else, you couldn’t help the soul crushing crush from developing.

He came to the café at least once a week, he’d sit on a secluded table near the window and sketch for a while, sipping on some coffee and eventually ordering a piece of the freshest pie. While he did so you were pretty much useless, going through your tasks pitifully oblivious to everything around you but him.

“You know…” Celeste, your co-worker, says as she moves to turn off the oven you had forgotten about, before the muffins turn to ash. “Before you end up burning this place down and putting us out of a job, you totally should give him your number.”

“Ha! Yeah, that’s a great idea!” You say ironically, you’ve had this conversation plenty of times before, she always urging you to do something about your feelings and you refusing. “Hello Mr. Most-Perfect-Man-And-Hero-Of-America, here’s my number so we can go on a date and get married or you can totally reject me and make my work even more awkward than it already is or simply disappear so I’ll never see your face again other than in the news…”

“Okay okay I get it” She rolls her eyes but places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “But just so you know, I think you should give yourself more credit.”

-

Days go by and Christmas fast approaches, intensifying your feelings of loneliness bit by bit. You try to hype yourself up for the holiday like you do every year, decorating the house, setting up a tree, buying gifts for your neighbours and co-workers. But deep down all of that is more of a distraction than a remedy. Celeste and your neighbours have offered for you to spend Christmas with them but, being with other peoples families while feeling like an outsider only makes you feel worse – you know so from experience from a few times you tried forcing yourself into those situations before.

Turns out you get the perfect excuse to refuse those invitations. Your boss, Jerry, comes to the café one day, insisting you work on the holiday, even though you have already negotiated the day off. It takes some convincing to make you give up on your plans to stay in and enjoy some movies and cheap wine, but once he mentions how you’re the only one who doesn’t have family for the holidays, you cave.

So that’s how you end up on an empty café on a freezing Christmas morning. You watch as a few families walk around the city, rushing through the cold New York air to get to where they’re going but that’s pretty much all the people you get to see throughout your day.

Since there’s no customers, you end up changing the café’s usual playlist to one of your own. You’re singing along to one of your favourites and that’s why you don’t hear when someone walks into the shop. You only notice them as they clear their throat behind you, your soul almost leaving your body.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” Steve looks at you sheepishly. Your face burns hot with the embarrassment of the situation. Steve Rogers just walked in on you singing and dancing at work.

“Ah-uh… sorry, that was my bad I didn’t hear you coming in, bit of a slow day.” Steadying yourself behind the counter you take and prepare his usual order, this time to go. You don’t know if you should feel relieved or sad that he isn’t staying longer.

After you hand him his order, you almost choke on your words when exchanging merry Christmases once he calls you by your name. Thankfully, he walks out quickly and you’re left alone with your embarrassment. You wanna facepalm and hide under the counter but, before you can move, there’s a loud noise outside and every window in the café shatters from the force of whatever caused the commotion.

You get up from the floor, a rush of adrenaline making your body buzz as you try to understand what just happened, when you see something move close to the front door of the shop. A large man in black tactical gear walks slowly, a weird looking gun in his hands pulsates with weird blue energy while he aims it at something on the floor. No, not something, someone. Steve.

Before you can think better of it, you grab the baseball bat hidden under the counter and walk slowly to where the man is headed, trying to be as quiet as you can while walking around the glass covered floor. The man bends down to check on Steve and that’s when you take your shot, swinging the bat with full force against his head. The man immediately falls to the ground, unconscious.

“Shit shit shit shit” You mumble as you move to check on Steve, he is still breathing and you can’t see any injuries other than a few cuts caused by the broken glass, but no matter what you do he won’t wake up.

Steve is taken to the nearest hospital after the ambulance is called, they take you with him since you’re a witness to the attack and are also injured. When you get there, Steve is taken to get emergency attention, you try to follow but they won’t let you since you’re not family.

As they take him away you’re left alone, staring at your own reflection on the ER glass. Bitterly, you whisper “But I was going to marry him”.

-

A couple of hours pass and, after the police asks for your statement, a nurse ends up letting you go up to the room Steve is in. She guides you to the chair near the bed. “Let him hear your voice, dear, I’m sure he’d like to know he’s not alone.”

Before you can say anything, you hear a commotion on the corridor, a cacophony of voices echoing down the hall until several people burst into the room. “This is unacceptable, his metabolism is different! He needs specific doctors!” You hear a faintly familiar male voice complain while a woman gasps. “He looks so pale!”

The commotion continues until everyone walks in and you realize who they are, the freaking Avengers just walked into the room. You move to the opposite corner, trying to make yourself as unnoticeable as possible, as they bombard the doctors with questions.

“He is in a coma, his vitals are strong, brainwaves are good. He’s gonna get through this, but since we don’t know much about what caused the injury we can’t say for certain what exactly is preventing him from waking up.” The doctor explains calmly only to be bluntly answered by the man you now recognize as Tony Stark. “Okay, so we know nothing. How did this happen?”

“He was shot with some sort of energy gun and it knocked him unconscious.” You whisper from the corner of the room. Everyone shifts their focus to you and you want to disappear.

“And who are you exactly?” Tony asks defensively, but you can’t blame him, this whole situation is just too weird. Before you can answer, the nurse who guided you to the room speaks. “She’s his fiancée.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before the room erupts in voices again, you can’t keep track of what's happening and you are as confused as everyone in the room. You try to interrupt their banter a few times to clarify that you are definitely not Steve’s fiancée, but no one would listen.

That’s until another doctor, the one who prevented you from accompanying Steve before, walks in going straight to the nurse and pointing at you. “What is she doing here?”

“Hey, buddy, she saved his life!” A police officer points out, making the room erupt with comments once again.

“She saved his life?!” A beautiful red haired woman comments and there’s a pause in the commotion, everyone waiting to hear from you.

“I- Well, I might have knocked out the assailant with a baseball bat.” Your eyes keep fixed on the floor as you speak, not wanting to acknowledged the unwanted attention.

“I don’t care what she did. Visitations are for family only.” The doctor motions to you, but a quick hand stops him and Tony looks him dead in the eyes. “She is family.” And there it goes again, the commotion starts and, as you try to stop everyone and clarify that you were only a witness to the attack and nothing more, everyone else keeps talking about a thousand different things and making sure you’re not kicked out, so no one hears what you have to say.

After the doctors leave, you feel a gentle arm on your shoulders. It’s the woman you know now to be Natasha, her eyes glazed with unshed tears, even though she tries to hold a neutral expression. “You know, we haven’t seen much of him, so that’s why we didn’t know. But we always wanted him to find a nice girl and I’m so glad he found you.”

-

Later that day, when you get to escape the confines of the room, you manage to speak with the nurse that started this whole situation. “Why did you say that? I’m not his fiancée!”

She looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “But you said you were gonna marry him!”

Oh, oh no. “I was talking to myself! I just have a crush on the guy!”

“Well, next time, tell yourself you’re single and end the conversation.” She doesn’t even look mad, she just looks entertained by the whole ordeal.

Your conversation is quickly interrupted by someone coming from the room. “Is there a pharmacy in the hospital? Tony needs some nitroglycerine.”

“Oh, he has a heart problem?”

“Problems. The guy has a reactor keeping his heart from collapsing, it’s a miracle he manages to get up everyday, much less keep up with this lifestyle.” As the nurse leaves to get the medicine the man turns to you, a gentle smile on his face and you think that now might be the time to tell the truth and ditch this whole situation. “Honestly I think you might have saved his life, your engagement is the only good news we got in quite a while.” That shuts you up quite effectively, erasing your planed speech completely from your head. “I’m Sam by the way. And, I guess, welcome to the family!”

-

As you go home that night, thoughts keep replaying in your head, especially the way everyone took you in so quickly and accepted you as family. It as wrong but it ignited a feeling you hadn’t felt in such a long time, making you feel wanted and like you belonged, even if it was a lie. You give up on sleeping and end up deciding to go to the hospital again, not really minding that it is the middle of the night.

When you get there, you have no problem with getting to the room, now that the lie had spread through the hospital staff. Steve looks peaceful, more lively than when you last seen him here, but it’s very weird to see him in such a state – especially without his signature smile. You sit next to him awkwardly.

“You must be wondering what I’m doing here in the middle of the night. Well, I think I should at least explain myself properly. We met at the café and I’m suddenly your fiancée, this is very sudden.. Never been engaged before so all of this is very new.” You laugh sheepishly. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen, I’m so sorry. It’s just that… I didn’t have the heart to tell them. They called me family, they seem so happy to know I was with you. I haven’t had that in such a long time. My whole family is gone and I’m all alone, so I just….” You breathe deep, you know it’s not right to keep this lie up but it takes a lot to fight against the warm feelings growing in your chest, even if it’s fake. “Have you ever felt so lonely that you spend the night confusing a man in a coma?” Again, you laugh, but without any mirth. “But don’t worry, I’ll tell them tomorrow.”

“Actually… please, don’t.” You turn around in surprise as Sam walks into the room. “This is really the only thing keeping them together right now. Steve has been gone for a while and, knowing he’s doing good, that he found love, is making them bear this situation.” He probably sees the look of despair and shame on your face because he continues. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. But please, I’m sure Steve will wake up soon and, when he does, I’ll tell everyone the truth and that I asked you to keep it a secret. I promise.”

Sam is a nice guy and he keeps you company through the night, conversation flows naturally between the two of you. “You know, you should come to our Christmas dinner. With everything that happened no one really celebrated, so we’re having a nice dinner tomorrow. Bucky will be there, you haven’t met him but I’m sure you two will love each other.” Like with the previous invitations, you refuse, but this time for another reason. This time you are afraid of feeling too much at home, only for it to be ripped away from you again.

-

A couple of months prior…

“Steve, why the hell would you want me to go to this café so bad?” Bucky sounds really irritated, it’s the tenth time that Steve has been pestering him about going to get coffee with him. He really doesn’t like cafés, they are always crowded, loud and have mediocre overpriced coffee. He might not make the best coffee in the world, but at least he can make a decent cup without having to go through the trouble of going out and paying a truly insane amount for something he could do himself.

“They have great pie, like the one we use to eat when we were younger.” Even though he tries, Bucky has seen it one too many times and Steve’s puppy eyes will not work on him, so he just stares at the man dead serious. He knows Steve is hiding something, he was always protective of Bucky and respected his boundaries and, hell, if their pies or coffee were so good, he could just bring some.

“Okay, fine” Steve caves and leaves alone for the café. He knows that if he tells Bucky the real reason he will be even more adamant on not going, but he can’t help but think it is a shame. He just knows the woman who works at the shop is Bucky's type and that they would get along great. His best friend has been alone for so long and he just wants him to find someone to share his life with. Sure, he has been getting much better at making friends, but it is still very hard in a city like New York and especially when you’re a man out of his own time.

If you're here, thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it!

I'm in the process of writing the next part, so I'll probably post it this week.

[parab0mb]

Hey so uh, I hadn't forgotten about this ask from a while back, but I also haven't really had motivation to draw much recently. So instead of letting these sit in my unfinished folder until I completely forget about them, I figured I'd share my *mostly* finished ENAtized versions of Mercury and Venus:

Mercury is (obviously) an ENA (I just call them MercurENA 🙂). Personality-wise they're actually really similar to Dream BBQ ENA, which I didn't even really intend but it just kinda made the most sense.

Not quite as happy with the design as I am with Vena's; it's almost there but there's something about it I wanna change (I just haven't figured out what yet).

I'm for sure more satisfied with Vena's design, very clearly modeled her around the dragonfly queen statues encountered throughout Psychopomp. Not 100% on the color schemes for either of them though :/

I don't exactly have a plotline/AU planned to go along with the designs, but I imagine their story would more or less align with vanilla Psychopomp: The Four task MercurENA with a bit of wetwork in disposing of a certain obnoxious boss/genie/god thing, though upon meeting Vena would initially just think Merc's proposal to kill is hilarious but thee try to enlighten them so the two of them can fuck shit up together as cool bug gods or whatevs.

~~~

I feel a little bad that I lost steam midway through working on this; perhaps I'll revisit this concept at some point to do it justice, once I'm in more of a drawing mood again (but no promises).

Though here are some bonus pencil sketches of MercurENA (which I feel honestly look better than the digital drawing):

[amya-da-dp]

‘and then i jumped over the moon and met god’

Soren talking about something he loves or just talking and then everyone just kinda stops listening, not that everyone is doing it on purpose but it just they either have stuff to do or are lost in their thoughts and stop listening while hes talking. Sometimes it goes as far as he just says wild things to get their attention and everyone just reply’s with ‘thats nice Soren’ spacing it completely

Ezren:

Soren is explaining the finer points of sword maintenance, detailing how the balance of a blade can change if you don’t clean it properly. Ezran nods at first, genuinely interested, but then his eyes drift toward Zym, who is pawing at a butterfly. His mind shifts to the political meeting he has later, the trade disputes he hasn’t figured out yet, the responsibilities stacking up.

When Soren notices Ezren not paying attention he says something drastic in small hopes to bring his own mood up, though it never works. “And when I was cleaning my sword it jumped out of my hands and started to do a little dance.” He pauses looking at Ezren.

Who in return blinks and scrambles to look engaged. “Right, uh, that makes sense!” he says mentally scolding himself for not paying attention to his friends interests.

Soren smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, he knew his king was busy…

Rayla:

Rayla and Soren have just made camp for the night, on a mission to find a new nearby bandit outpost. Soren is animatedly describing an ancient battle formation he read about, using sticks and rocks to demonstrate. Rayla watches at first, intrigued, but then her gaze shifts beyond him. She hears something, a rustling in the trees, the whisper of a hidden threat.

Her training kicks in. Her ears tune out Soren’s voice as her muscles tense. By the time she realizes he’s still talking, he’s mid-sentence.

“—so the captain had to hold the bridge alone while the rest of them—”

“Soren, wait,” she interrupts, voice hushed. She grips her swords, scanning the area.

“Oh,” he says, straightening. “You, uh, didn’t hear the part about the bridge, huh?”

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I just—there might be something out there.”

Soren nods, swallowing the sting of being forgotten again. “Right. The mission.”

Callum:

They’re sitting around a campfire, and Soren is recounting an absolutely epic story about one of his first real battles. Callum is nodding, making the appropriate “Uh-huh” and “Wow” sounds, but his hand is sketching in his spellbook. He’s half-listening, half-thinking about a new rune combination he’s been working on.

“…And then, right when I thought I was done for, boom, I pull out my secret move! Okay, it wasn’t exactly a move. More like a very lucky accident, but still—”

Soren pauses. Callum hasn’t looked up. His quill scratches against the page.

Soren exhales and leans back. “—But yeah, I guess you had to be there.”

Callum glances up. “Huh?”

Soren just shakes his head with a sad smile. “Nothing.”

Corvus:

Soren is telling Corvus about a new technique he’s been practicing—something about adjusting his stance to make his strikes faster. At first, Corvus listens, nodding slightly as they walk.

But then his gaze shifts to the horizon, scanning the treetops, the ridgeline. He’s always watching, always assessing. The habit is second nature, a lifetime of being a tracker, a scout, a protector.

Soren doesn’t notice at first. He keeps talking, demonstrating a quick step. “—and if you move like this, you can throw your opponent off balance before they even realize what’s happening.”

Corvus doesn’t respond. His mind has drifted into vigilance, his ears tuning into the rustling leaves instead of Soren’s voice.

Soren trails off. He follows Corvus’s gaze to the treeline, but there’s nothing there—no immediate threat, no enemy waiting. Just Corvus, lost in his thoughts.

“…You stopped listening, didn’t you?”

Corvus blinks, glancing at him. There’s no denial, only a quiet, apologetic nod.

Soren sighs but smiles wryly. “Its ok”

Opeli:

Soren is passionately explaining different types of siege weapons, making grand gestures as he describes a trebuchet. Opeli nods at first, polite but distant. Her mind is elsewhere—on new laws to draft, disputes to settle, things she needs to speak with King Ezren about...

As he talks, she glances at the stack of reports she needs to review. Her fingers drum against the table, thinking of a way to excuse herself without seeming rude.

“—and if you fire at the perfect angle…” Soren finally notices her mind far away. “You could hit the sun and it would rain fire babies.” He says, coming up with the most drastic thing he could think of to take her mind off work and make her laugh.

Opeli exhales. “That is fascinating, Soren.” She stands, already turning away. “Excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”

Soren nods, trying not to let disappointment show. “Oh. Yeah, of course. Important leader stuff.”

She’s already gone.

Clauida:

Soren is reminiscing about their childhood, telling a story about the time he tried to make a squirrel his battle companion. “I even gave him a little stick to hold, like a tiny sword,” he laughs.

But Claudia only half-smiles, lost in thought.

Soren notices her distance and try’s to recapture her attention. “and then me and squirrel knight got abducted by elves and taken back to Xadia where they raised us to…”

She used to listen to his stories, used to hang onto every word. Now, she’s thinking about the dark magic spells she needs to refine, the things she can’t tell him.

“Squirrel knight,” she murmurs absently. “That’s funny.”

Soren’s smile falters. “Yeah. It was.”

She doesn’t notice.

Viren:

This one hurts the most.

Soren is young, maybe thirteen, standing in front of his father’s desk, rambling excitedly about something he learned in training today. Viren is seated, quill in hand, writing. He gives no indication that he’s listening.

Soren keeps talking anyway, hoping for some kind of reaction. A nod. A glance. Anything.

“…And I didn’t even drop my sword this time!”

Silence.

“…Dad?”

Viren finally sighs, rubbing his temples. “Soren, I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

Soren stops. Swallows. Forces a grin.

“Right. Got it. No more wasting time.”

And he never tries again.

Soren knows people don’t mean to ignore him. It just happens. And he tells himself it’s fine. Really. It’s fine.

…But sometimes, he just wishes someone would listen.

[midnightstar789]

Erebor's Courting Auction - A Bagginsheild Fanfiction

The picture above inspired the Fic that can be Found here:

Erebor's Courting Auction

Summary of the Fic:

Even Dwarrow get antsy during the winter when they hole up within their mountains.

Worse the dwarrow get bored.

Bilbo finds out how they manage to keep the boredom away AND raise funds for Mahal's Shield (a program to help orphans, widows, veterans or those too injured to continue their previous job/craft) when he is forced by the weather to spend that first winter within Erebor after the Battle of Five Armies was completed.

Rating: Mature (Higher due to Bilbo being crass towards the end, it's short and can be easily skipped past)

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

A small section from the beginning of the fic under the Read More

“What's this?” Bilbo asked as he picked up the loosely bound parchment that was sitting on Balin’s desk. He paged through it, noting that it must be a joint project with Ori; recognizing the scribes' rough sketches from when he allowed him to look though the journal he had kept while on the road. There were portraits of every member of the Company on their own pages with what Bilbo was assuming was their names and basic information next to them as he had managed to learn a few of the written Khuzdul runes and what they meant.

“Hmm? Oh, that? Tis the ‘Courting Catalog’ rough draft.” Balin said as he looked up from the parchment he was reviewing.

“The what?? I thought that dwarrow didn't allow people to be–” Bilbo started to say, but was interrupted when Kíli slammed the door to Balin’s office open, bolting across the room and through the connecting door to Thorin’s office while shouting in Khuzdul. Fíli chased after him, his blonde hair in complete disarray, clothing rumpled and beads missing from his mustache; he was shouting, too, in what  Bilbo assumed was in an attempt to stop his brother. “Sold.” he finished saying as they stared after the princes as they proceeded to have a shouting match in Thorin's (thankfully empty) office.

“Should I get Dwalin?” Bilbo enquired after they had been arguing for a couple of minutes. Balin startled, as if he had forgotten that Bilbo was in the room. Shaking his head, he got up and closed the doors, locking the one to Thorin's office so the princes wouldn't be able to come back through.

“Nah, the lads are losing steam anyway. No need to ramp them back up by introducing my brother into the argument.” Balin said as he settled back behind his desk, tucking his beard between himself and the desk to keep it from the ink. “Now, the ‘Catalog’ you've got there is something we dwarves do every winter. It helps with the boredom of being cooped up within the mountain, and the coin raised is split between the courtee and Mahal’s Shield.” 

Bilbo looked back at the rough draft in his hands. Opening it, he gazed at the portrait of Fíli that graced the first page. Without looking up as he slowly turned the pages as he spoke.

“What’s Mahal’s Shield? And what do you mean about splitting the money raised?” 

[raindropren]

Some Hermit(+rats) sketches(+Plus the rambles I'm required to write about them)!

going from the ones I like the most to the ones that look more like doodles then sketches lolsie

A Joel! I wanted to try my hand at a S!10 Joel! I've been watching him for quite abit now and He's become one of my favorite hermits(an unsurprisingly long list ngl) :3 Also I found the Animator PerryRata a bit ago and I love how skrunkly they draw everyone, especially Joel, lol. I also have a ton of Joel headcanons from back during empires! He's made of clay and he can form his own body like you would a clay sculpture :D It's my headcanon for why his physical body changes without the use of outside "mods" He's also just a funky silly guy, and I really like how I drew this. Also the tanuki headcanons really fun, to me it's more, raccoon, but it can be either at this point :P

A Jevin! I'll admit I haven't watched him much, but I really wanted to try my hand at drawing a slime character who actually,,, like,,, looks like slime,,, instead of,,, really human with slime bits, lol. I also had a certain body type in mind so ya! I have few headcanons for him but I've thought alittle about how his slime body would work in my AU, so that's fun!

A Non-Hermit! A Garbage Rat Oli! Specifically season 2 Rats tho, lol! I very clearly just wanted to try my hand at drawing a rat on two legs, Garbage's very all over the place in the sketch. The lines are messy and that was kinda on purpose(Garbage whole look and personality is messy and I wanted to kinda,,, feel that in the art and design,, lol) also I was completely going from memory at some points :p

A non-hermit! A Rat Shubble! I don't remember what her like, thing was(like the titles most rats seem to have) but I do know she's lovely and I missed her. I was at my sister house, taking a break from craving pumpkins, and thought about the fact that Oli thought she,,, turned into,, a pumpkin, so I decided to draw her lol! I was trying to keep her cuter then Oli, alittle more put together, and I think I conveyed that at least alittle bit, :3 (also her outfits are so easy, Shubble please never change your outfits from the sweater + overall combo, Complicated outfits are my downfall LOL /lh)

A Etho! This was probably one of the better Etho sketches I did while trying to figure out what the hell his design's deal was ;w; I was having a very hard time but I think the eyes saved it on this one, it looks cute compared to some others! lol! also I gave him a little braid for no reason other then "cute!" lolsie

A second Joel! Secret life specially! I just wanted to draw him in a hoodie, I like drawing hoodies :] I'll make a slightly more complicated design later, but I like how he's just, in a hoodie, that season lol

A second Jevin! Frogger time!!! :O It's Jevin in that frog costume(drawn from memory instead of actually looking so it probably looks really wrong lol) I just really wanted to draw him again :]

A Gem! I was drawing newer peeps so I drew gem as like, a easier thing to doodle :'3 Also I had forgotten her hair buns in past sketches,,, oops

A Pearl! This ones much older than the others(as in, It's on the same page as the meme's with Pearl and Tim Drake lol), I just didn't find it good enough to post sadly ;w; It's a first try at Postmaster Pearl, from memory of course xP She's very cute but I don't think I tried even slightly on this one. you can tell cause I forgot a surprising amount.

and, Lastly, two more Etho's! I think these are cute, I'm just not proud of them at all, might not even look like Etho! but I still like them more then some of the others on that page,,,, They're silly, but not very good ;w;

Welp! That's it! I've been basically collecting my mcyt doodles to post, cause I don't deem a sketch or two alone, good enough to post :'] A hand full amount of doodles is enough for me tho, lol.

I'm real glad I've been expanding the number of hermits i've drawn tho! Yippeee!!

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Midday) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss, and Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word count: 4,665

Midday

The trick to keeping Commander Wolffe from prowling the edge of the clearing like a caged animal had been surprising. To everyone. 

Allowing him to watch you work keeps him seated on the hill beside you, where he does not worry his brothers or Master Plo Koon by continuing to make lap after lap. He had left your side once, to take a look at something the Clone pilot Warthog had to show him, and then did a little shiny-wrangling (namely Soapsuds) because they were too close to the forest for his comfort, but he was quick to return. 

He's not much of a conversational partner, whether that's out of respect for you to let you concentrate, or simply a product of his personality. When he has something to say, Wolffe keeps it brief. 

"I'm not that pale." 

"But your scar is." you reply with a gentle smile and a soft laugh, carefully adding traces of a lighter flesh-tone to the vertical stripe of scar tissue in your sketching of the Commander. You keep your pressure light on the page, and make your best efforts to keep the strokes in roughly the same orientation. The smile gives way to a frown the longer you fill in the length of his scar on the page. Your heart hurts for what happened to him at the hands of a dark Force-wielder. What her blade did to him. "I imagine it was quite painful, to lose your eye…" 

"Yes." Wolffe replies in a clipped voice, suggesting to you that while he does not want to dismiss your sympathies, he clearly must not want to talk about this with someone he does not know, either. You feel a tug on the lapel of your uniform, and the gloved pad of his thumb brushes over something. Oh. You'd forgotten about that. "You added a wolf's head into your uniform, Arcadia?" He's changing the subject. And that's okay. 

That's more than okay. 

Glancing down best you can, you see the sloppy replication the flint-gray Commander refers to. The thread used for the head is a steely gray, the stitches are almost invisible and camouflaged in the color of the uniform, save for the eyes in your favorite color. It was meant to be practice for repairing holes in your clothing, you explain. "For emergency situations. I wanted to see if my stitches would hold up after being washed. I completely forgot it was there." You don't explain why you went with the image of a wolf. You won't need to, in his presence.

It's easy enough to guess why this would be the animal, of all possible choices available to you in this galaxy, you would stitch into your lapel. The name surrounds you. Wolfpack. General Plo's callsign is Wolf Leader when they engage in battle by starfighter. 

It is the name of the man next to you - granted it bears an additional forn and an esk. 

Wesk-osk-leth-forn-forn-esk. 

Wolffe. 

"It held up well." he compliments you, releasing the fold of the lapel and assuming his silence once more. Degree by degree, you are seeing he is not eternally gruff or cold with you, or anyone: merely a man made stoic and far more vigilant than before by war. In his vigilance, he continues to visually sweep the field for signs of trouble or mischief. 

Maybe, while he's distracted…

You stealthily swap out the current coloring pencil in your hand - a deeper skin tone - and pluck out the Lamp Black pencil in the mix, drifting your hand lower down the page until the end of the pencil was now lined up with the loosely defined crotch and codpiece of his armor. 

Maker alive let's just get this over with. 

The body glove is going to be innocent enough to fill in, but defining the shadows around the pubic bulge in his kit will be faster. Just keep it quick and be discreet. Work fast. Hope no one sees. Hope no one asks. 

Your pulse screams in your veins when he clears his throat - loudly - next to you, and you are so certain he is now trained on you, and acutely aware of where your pencil is. "Hm-mm…" Oh kriff me sideways. "Excuse me," he apologizes, clearing his throat again softer this time, "didn't mean to startle you, but I was trying to catch Suds' attention." Thank the Maker he didn't look when he apologized. Just a few more marks to finish shading in the codpiece, and then you can start on the body suit. "O-oh. Is he wandering off again?" 

"Looked like he was about to." 

Still breathing down their necks even from here? "Y'know-"

"As their Commander I am going to look out for my brothers, Arcadia." He sounds neither happy or unhappy with what he assumed you would say. And it's fair of him to assume that, in a sense. You only wish he didn't have to feel so defensive. 

"I understand that," you promise him, and for the moment, you set down the pencil in your hand so you are not dividing your attention between the artwork and Wolffe. "and I wasn't telling you to stop, either. I only wanted to warn you that, I think, General Plo Koon seems worried about you, that something is keeping you from enjoying yourself." 

To his credit, he gives your words a moment of quiet contemplation. Whether that's to consider the truth behind the words you said, or to come up with an explanation of sorts, Wolffe remains silent and still like the forest that surrounds you on all sides. What secrets does that forest hold? What lives within? 

What will you find other than sap and blood on your palms when you pull back the thorny branches? 

"I don't believe we're here just to relax for a day." Commander Wolffe admits with a heavy look of guilt and uncertainty. "I think the General has other reasons for bringing us to Little Archossi, and he won't tell us." 

"Reasons? Like what?" You pick the pencil back up, and return to the slow, gradual task of adding color to the page. You're going to give him time to think. Time to answer, if he even wants to. He may not. Warning him that he's possibly made his General concerned about him seems to shake him down, somewhat. "I'm sorry." 

It's reflexive, apologizing for upsetting him. That seems to pull him out of his silence, for the moment. "Don't be, Arcadia. I'm not going to fault you for having good intentions. Or a good eye." 

The kri-? 

In dawning horror, you see and fully realize where your pencil lead is. And looking over at him, you see that he does too. "I-I'm so sorry, sir…" You admit that you hoped he wouldn't notice, and that adding the necessary shading and color around areas that carry their shares of suggestive and sexual imagery and connotations would have been completed with as little attention drawn to it as possible. While you're not exactly ashamed to have drawn those parts of him, you feel a bit awkward to have him take notice of your work when you add the color. 

Half of his mouth quirks in a smile, an expression of his respect, understanding that took guts to admit. "That's nothing to apologize for. It's just part of the art, Arcadia. A little "awkward" would only be understandable. Would you feel better if I purposely didn't watch?" 

Well, seeing as how you're almost done with the inner thigh, you don't see much of a point to the gesture in this part of the progress. But, he did offer. And this seems to be what's keeping him seated in the grass. And what's keeping Plo Koon freer to spend less time being concerned about his diligent commander, and more time in showing his troops more aspects of Kel Dor culture and history, it seems. (Orchid keeps asking questions that Tack could easily answer about Dorin, and it serves as a neat little lesson for some of their newer shinnies. Plo is certainly grateful for the curiosity that allows him to be a teacher, rather than a fighter, today.) 

You shrug lazily, laughing softly under your breath. "I'll leave that up to you, sir. At this point…" 

Wolffe chooses to keep an eye on his brothers, so you make the process of shading the inner thighs quick, while being careful not to get sloppy. You're not trying to recreate a master painter's work here in the first page of your sketchbook, but you don't want to look at this one day and become filled with the urge to tear it out because all you can see are glaring imperfections, either. That's nothing but a fanciful daydream of making so much progress in your artistic prowess that you would ever be struck with such a thought, of course. 

You are preoccupied with a war against the Separatists: when would you ever have the chance to make regular progress and impressive strides without backsliding and the natural degradation of your skills when you do not use them? You're a small part of the busy crew that keeps the Triumphant running smoothly. 

People constantly need you. And that's all well and good, but sometimes you find yourself running into the same problem over and over again that crews of this size inevitably face: when you, who provides the help, needs someone, who is there for you? Do you turn to another crewmate who is already up to their neck in all the problems they juggle? Turning to one of the Clone troopers is ill-advised, no matter how much they swear they don't mind lending a hand or an arm (or two) to assist. 

You've been doing fine aboard the Triumphant; better than fine, in fact. But that worry claws at you, sometimes. I'm here to help everyone. But if I needed help, who would I go to?

Who does the Commander go to when he needs help, come to think of it… General Plo? Or maybe Sergeants Sinker and Boost, if the matter was a little closer to the heart, something he believed was best kept between brothers? 

Who does Wolffe turn to in his hours of need, you wonder. 

You need to rest your wrist, and soon. You have just a little more of this tree's canopy to color in though, and then you're calling it good. You've been working on this "sketch" for more than three hours with the Commander at your side. You want to have this done soon. You want to go check out some of these things other crewmates have been laughing themselves silly over for the last hour that leave them gasping and wheezing for breath, clutching their sides and drying their faces. You're burning to know what's so funny, why they keep calling your name to come see. 

Curiously guessing over and over what General Plo's reaction will be when you show him this amateurish endeavor in outdoor art drives you to continue, however. Just a few more tiny, feather-shaped leaves… Wolffe notices the sharp twinge in your face, and the uncomfortable spasm in your fingers as you adjust your grip around the Sunflower coloring pencil. 

"Getting painful?" 

"Just a little." you admit, knowing if you pause now, you will delay when you pick the pencil back. "I'll manage." 

"Making art shouldn't bring you pain, Arcadia." 

You scoff, just slightly. "Physical pain? Agreed. But emotional pain, that's another matter. Don't worry, I'll be done soon, Wolffe." 

He asked you to call him Wolffe a short time ago. It wasn't exactly necessary to call him Commander or Sir all the time if you had him sketched out on your page quite like… that. His legs parted and bent at the knee - flat in the grass out in front of him. Wrist of the left hand resting just on the surface of his thigh, with his hand hanging limp just inches from his groin. You were generous enough to draw his fingers in a more neutral position than how they had looked in reality… Otherwise, if his soldiers and brothers got a hold of the sketchbook, there's no telling how many jokes you'd have to hear about making it look like their Commander was jerkin' it in front of you. 

Calling him "Wolffe" would do just fine when it was just the two of you alone on this hill. Perhaps he felt it was only fair if he was calling you by your name. You had no title or rank, like him. You are just a humble part of the crew, but he assured you no less important than one of the soldiers. 

It takes all of us, he said. That's how we win this war. 

You've come to the home stretch, feeling the ache in your fingers deepen with every tiny skritch and shwoop! as you methodically color in your work leaf by leaf. "Just one last, little leaf," you promise, "and then I'm done." 

"Not going to sign your magnum opus, Arcadia?" Wolffe prods a little teasingly. He's smiling at you now, even. Hours ago, he was somber and battle-ready, no smiles, no nonsense. Now, he's beginning to make small jokes. "Should add a signature so future museums know who to accredit this to." 

"A leaf and then a signature." you chuckle warmly. "Future museum… Honestly." He only offers a shrug in response to that, and you take it to mean well, you never know. "What, you're trying to tell me you think this would honestly end up in a museum gallery one day?" 

He shrugs again, gazing off into the distance, into the forest. "Overheard one of the boys in the mess say something about the notion once. Something they read. Some kind of commemorative effort made by one planet to make sure they never forgot their bloody history by way of art and song and poetry inspired by that time. Evidence of a time best not repeated, but not forgotten either." 

Such an insightful and wise thing to be said so casually, poetically, and yet, there's a weighty truth to every syllable and enunciation. 

We doom ourselves to repeat the past when we do not remember it and do not teach it anymore. When we allow ourselves to forget, the shades of rouge we sop the bristles of our brushes in will not be in the rich scarlets of Dathomir, or the forever-burning rubies of Mustafar, it will instead be with blood. 

When we have enough evidence, it silences the naysayers and the fools. It validates the choking and trembling voices that say I have tasted the bitter blade of war. I have stood before the yawning maw of nothingness it leaves in its wake. I will never be the same. You do not have the right to tell me that I am some kind of paid actor. 

If they were conspiracies, do you not think I would be among the loudest of your prophets who tout these twisted claims in the hopes of converting another?

"Fascinating. Thinking something like that will come of the Clone Wars, Wolffe?" You've finished the drawing, now. Taking an ink pen, you jot down your signature in the tidiest handwriting you can manage in the lower right corner, making note of the date for good measure. You'll think up a creative title for this later. 

There's a third rising and falling of the shoulders from the man sitting beside you. "It's too soon to tell." 

"That's fair." you reply, gathering up your supplies to put them back into the bag for safekeeping. "But you just know, if it does happen, the Separatists aren't gonna like the art." You have faith that the Republic will prevail. How could it not when the soldiers who fight for the Republic are some of the most courageous, persevering people you know? (What will come of them after?) 

You're likely right about that, he agrees with a throaty chuckle. The Separatists will not like losing this war, and they'll like the art even less. "I can only hope… that it will not just be the Jedi who are…" Wolffe grows silent next to you. He's not certain what word he wants to use to best explain his thoughts, he admits plainly. There are too many. Too many answers that are right, but he struggles to find the one thing that is most correct out of all of them. 

Given what Tack has told you, the answer is obvious. "You're hoping that the galaxy will remember the Clones were a part of this conflict too. That the galaxy won't forget the sacrifices made by your brothers, and they won't forget how many lost their lives. You probably hope that when the free peoples of the galaxy remember the Jedi, they remember you, too. Both must be appreciated together."

"You're probably right," Wolffe concedes firstly, "And you're too wise beyond your years, Arcadia." Strangely philosophical, he tells you, for how old he guesses you to be. Maybe he's the right one this time, thinking to yourself on his words. 

Maybe he's not the only one hoping that when this war ends, no matter the outcome, those who served as a part of the Grand Army of the Republic will not be a forgotten topic ten, twenty… even forty or fifty years down the line. 

Tack has made a breakthrough in his mysterious flower just before Master Plo is free to come take a look at the sketch and color work you've completed, and concern for his men takes precedence. You would not blame him in the slightest if he forgot he expressed interest in seeing what you accomplished with art materials given to you as gifts. Because of your station with the crew of the Triumphant with a secondary speciality for risk assessment, you're involved in this discussion with the researcher and his commander and general. 

Right now determining the risks posed to the men of the 104th matters more. Art and philosophical pondering will have to come later.

Tack explains to both Commander Wolffe and Master Plo that he thinks the smatterings of blue flowers that dot this clearing here on Little Archossi are known as Dinocaeruleus anthos. By their common-name, you know that these flowers are a warning. A silent, unassuming danger for all their beauty and silky blue petals. 

Terrible blue flower. 

"You can make toxic honey with these flowers?" Wolffe asks more to himself than Tack, as he reads ahead in the compiled information. Plo is taking his time to read the information on the screen of the datapad in his hands. To make sense of this, the Jedi is being thorough. 

"Poisonous, Sir, more accurately." Tack makes the correction habitually, and Wolffe does not take it personally. He knows that Tack knows what he meant, and given his aptitude for analytics and other such sciences, his researcher is not correcting him to be a smartass. "But, yes, you can make bad honey with these flowers depending on what pollinators you harvest from. They are not wholly dangerous on their own. Eat it, it might make you feel nauseated due to natural bitterants. Touch it to more sensitive dermal surfaces and it will prove a powerful irritant." 

From a short distance away, you hear the voices of Orchid and Soapsuds, Tack's batchmates (you assume), commenting on what the four of you are discussing in the shade of the tree you spent the morning sketching. "So what Tack's saying is don't stick your d-" The speaker finds himself with the other's hand anxiously plastered against his mouth to shut him up in a hurry. "Maker alive, shut up!" Soapsuds warns him, "Orchid, why are you so vulgar?!" 

There is a pointed sigh from Commander Wolffe that is aimed at the two of them. Don't make me come over there. Behave yourselves in front of the General. 

Plo makes no indication that he's noticed the situation occurring just out of reach. You have to imagine he hears Suds and Orchid wrestling with each other in the grass, now, though, and is ignoring it. "Arcadia and Tack, in your opinion, will these be enough cause for concern to consider returning back to the ship?" Plo wonders aloud. The Kel Dor returns the device to the researcher, and folds his hands together in an act of deliberate contemplation, resting them against his stomach. 

Tack looks at you, and you at him, then the Commander. There is a look in his eyes, both the stark silver and the warm vandyke brown, that reads to you as a surrender of control. 

I will carry out your judgment. 

Tack scoffs and shrugs, his arms thrown wide. "Honestly, General? I don't know enough. I'd need more time to determine through more analysis and comparison. This is only one search result for one flower it could possibly be. But it was enough of a match to make me get the Commander while he was talking with Arcadia." Enough of a match to send him into a tizzy over it. Tack had tripped coming up the hill in his haste, trying to ask if - from where he was sitting - the Commander noticed anyone messing with the blue flowers. 

We have a potential problem! had Wolffe on his feet faster than engaging a hyperdrive. And then there was a flurry of questions. Was it contact from the planet's inhabitants? Has someone gotten hurt? Are they needed to assist another battalion? Where's the General? 

He has the look again, now. Worry. The inner anxiety is eating him alive. Tack doesn't know. So what about you? 

"I see…" Master Plo hums. "And what are your feelings, Arcadia? What do you think about the situation?" 

You think. What do you think about this situation? Is it worth double checking the matches for the flower, to make sure that it really is Dinocaeruleus anthos? Are the men really going to be so flippant as to disregard any kind of warning put out about these flowers if they are the Dinocaeruleus, or worse yet, a far more harmful flower? (Not necessarily, but you have to consider that warning the troops that this flower can have detrimental potential invites the opportunity to inflict it.) 

There is one thing that is already clear to you, at least. "Tack should first make sure these flowers are what he thinks they are before we make any kind of advisory, General. That is my opinion." 

Another thoughtful hum. "Interesting. And why is this your opinion, little one?" 

"We should avoid unnecessary panic. Until we know for sure what these flowers are, I say we don't say anything. We invite unnecessary risks by making the men paranoid." you suggest, glancing first at the Jedi, and then the flint-gray Commander to his left. They had every right to accept or disregard your counseling as the commanding forces of this battalion at the day's end; you hope they will consider it at the very least. 

"I'm in agreement."

"Then we will do as Arcadia advised, and we will let young Tack take more time to confirm his findings. Until then…" Plo trails off, nodding decidedly. Thank the Maker. Tack dismisses himself in a hushed, hurried tone. If he's going to spend more time pouring over information on the Dinocaeruleus anthos, he shouldn't dawdle. The Jedi kindly wills the benefits of the Force to guide the researcher before he turns to address you once again. "Have you made use of the gifts given to you since we last spoke?" 

Blinking with a mild start, you realize that Plo has changed the topic. "Oh, yes, I have. Let me go get my sketchbook from my bag, sir." You scoop the entire bag from the grass, re-tucking your datapad among your things as you extract the book and turn it to the necessary page for his convenience. "Here." 

Taking it carefully in his hands, the book is cradled like a priceless relic as his eyes must trace over the page. Once more your property is treated with such care and respect by the Force-wielder. "My… Arcadia, you have quite a gift." 

The action is perhaps more childish than professional, but you cannot help but duck your head at such praise, fearing to meet his gaze should he see how flushed your face is. It is not the heat of the sun above you, denoting that it is now high noon, that makes your face burn. You're never quite sure how to accept a compliment. 

You opt for humility. "Oh, it's hardly that great, General Plo… I wouldn't say I have a gift… just… a-an attention for detail." And that much is true; dedication to detail is why you spent hours on a simple "sketch" to begin with; why you took so much care and effort to get everything done the best you could. The form of Commander Wolffe's armor. The curve of his jaw and the roundness of the ala of his nose. The correct texture of his hair within the typical haircut many of the Clones have. 

But though gentle insistence, the General repeats his sentiment. "Attention for detail is no less of a gift, Arcadia. In war it is a mark of wisdom, in art, it is a skill." A skill that has made for a very fine portrait of the Commander. "Have you seen Arcadia's work yet, Commander Wolffe?" He offers the sketchpad with an invitation to have a closer look, though it isn't necessary. 

"I watched Arcadia add the colors, yes." Wolffe confirms. "Quite the process."

Not to mention a strain on your wrist, but one well worth it for the praise given to you from the Jedi, and now many of the men who have congregated to come and suss out what's going on. "I can only imagine… Even gone through the trouble of adding proper shadows to such… rich color." 

Sinker and Boost smile softly, not quite sadly (but certainly somber), when they take note of the color of paint their commanding officer wears when you allow the book to be passed around so everyone is welcome to have a closer look. They hold it longest out of everyone, looking at this artistic replication a little more closely than most.

"The ol' maroon, eh? Think it's meant to depict another time, before Abregado?" 

"But he's drawn with the scar, Boost."

"Ah, yeah, good eye. Missed that bit." 

You timidly clear your throat to draw their attention, and explain that of all the colors, you didn't have gray. "I didn't want to leave his armor naked, either." Not when you went through the trouble of adding the face of the wolf and the other design to each of his shoulder pads, or the unique shape of his visor when you drew the helmet next to his hip. 

You would not deal him further, small cruelties by stealing the colors out of his coat completely. These markings he has chosen for himself mean something to Wolffe. The color he wears now is a mark of mourning. The color in the pages of your book will serve as an homage. 

You have not forgotten your brothers. You will always carry them with you.

Hmmf. Are you a poet now too, Arcadia?

No sir. Not really. 

You're uncertain where the words came from. Borrowed from something you read once? Did you perhaps hear the General say these words once upon a time? You can't recall what inspired you to say such a thing. 

But you'll remember the change in his gruff exterior, the way in which he was quieter than quiet for just a moment, and he pivoted in the grass to better face you and make you his equal. 

It's only the two of us here on the hill, Arcadia. Call me Wolffe, please. 

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[FFF Masterlist] [Series Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Here] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn Part 2]

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

I can't get my emojis to work, but Joshua Whitmore and happiness?

That Familiar Smell of Fresh Paint - Joshua Whitmore/Reader

Warnings: Gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N.

Wordcount: 2560

Summary: Happiness isn't a familiar feeling to him anymore, but it's the little things is his new life with you that makes him start to remember how it feels.

Notes: I love writing him so much that I'm already looking forward to all the new ideas that came to me as I was working on this QwQ

It was hard at first, but you both expected that after your big, dramatic return from New York. As soon as you'd boarded the plane the two of you knew that things wouldn't be the same now that he'd been found, and sure enough once word got out that you'd not only crashed his big party to steal him back but also returned to Detroit, one Ms. Jorie Chastain was back at your door to properly ask for an interview this time.

Turns out she'd been quite reprimanded by her superiors for her previous ‘interview,’ and you were more than happy to accept her apology money and then have Joshua slam the door in her face as thanks for tearing the painting that was now framed on your wall.

It'd been quite the sum to make up for nearly ruining both your lives, and you put it away to go towards that adorable little property you'd had your eye on since it'd gone on sale. You drove past it the next day with him to test the waters, see if he'd want to start over fresh with you there, just casually mentioning the for sale sign and how you should maybe check it out, get back to animosity since everyone now knew where you lived. He'd been silent, his foot propped on your dashboard and his sketchbook placed against his leg while he drew what he saw, and he'd barely paid the property any attention at all when he caught sight of an overgrown park crawling with nature and freedom.

You try again a couple weeks later when you make the drive to the art store with him to give his legs a rest; he was so used to walking everywhere he'd forgotten completely how to drive, and at first he'd gone on a very long rant about how cars were polluting the environment and how walking was better for the body and mind, although for once he tossed in a little compliment as he commended you for always walking to work even though you did own a vehicle. 

Now, many rides later, he’s relaxed and sitting in the passenger seat while feeling the breeze, completely fine with cars for the moment while you drive, and you point out the for sale sign again as you approach.

‘I see it still hasn't sold, it's a decent property, I wonder what's wrong with it?’ you joke with many glances thrown his way, and this time he did look as he hums to himself.

‘Based on the state of the yard, broken windows on the side of the house, as well as that concerning dent in the roof I'd say it's a wreck inside, owners are probably old and finally selling because they can't afford to keep it in the family anymore, that one won't be housing anyone until the whole thing needs to be gutted,’ he figures before taking his sketchbook back out to work on his park sketch, he only seemed to work on it when you drove together.

‘Oh, how'd you-?’

‘Been in a lot of places like it, I can usually tell from the outside what the inside will be like by now,’ he says without looking up, and for a moment you'd actually forgotten that he'd been on the road the past seven years, not homeless but traveling, of course he'd had to have learned about all the safe and empty places to stay, what would be a risk and what would be a temporary paradise. ‘You're quiet, you wanted that house, didn't you?’

‘What? No, of course not, I've already got a decent duplex, you're not gunna find a better bathroom for that cheap,’ you brush him off nervously, but he doesn’t buy it as he glances at you and keeps drawing. ‘By the way, I've been wanting to ask since I don't see you on my floor, but how's the job going?’

‘Working to survive but not to be happy, it's a hard question to ask, isn't it?’ he begins, and you give him a look until he chuckles. ‘It's fine, been a while since I've been around that many people, and I know the only things they know about me were found on the internet and in that woman's news segment, but I'd prefer it if I was a no one to them again, just so they'd stop staring when I come around.’ He doesn't draw as he speaks this time, his eyes staring out the window as the neighbourhood turned into downtown, the art store in sight.

‘We could always see if you could work from home, I hear that's been a big thing in the city?’ you suggest, but the thought of that makes him visibly recoil.

‘Working at a desk in the comfort of my own home? Taking the precious hours we have in a day to get up, sit in front of those machines and just work until I can't tell what's the job and what's my personal life anymore? That sounds worse than being forced to paint, don't ever say that to me again,’ he grumbles as he hunches up and places his shoes on your dash again. You chuckle softly at the sight, he always knew what he wanted and what he didn't like, and you certainly can't imagine him being able to work on anything other than his paintings while he was home.

‘Sorry, I should've known better,’ you tease, and he just continues grumbling all the way to the parking lot. The art store is more well stocked now that everyone knew he was here, the owner ordering all sorts of professional things since he knew that Joshua would be back in due time, and sure enough he always was to replenish his supplies. It was nice to not be limited to just the children's supplies now, he’s certainly very happy about it as he races for the paints and sees that they were higher quality than last time, and the new brushes he'd suggested have come in as well, the display announcing their newness to the lineup. 

He has his own money again, after the great loss to the show you'd ruined he'd ended up having to pay out of pocket for it all as compensation, but once that was settled and he was finally set free from his contract he was also free to claim the rest of what the bank had been holding for him for almost a decade now that he wasn't legally dead. 

His checking account had been pretty much cleaned, but he'd also had a secret savings account that had been highly suggested by his then girlfriend, since she did care about his future until he'd grown too numb to remember how to love her back anymore. As such, since Mr. Eldred didn't know about it and focused purely on what he had left in his checking, the interest had accumulated into a new mini fortune that he was now slowly blowing through as he spoiled himself with new paints and proper canvases and all the things a starving artist on the streets wouldn't be able to get.

It was funny how fast his views on money had changed when he was able to toss everything onto the counter and pay for it without putting you out.

Now that he has a paycheck again he mostly sticks to using that, the two of you recently having joined your accounts so you could help contribute to his savings. It was a very big step in your relationship, once you discussed many times as you helped him set up an online account so he could see where his paychecks were going without a trip to the bank, but it felt right after your big city rescue. Knowing that he can get whatever he wants, you again wait patiently as he checks out everything and repeatedly goes over his mental inventory of what he still had back home. 

You hang around the register so you won't bother him, he would likely be ignoring you anyway if he wasn't giving you a history lesson about everything he was looking at, so you prefer this option since it gets you home faster. You exchange a friendly nod with the owner, he was very familiar with the both of you now, and get comfy leaning against the counter until he’s done, his voice drifting over the aisles as he openly talks to himself since you weren't there to listen.

‘He sees like a nice guy,’ the owner observes as he also listens, and you smile fondly in his general direction when he sees something he doesn't like and starts talking a bit too loudly about how kids could never flourish with brushes that break that easily and were too cheap to actually hold the paint they were using.

‘He is,’ you reply honestly even as he approaches with an armful of said brushes and sets them down with the intention to have them be removed from the inventory, which of course they wouldn't be. ‘He's a bit insufferable at times, but… he's genuine, and honest, and passionate, and I've never met anyone like him.’ He returns with more as well as the things he actually wants to pay for before disappearing again. ‘I'm sorry about this, I'll put it all back when he goes to the canvases.’

‘It's no problem, it's pretty slow in here when the kids don't have any big art projects going on, gives me something to do,’ the man laughs, and Joshua is very pleased when he finally notices the extra large canvases that were now in stock even though you know it'll be a pain to fit them into the backseat. 

You continue your light conversation with him while Joshua finishes up, and in his excitement the final bill is a bit more than usual, but he’s happy to pay for it all as he hands over his card and punches in the pin. All three of you have to carry everything to your car once the transaction is complete, thankfully he only indulged in one giant canvas this time since he was running out of wall space in his studio, and the rest is tossed into the trunk with great excitement.

‘Thank you for getting these in, and you have my list of more appropriate supplies for the kids’ section, right?’ he asks as you get into the car, Joshua hovering around the door and refusing to let the owner go without his very important suggestions being taken into consideration.

‘I'll see how well the new stuff sells before I order more stock,’ he vows as he backs up towards the door, Joshua ready to walk back in and give him a quick lesson on why he should also really get rid of some other things so he could pay more attention to his rather lacking informational book selection when you lean across the seats, grab him by the back of the hoodie, and pull him in with you. He relents and shuts the door, now preferring to see how this stuff compares to what they provided in his month back in New York since they'd gone for price over preparation, which of course he could tell the difference between. 

You have to pass by the house again to get home, but you can only glance at it longingly this time at the thought of moving him into another rundown place; you don’t want that for him, he deserved someplace open and clean after waking up in empty houses for so long. He sees your look this time and bunches up again to draw, but this time it isn't to work on his park you discover as you pull into your driveway, it’s actually a rough blueprint of how to fix up what he saw on the outside.

‘Need to get in, see how bad it is or if I’m wrong,’ he mutters as he hands the book over after everything is brought in, and your heart pounds a little harder when you read his notes crammed beside the shapes.

‘It’s just a house, we can look together for something better,’ you tell him as you hand it back and head for your laptop, but he just shakes his head and rests his arms over your shoulders, his chin on the top of your head while you sit at the table.

‘Told you I’m good with my hands, did a lot of construction work, if we buy it fast then we could get it cleaned up before it gets worse,’ he says softly, and you realize that he was doing this because it was something you wanted for once, his final hurdle in him getting used to not only living with but also loving someone again.

‘I don’t want you to have to stay in another busted up old house,’ you reply without looking up, your hands still on the keyboard and touchpad as you hover over the real estate site you’d bookmarked weeks ago. ‘This place is fine, we don’t need anything bigger or better, it’s… you deserve better than more broken ceilings and cracked paint.’

He kisses your head then, he was still getting used to giving you affection when he felt like sharing it even though you’d already slept together and had been together for months, but just knowing that he was the one to kiss you this time is enough to make your heart soar. ‘You know I don’t mind the smell of fresh paint, that’s my entire life,’ he reminds you quietly, his lips moving against your hair and his chin digging into your scalp as he speaks, and you free yourself to turn in your chair and stare up at him.

‘So you really wanna do this? You wanna buy a house with me? I’ll have to start driving to work again,’ you gape up at him, and he doesn’t seem too happy about you driving so much, but his expression is still very soft as he leans down even more to rest his chin on your shoulder along with his arm.

‘It’s closer to the art store, we can start walking there together,’ is his reasoning, and you press your own kiss to his cheek before going to the house’s page and checking out the uploaded images together. It’s better than he expected, the damage is mostly on the outside, but he was right about the older owners wanting to sell their family home since they now had a slightly smaller place closer to their grandchildren and couldn’t afford to keep both. He points out the easy fixes, stuff he’d learned how to do years ago, and the second bedroom is the perfect size for an even bigger studio; both bedrooms lead out into the backyard, a proper backyard this time where there’s room for a garden, and a birdbath is already in place and sporting a bluebird in the photo on the screen.

You take it as a sign, you both do, and he decides to save his giant canvas for later as you call up the realtor and set up an appointment to tour the property, Joshua just watching you talk with a content smile on his face all the while.

[iamnot-crazy]

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 (Sad Ending) Chapter 3 (Bittersweet Ending)

Summary: You have always itched for adventure and when an interesting vessel appears you take your chance and jump aboard. Now the Straw hat pirates present an offer you can't refuse but before you take them up on it you first need to speak to your grumpy captain.

Trafalgar Law x GN!reader

---

Law's initial assumption was that your boundless energy and lack of boundaries would be a constant annoyance, but since you have been aboard he learned how wrong his assumption was. Yes, you were a handful with your knack for finding trouble, and extricating you often became Law's personal headache. But he'd come to appreciate that side of you too. When you weren't excitedly soaking up new information or peppering the crew with questions for your ever-growing log, you were a surprisingly calm person.

For a good part of each day, you'd disappear, engrossed in recording the Heart Pirates' adventures. Your passion seeped through the pages of your beautifully illustrated log, showcasing your love and thoughtfulness for the crew.

It wasn't until he saw you gazing at the Straw Hat captain with the same unwavering determination you'd had when you first boarded the Polar Tang that Law realized what he'd taken for granted.

The Straw Hats each have their own fascinating stories and ambitious dreams and you listen in awe. You scribbled furiously in your smaller travel notebook, capturing their every word so you could later transfer it to your larger masterpiece. Your pen barely kept pace with the torrent of tales they poured out.

Law's frown deepened as your eyes glowed with a familiar spark. Sure he didn't want you on his crew at first but he'd grown attached to you, and so had the rest of the crew. From your cheerful good mornings, while whipping up breakfast to your one-on-one sessions with each crew member to write their stories, you have become an indispensable part of their lives.

But what Law appreciated most was your silent companionship. He'd often find you tucked away in a quiet corner, diligently writing and sketching while he read a medical book, the rhythmic sounds of the waves serving as a lullaby.

His heart tightened when the Straw Hat captain finally reached his boiling point. He bounded over to you, his declaration echoing across the decks, "Y/N! We go on crazy adventures every day and someday I'll be King of the Pirates! If you want to write about a legendary crew, you should join ours!"

Law's gaze darted between you and the captain, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his sword hilt.

Luffy grabbed your shoulders in a playful chokehold. "Every legend needs a chronicler! What do you say, Torao?! Can Y/N join my crew?!"

All eyes turned to Law, the air thick with anticipation. The smile that had bloomed on your face faltered. You'd been so caught up in the Straw Hats' infectious energy that you'd completely forgotten about your crew.

His jaw clenched, and his grip on his sword tightened further. "I don't control them,"

Luffy jumped up in excitement grabbing onto your shoulders and cheering for his new crew members. The others also joined in celebration making you feel welcomed and warm compared to Law's cold glare. You pulled yourself out of the straw hat's grip and bowed your head, guilt gnawing at you. "I'm so sorry, Straw Hat-ya, but… would you allow me some time to think about this?"

Luffy's infectious grin faltered slightly, but he nodded. "Yeah, but don't keep me waiting too long!" He quickly bounced back to his usual cheer, rejoining the festivities.

You felt a pang of longing as you turned away from the vibrant scene, seeking solace with your captain. Sitting awkwardly next to him, you struggled to find the words. Law finally sighed, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. "You should join them," he muttered, surprising you.

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. "But what about the Heart Pirates?"

Law pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I already reached my goal. Doflamingo was defeated. I don't know what the world has in store for us next, but I do know whatever the Straw Hats' will be doing, it will be far more interesting. Your dream is to write about the new era, and I played my part. The Straw Hat captain… he isn't done."

You were frozen, your mind racing. "But Captain…"

Law stood up, cutting you off. "Just go join them." He turned away, his voice thick with emotion. He stormed away to the Polar Tang slamming the hatch shut behind him.

Just as Law disappeared in the tang a whistle pierced the air. Turning, you saw Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo approaching, their faces etched with concern.

"He seems mad," Shachi commented, plopping down on a nearby crate.

"You aren't really going to join the Straw Hats, are you?" Bepo asked, his voice trembling.

You shook your head placing it in your hand "I don't know."

Penguin shrugged. "Maybe you should join them. You're almost finished with your book on us, and the Straw Hats are going to need someone like you to tell their stories."

Bepo scowled. "But she's a part of our crew!"

Penguin sighed. "Look, Bepo, she has a dream too. Documenting the new era, the Straw Hats are definitely going to be leaders in that. It doesn't mean she doesn't care about us."

"But what about our Captain? Or do you not think he can become King of the Pirates?" Shachi interjected, glaring at Penguin.

Penguin flinched. "No, it's just… you saw them. Besides, Captain said it himself."

"But Y/N joined our crew first, doesn't that count for something?" Bepo whined.

"I just mean Y/N has served her purpose with our crew joining the straw hats would be the best for her." Penguin countered, his voice firm.

The conversation devolved into a heated debate, leaving you feeling even more overwhelmed. You excused yourself and retreated to your favorite porthole, the one offering the best view of the open sea. As you approached you found another figure leaning against your window staring off at the sea.

You smirked slowing your approach and dancing toward your grumpy captain "Anything interesting out there?" You sang leaning into his view.

Law jumped at your appearance but relaxed when he realized it was you and leaned his back onto the wall. "Nothing new." He sighed rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm sorry for being brash earlier."

You crossed your arms and smirked playfully, "You were?"

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "But I was being sincere earlier. I think you should join the Straw Hats. But…"

"But?" you urged, your heart pounding.

He looked away, his voice quieter. "But we'll miss you."

A warm smile spread across your face. "Awe, did I finally grow on you, grumpy Captain?"

He scoffed playfully turning to his side and looking back out the porthole, "You did a while ago." He admitted.

His comment took you off guard, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Law sighed, "You might have been a little much at first but I have grown to enjoy your presence and passion."

You tilted your head, studying him curiously. "Enjoy?" Your tone was laced with surprise, "The entire time I have been aboard you have been so pouty."

He scoffed, "I have not been pouty." You gave him a knowing look causing him to roll his eyes, "Fine I might have been a little pouty but that's just because I didn't know how to feel about you."

"Feel about me? Captain, do you like me?" You playfully teased.

Law's cheeks turned a faint pink. "Forget I said anything!" He pushed himself away from the wall and started to walk off.

"Wait!" you called out, reaching out to grab his arm. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to tease. Please."

He turned back, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a vulnerability you hadn't noticed before.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and husky. "When you first boarded the ship, you were full of this chaotic energy, but there was another side to you that I learned to appreciate. You care so much about the crew and documenting every adventure." He reached the wall again and sat down, "The first time I saw you here, drawing and writing your stories…"

"Our stories," You interrupted with a chuckle, joining him on the wall.

Law smiled faintly. "Yes, our stories. I didn't think you had it in you to be so focused. It was… nice to hear your pen scratching against your sketchbook as I read my medical books. I think that's when I started having conflicting feelings for you."

You felt a blush creep up your neck. You hadn't expected such a confession. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

Law shrugged, a hint of frustration in his voice. "It's not like I could act on it. I'm your captain and there was so much that needed to be done. And if you don't feel the same it would backfire more on me."

Hesitantly, you admitted, "I would be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way. I never imagined you could feel the same." You pause looking softly at him, "So what now?"

Law sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Now you join the Straw Hats and complete your dream. Then, hopefully, one day our paths will cross again."

The thought of leaving Law and the Heart Pirates ached, but you understood his reasoning. "But what if I don't want to join the Straw Hats?"

Law raised an eyebrow, surprised. "I saw how you were looking at them, how you blended in with them."

You bit your lip. "They're constantly getting into trouble, and I don't think I'm strong enough for that."

"They'll protect you," Law reassured you.

"Just like you have?" you asked.

"No." Law averted his gaze, a wry smile playing on his lips. "With me, it was different. I pulled you out of trouble. With them, it'll be different. They'll pull you into trouble, they'll challenge you, push you to your limits, but they'll also have your back."

"But I like things the way they are here. With you," you confessed, a pout forming on your lips.

Law grabbed your chin pulling you to look at him before he pulled you into a kiss. You were taken by surprise at first but his soft lip calmed your nerves as he deepened the kiss.

When he pulled away, his eyes held a mixture of sadness and determination. "Y/N," he said in a voice rough with emotion, "go chase your dream, and when you do, we'll meet again."

He stood up abruptly and disappeared down the hall, leaving you staring after him in a daze.

Taking a deep breath, you knew what you had to do. You grabbed your bag and made your way to the library. There, in the quiet solitude, you began writing the final chapter of your time with the Heart Pirates.

With a heavy heart but a burning determination, you finished the entry, pouring your love and gratitude for your experience onto the pages. Closing the book, you turned to the empty one – the one that would chronicle the adventures of the Straw Hat Pirates. You place the new empty book into your bag leaving the completed version of the Heart Pirates book on the table for everyone on the crew to read.

With your bag full and a new empty book, you walked out of the polar tang. Outside the party, the two ships have started to die down and many lay asleep on the ground. Your eyes darted across the dock for your captain but he was nowhere in sight, before you could turn around in search of him you felt a rubbery hand wrap around your waist.

"Y/N! I see your bags are packed! Did you make a decision?" A bubby captain pulled you off the deck of the Tang and onto the deck of the Sunny.

Your feet wobble as you try to brace your new bearings. You scratch your head, "Yeah I think I did but I was hoping I could say goodbye to Law first."

"No need." Robin appeared at your side, holding a folded piece of paper. "He stopped by earlier and left you a note."

You took the paper, your heart pounding. Written on the paper in handwriting that could only be written by a doctor said, "We'll meet again."

"Hey, we should probably get going soon if we want to make it to the next island by tomorrow!" Nami shouted from above you cutting off your thoughts.

"Alright then, let's set sail!" Luffy declared, his voice brimming with infectious energy.

And with that, the Sunny pulled away from the dock and the Heart Pirates, charting a course towards a new adventure. You stood at the railing, the wind whipping through your hair, your notebook clutched tightly in your hands. The future stretched before you, an open book waiting to be filled with the stories of the Straw Hat Pirates, and perhaps, someday, a reunion with a certain grumpy doctor. A smile bloomed on your face – the adventure had just begun.

---

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 (Sad Ending) Chapter 3 (Bittersweet Ending)

A/N: Wanna read more of my work check out my MasterList

[cinnamon-stheater]

KanaMafu - Kokoronashi

So I finally wrote my first fanfiction!✰ Sorry it took so long; inspiration took a while hehe! As you can see from the title this is a KanaMafu fic, and I'm not caught up on all the Nightcord events yet (from Kanade's Tea Time event and so on), so some events that had occurred in those events are completely ignored. Just pretend they didn't happen.

TW!!: angsty and severe themes (death basically). also really lazily proofread

Summary: Nightcord is doing their usual 3am activities when Kanade receives word from her father's hospital.

Word count: 1079

Click. Click.

"Hm... the bass shouldn't be so loud here," Kanade muttered to herself. "And this note doesn't fit in with the rest."

Click. Click.

"Kanade?" A girl's voice broke through Kanade's musing. "I've finished the sketch for the ending part. Could you take a look? I've sent it through the chat."

"Sure, Ena," Kanade nodded, switching tabs to the Nightcord chatting up, the one the group used to communicate. A new message popped up, and Ena's drawing gradually loaded onto the screen. Kanade clicked on it to enlarge it, quietly inspecting her friend's artwork.

"It looks great." Kanade smiled softly.

"Really? Thank you!" Kanade could hear Ena's beam through her headphones. "I'll get started on the lineart!"

"Wow, Ena," a louder voice spoke up, having seen the drawing as well. "This is amazing!"

"Hehe, thanks, Mizuki."

"Hey, Kanade, I'm almost done with the chorus as well!" Mizuki added excitedly. "Once Ena and I finish with the end, we'll be done!"

"That's great," Kanade said. "This song was finished quickly."

"Yeah! Good job, everyone!" Mizuki cheered.

It was such a happy mood for a gloomy day. The rain was pouring endlessly outside, pounding on the always-curtained windows in Kanade's room. She smiled. Even with all their hardships and troubles, being able to sit here and make music with her closest friends was a nice way to rest after the long day.

And the last person in their music group, the one that was living with Kanade right now.

"Mafuyu?" Kanade glanced up as said person walked up beside her. "Do you need something?"

"Your phone has been ringing," Mafuyu replied in her monotone voice, handing Kanade a vibrating phone. "For a while."

Kanade blinked, glancing at her desk. Usually she had it right next to her. Maybe she'd left it on the dining room table when she'd gone to get a drink of water - something she didn't usually do, so it made sense she had forgotten it.

"Oh - sorry, Mafuyu," Kanade said, taking the phone and standing up to leave the room. "I hope it didn't interrupt your work?"

Mafuyu shook her head. "No."

"That's good." Kanade made her way down the hall to the dining room and answered the frantically buzzing phone. "Hello?"

"Yoisaki-san! Thank goodness you answered!" A lady's voice cut through the speaker. "I've been trying to reach you for ages."

"Sorry," Kanade replied apologetically, a sheepish smile overtaking her features. "I was caught up in my work."

"At least you answered," the lady said. "I'm afraid I have terrible news." She paused.

"What is it?" Kanade's fingers tightened around the phone. Was it something about her father? She'd gone to visit him a few days ago and he'd talked about having a daughter named Kanade... the sweetest child ever, he'd said. Kanade bit her lip.

"Your father..." The lady's voice got significantly quieter, and Kanade's heart quickened its pace. "We are very sorry to say, but your father has passed away. We -"

Thud.

What?

Passed away?

No. No, that couldn't be. She had just seen him. He had been fine. Had been. Did his condition worsen that fast in that short amount of time?

Kanade gulped in air, trying to steady her swaying body. A tiny voice filtered out of her dropped phone, calling out, but she couldn't hear it. The world around her had gone silent, as if she'd been dropped into the ocean. All she could hear was her heartbeat, pounding madly in her ears.

Passed...

The lady's voice rang in her mind.

Away...

No..!

Kanade stumbled forward, her feet tripping over themselves. She broke into a run, not even caring to put her shoes on before she was out the door, her bare feet pounding painfully on the cement sidewalk. Her thin blue jacket was soaked instantly, and she trembled violently as she ran, both from the cold and desperation.

The hospital... where was the hospital? Even with the streetlights the dark was terribly suffocating. Her vision blurred, from the rain or the tears pricking at her eyes, she didn't know. She could feel her body tiring, slowing down, and her feet stung from the probable cuts that had appeared, but she had to keep going. She had to make it to the hospital and see her father. She had to make sure he was okay.

Your father has passed away.

Kanade's legs flew out from under her. Her frail body crumpled onto the ground, her hands scraping against the cement. She pushed herself up, but a knife-like pain pierced her stomach and she staggered. Right, she hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday. But she couldn't care about that now, not when her father had -

"Kanade!"

A figure approaching from behind came into her line of sight, their hand reaching out to rest on her arm. The sound of rain pattering onto an umbrella broke through Kanade's dazed senses, and she looked up at the figure.

"Ma...fuyu..?"

"Kanade," Mafuyu murmured. The same emotionless voice, expression - yet Kanade could hear the other girl's underlying worry and fear. "What -"

Kanade's shoulders quivered and her knees shook, threatening to bring her down. Like an earthquake had struck, she collapsed into Mafuyu's body, sobbing into her shoulder and clutching onto the other's sweater to keep herself from falling. It was like a dam had given way within her and all her pain came crashing through in a tidal wave of unbound misery. Every single thought, fleeting feeling, deep emotion was let loose in a rushing flood of tears and broken sobs. It hurt so much. Why did it hurt so much? And yet she deserved it, didn't she?

Her mind flashed back throughout the years: every time she went to visit her father, every time she would sit down to make music, there was a twinge of sadness, a pang of guilt. Because she was the reason he was in the hospital. She was the reason...

The rain spilled down from the stormy gray clouds, sliding down and off the sides of the umbrella. The wind howled through the air, screaming out its sorrow. The world itself had come to grieve.

It could have been moments, minutes, or even hours as Kanade wept despairingly into Mafuyu's shoulder, soaking her sweater with never-ending tears. All through that time, Mafuyu held Kanade close, a hand on her back, while she held her umbrella against the wind to shield them both from the anguished rain.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading!✰ I think most of my fanfics will be about this long, maybe a bit longer or shorter. It's named Kokoronashi because of the song's chorus (it's a KanaMafu cover). Kokoronashi as a whole actually doesn't fit this fanfic that much, but I think it fits Kanade and Mafuyu's relationship pretty well, so go listen to it if you haven't already!✰

I hope you enjoyed!✰

[flossy2003]

Storms- Oneshot

Just a warning- includes angst involving parental loss and sickness.

Wolf walked into the sitting room, and was surprised to see Scarlett, curled up on one of the sofas, sketching by the light of a candle.

“Scarlett? What are you doing in here?”

The girl jumped.

“Sorry! I’ll go back to bed!” She said, hurriedly sitting up and gathering up her drawing materials.

“No, no, don’t be sorry. I just wanted to know why you’re not in bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep, the storm was keeping me awake.”

“It was keeping me awake too.” Wolf replied, taking a seat next to his daughter.

“I hate them,” Scarlett spat.

She regrettably recalled one winter, when she had forgotten to bring Relica her morning tea, so the cruel woman had locked her in a leaky barn. She was only fourteen at the time.

She’d tried pleading with Relica, apologising, promising to do better, but her cries fell on unforgiving ears.

The barn held no animals, having been abandoned many years ago, so Scarlett had no one to talk to, no one to confide in.

Danielle would hear her sobbing when she went out to tend to the garden in the afternoons. She wasn’t allowed to speak to her, let alone comfort her, otherwise Relica would have her locked up too.

On the third night of her punishment, there had been a terrible storm. Part of the barn’s rotting roof had been torn off by the gusts of wind, leaving Scarlett exposed to the freezing cold temperatures and harsh rain.

She got was found in the morning, unresponsive.

Relica had reluctantly called a doctor out to check on her. She’d told him that she was her aunt, that she had adopted Scarlett and her “sister”, Danielle, after their parents died and that she’d found Scarlett wandering the gardens that morning, before she collapsed. Unfortunately, the doctor had bought the story.

Scarlett was diagnosed with influenza and was ordered complete bed rest (or rather, wooden-slab rest) and heavy doses of medication.

The doctor would sometimes be called out in the middle of the night, because Scarlett had woken up screaming from tummy pain or hot flushes.

While she did recover physically, she never recovered emotionally.

Wolf completely understood.

“Have I ever told you why I don’t like storms?” He asked.

“No?”

“It’s not a very happy story, but I think you need to know that you’re not alone, when it comes to trauma surrounding storms.”

Scarlett nodded.

“When I was a little boy, your aunt Stella and I lived with our parents in a cottage right in the middle of Harmony Glenn. One night, there was a great storm, one that nearly wiped Harmony Glenn off the map.”

Scarlett’s eyes widened.

“Your grandparents died and our home was destroyed…”

“Oh, dad! I’m sorry.”

Wolf put his arm around Scarlett and pulled her close.

“Your grandparents were amazing people, they stood up for what was right, always encouraged us to ask questions and loved everything life had to offer. I wish they could’ve met your mother and you kids…they would’ve loved you.”

Scarlett smiled.

“I wish that too. They sound wonderful.”

“You know, you’re very much like your grandmother and your great grandmother, come to that, they were creative too.”

“They were? Did they like to sew, like me?”

“Your great grandmother did, she would make a lot of mine and Stella’s clothes when we were babies. My mother preferred painting.”

“Ooo! Like Auntie Rapunzel?” Scarlett asked.

“Yes. In fact, Auntie Rapunzel and your mother were the first people outside of my family to see the little art workshop that we owned. They loved the paintings and Stella’s mosaic pieces.”

Scarlett smiled.

“So, what happened to you and Aunt Stella after the storm?”

Wolf took a bated breath before continuing.

“Many lost their homes and businesses. The orphanage was gone and those who still had their homes didn’t really care about orphans. They filled their homes and with families who still had the money to pay them.” Wolf explained, bitterly.

“Stella and I, like many other children in our position, were left on the streets, to fend for ourselves. The adults around us were always fighting and looting from one another…so much for “Harmony Glenn”, huh?”

Wolf’s dry chuckle made Scarlett frown. She knew that he was trying to make a quip to make the story a bit lighter for her sake, but it just made her feel more sorry for him.

“It was very scary. I still remember what it was like to scrounge for food and huddling under torn-up blankets to keep warm at night,” Wolf resumed, “that is why I hate storms. They took everything from Stella and I, and I’m always afraid that it’ll happen again.”

Oh. That explained a lot, Scarlett thought.

Her dad was very attentive to his family. He had special nicknames for them (“Princess” for her, “Beautiful” for her mum, “Warrior” for Edith and “Little buddy” for Harry), and he cried when he had to go away on business trips. All he wanted was to keep them as close as he could and give them all the love he didn’t have for so long. He was terrified of losing them or them losing him.

“I’m really sorry you went through all that, dad.”

Wolf kissed her head.

“I’m just thankful for what I have now.”

“Me too,” Scarlett mumbled.

“Me three.” Cassandra said, from the doorway.

Wolf and Scarlett looked up.

“How long have you been standing there, honey?” Wolf chuckled.

“Not long. I woke up to this hungry little guy,” she said, holding up Harry, “and noticed the bed was empty. I figured you’d be down here, on a night like this.”

“I can feed him, if you want?” Scarlett offered.

“That would be great,” Cassandra replied, passing Harry to her.

While Scarlett took Harry to the kitchen, Cassandra cuddled up next to Wolf.

“Cute’s not really my thing, but our kids are insanely cute,” she grinned.

“You know, you always say that cute isn’t your thing, but if it wasn’t, how come you’re so adorable?” Wolf teased, booping her on the nose.

“Ugh, you are the world’s most soppiest husband.”

“And you’re the world’s most beautiful wife.”

“I love you, Wolfie.”

“I love you too, Cassie.”

Wolf made a silent vow that nothing would ever come between him and his family again, especially not storms.

[mytchthemyth]

Monkie Kid Thoughts/Theory

Hi! So as some of you may have noticed, I have fallen down the Lego Monkie Kid rabbit hole. I finally watched all 4 seasons and specials and even checked out the season 5 trailer (so hyped!!), along with some theories made by the lovely @cherllyio and @lu-zijing, as well as the Youtuber RV Sketch. I've absorbed a lot of information and wanted to lay out my thoughts real quick on some things I hadn't seen anyone specifically address.

First off, I wanted to address MK's powers and how they relate to his creation, as I feel like some people may have forgotten some info laid out in the beginning.

As we learn in season 4, MK was created from Wukong's stone, and it was implied to have been Nuwa, the Chinese creation goddess, who did so. Master Su Bodhi also directly states to MK that he has learned his powers at an abnormally quick pace. As I believe @cherllyio pointed out in one of their theories, even Wukong had to actually work hard and train under Master Su Bodhi for a while to learn most of his powers, while his immortality and golden eyes come from several escapades he went on (eating the peaches of immortality, scribbling out his name from the Book of the Dead, burning his eyes in the trigram furnace, etc.).

MK, on the other hand, innately has these abilities. He's not just learning them at an absurd rate; I think he was created to have all of Wukong's abilities and possibly even his immortality. Looking back at the very first episode of the show, MK clearly demonstrates invincibility on a similar level to Wukong, who is only so invincible because he's immortal like 5 times over. @cherllyio has also pointed out how MK starts off with gold-vision, even though Wukong only gained that by burning his eyes in the trigram furnace. Also, when MK talks with Wukong about being unable to control his powers, Wukong volunteers to put a partial seal on them to make it easier for MK to learn to master his abilities. This is the real reason why MK "learns" his powers so quickly; he's not actually learning them, he's just figuring out how to do stuff he already could.

But if MK was created with all of Wukong's powers (and possibly immortality) being innate, why can't he control them? And why didn't he display any ability to use his powers until after picking up the golden staff? Well, because he's incomplete.

While I do think it's possible the monkey figure is just broken as a result of MK being born from it, I also believe in the theory that Youtuber RV Sketch and @cherllyio have, where something happened to Nuwa while she was creating MK that resulted in the monkey figure becoming broken.

I also learned that Nuwa apparently did not believe in having "perfect" creations and instead enjoyed the imperfections her creations had (can't find source anymore), so while she may have created MK to have all of Wukong's powers, she probably wasn't intending him to just pop out fully-formed and already equal to Wukong.

Here's what I think is the reason why Nuwa created MK:

As an important celestial being, Nuwa recognized that there was complacency/corruption within the Jade Emperor's court, with several important figures being obsessed with establishing order/complete control over the world (Azure Lion, Lady Bone Demon, and probably also Li Jing and the Underworld Traitor). However, Nuwa could not do anything about this herself, so she decided to create an Agent of Chaos to combat these corrupt figures once their plans went into motion. And who better to base her new creation off of than the most powerful chaotic being in existence, the Monkey King? (In some versions of his origins, Wukong is even born from one of the 5 colored stones Nuwa used to fix the sky, which would be even more reason for her to use Wukong's stone to create a new mystic monkey.)

And so she modeled MK off of Wukong, giving him the exact same abilities, although she probably intended for him to learn to master them over the course of his life. She may have even wanted Wukong to train MK. However, I don't think Wukong was ever intended to raise MK or knew about the birth of another being from his stone until the gang got trapped in the Scroll of Memory. I'm pretty sure every instance shown of Wukong next to the stone is meant to show him being led back to the stone as he searches for MK and him trying to figure out why. And, let's face it; Wukong would've been a terrible dad. He couldn't be a proper teacher, there's no way he would've done a good job raising a whole child.

Besides, I don't think Nuwa was intending for Wukong to know about MK at least until MK was older. If a naked, mud-covered toddler suddenly showed up at his doorstep with the exact same powers as him, Wukong would've been immediately clued in that something was up and he would've tried to figure out what (probably while forgoing proper childrearing). MK was probably meant to be more of a secret weapon against the Celestial Realm traitors, so a retired Wukong suddenly flying all over the place trying to find the person who created the child with him would have definitely tipped them off.

Personally, I think Nuwa is the one who placed baby MK in front of Pigsy's noodle shop. Nuwa successfully managed to create MK and he was born at the top of Flower Fruit Mountain, but someone disrupted Nuwa, resulting in MK's monkey figure becoming broken. In order to save baby MK, Nuwa sent him away to somewhere she knew he would be safe and hidden, to be raised by the descendants/reincarnations/whatever of the Great Companions. Otherwise, I just don't see how baby MK could have gotten all the way from Flower Fruit Mountain to Megapolis without Wukong noticing anything. I mean, there's a literal ring of volcanoes and the ocean between the city and the mountain! Plus, it's weird that the baby MK managed to find his way directly to someone directly related to the Great Companions (Pigsy) who would have already had a connection to two other people related to Great Companions by this point in his life (Sandy and Tang). Feels like divine intervention, if you ask me.

I also wanted to talk a bit about ink MK.

As stated in the show, the ink monsters in the Scroll of Memory are created by the protective curse put on the scroll to torment the prisoners trapped inside with their past. It's pretty easy for the curse to torment everyone else with their past lives/ancestors/whatever, but how does it torment MK, someone with no past and no intent to look into his past?

By forcing him to confront it.

In RV Sketch's theory video "Is Ao Lie Still Alive?" she mentions how it's weird for the Master Su Bodhi in the scroll to know anything about MK, and when MK asks how he knows about him Su Bodhi dodges the question and saying that "there's little I do not know". RV Sketch proposes that the Su Bodhi in the scroll is just the curse trying to trigger an identity crisis in MK, which I think makes sense. It's far more believable for the Su Bodhi in the scroll to know about MK because he's actually the curse trying to mess with him, while the real world Su Bodhi knows because "there's little he does not know".

So yeah, Scroll Su Bodhi gets MK started on the identity crisis train, at which point the curse transitions to ink MK. Now, MK is actually pretty smart, so I think the curse takes the Monkey MK form because MK has already mostly figured stuff out about his past (especially after talking with Master Su Bodhi), he just refuses to admit it. That's why ink MK keeps goading him into "saying it out loud" and "using his words" to say what he's clearly thinking.

But what I want to focus on is Ink MK's behavior and how similar MK acts to him while fighting Azure Lion in his Mystic Monkey form. In both instances, Monkey MK is shockingly calm and collected, refers to other people as "friend", and uses past words and actions to upset the person he's fighting and keep them off their game. As Monkey MK says, "There's nothing mindless about me."

I think while MK is dealing with Ink MK and starts glitching out, he might already be aware of the distorted personality he would have as Monkey MK. Or, the curse is simply showing MK what he will be like as Monkey MK, but that feels a bit out of scope of the curse's powers since it's supposed to torment people with their pasts, not their futures.

Monkey MK also acts very similar to Macaque during his battles with Wukong, especially in season 3. While Wukong is also known to trash talk during battles, he doesn't go after traumatic stuff. But Macaque does. This could relate back to an idea some people have had of MK actually being a mix of Wukong and Macaque, as well as the thought that MK is broken/incomplete, resulting in his personality becoming distorted when he goes Monkey Mode. There's also been the interpretation of the original Journey to the West that Macaque was born from Wukong as a sort of "shadow self", so it's also possible that we're seeing the beginnings of MK's "shadow self" being born through his Mystic Monkey form.

The show definitely wants us to know something's wrong with Monkey MK. Not just because MK becomes scarily different and that huge frightening astral monkey appears. Wukong himself shows concern over the fight after MK creates that giant pillar of light. Up to that point in the fight, Wukong wanted MK to use his monkey form and was rooting for him as he fought Azure. However, once the true depths of his power start to appear, Wukong becomes serious and clearly thinks something's up, although he never really says anything during the special.

Edit: There's a part 2 now.

Edit 2: I actually miscredited the theory that MK was innately created with all of Monkey King's powers. It wasn't Cherrlyio but RV Sketch who originally talked about the theory.

[psychokinetic-ectoplasm]

Have you thought about doing anything for doctor Detroit? Or Dan's male prostitute character from snl? If not could you consider doing a one-shot where the following scenarios could happen...

DD- teaching assistant discovers the hidden life of doctor Detroit and to take down mom character decides to help him out by posing as a stripper or one of his girls.

SNL- character calls for him specifically (maybe a childhood friend, old colleague or something along thoes lines) basically the complete opposite of the sketch. Main point he is wanted.

Thank you for this request, anon!

Since I have a Doctor Detroit fic already cooking in my head, I decided to go with Fred Garvin: Male Prostitute.

This kinda got away from me and ended up being 12 pages long 😅 Enjoy, anon!

Also here on Ao3

NSFW under the cut!

Let It Only Ever Be Me

“Yo, Fred!”

Fred looked up at Slick, who was leaning around the doorframe. “Yeah, Slick?”

“You got a call. Some lady is asking for you by name.”

Fred blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah, you!” Slick walked in and dropped a piece of paper on his desk. “Here’s the address. Nice place, too. You must have made a good impression somewhere!”

Fred picked up the paper and stared at the address. He didn't recognize it, but hey, work was work.

***

When you opened the door, you could tell that Fred wasn't expecting to see you. And honestly, you might have been expecting him, but it had been a while since you last saw him. He looked the same, with his same slicked-down hair under his hat, thick horn-rimmed glasses, and a plaid jacket. He was still handsome in Fred's dorky way. But you’d forgotten just how much you liked him. Or, perhaps, more than liked… For some reason, things never really went anywhere between you two, though you were sure there was mutual attraction.

Right now, he was staring at you, open-mouthed, obviously shocked to see you.

“Hello, Fred,” you greeted with a smile.

He stuttered out your name. “You live here?”

You grinned. “Yeah. I’ve done well since college, huh?”

“I’ll say!”

You stepped aside and motioned him in. He hesitated just for a moment before nodding his thanks and walking inside.

“I’ll admit,” Fred continued. “I wasn’t expectin’ to see you. I also wasn’t expectin’ to get asked for by name.”

“To be honest, Fred, when I heard what you were doing… Well, I was curious.”

He glanced at you, seemingly becoming a little nervous. “Is that so?”

You walked backward, further into the house, and Fred followed, his gaze flickering between you and your belongings.

“Sure. I also missed you.”

Now, Fred stopped. “You did?”

“I do.”

He held out his hands. “Well, I service the entire quad-cities area, so I suppose it wouldn’t be very likely for us to run into each other.” He took a few steps closer to you. “And, uh… I missed you, too.”

You took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Good.”

Fred smiled before taking a deep breath. “Well, now that the formalities are out of the way, why don’t we mosey on up to your bedroom so I can roger you roundly til six in the morning!”

You bit your lip to not laugh. “Now, wait a minute, Fred—”

“If you’re worried, I assure you, I’m fully qualified! And you have my personal assurance of professionalism, hygiene, and animal gratification.”

“Oh, I’m sure!” you replied, unable to hide your laughter now. You stepped up to him, resting your hands on his chest. “But that’s not why I asked for you, Fred. Not for your… services.”

His expression fell. “Oh. Well, as for my services, you get me for the whole night.”

You took his hands again, leading him toward the dining room. “I know. And I want you here the whole night. And don’t worry, you’ll still get paid. But I want your company, Fred. I meant what I said. I missed you. And I’d like to catch up.”

You didn’t miss the disappointed expression that crossed his face before he forced a smile. “I suppose I can do that. You’re right. It has been a long time.”

“Exactly! Now, won’t you join me for dinner?”

“Be happy to.”

Dinner went well, better than you expected. You both caught up with each other's lives, easily falling back into the comfortableness that you two shared years ago. He told you a little more about his work, you told him about yours. There was something still a little off about Fred, though. Something… sad. You couldn't figure out what it was, but you wanted to take that away.

After dinner, you gave him a tour of the house. Fred seemed genuinely pleased that you'd done well for yourself. You thanked him but secretly wondered what your life would have been like had you and Fred gotten together. You smiled a bit at the thought. Married, probably with a couple of kids at this point… Would Fred have wanted that?

“Bedroom?” Fred asked as you passed by the door.

You nodded. “Yeah.” You'd been avoiding that, not wanting to give him the wrong impression. “But there's nothing really special about it.”

“I think one can learn a lot about a person based on their bedroom.”

His hand was on the knob, but he was looking at you, waiting for your permission. Well, you supposed it was inevitable that this evening would end up here…

You motioned to the door. “Go ahead.”

Fred walked in, nodding as he looked around. “I knew it! Suits you.”

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah! It's also very cozy.” He sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands, and smiled at you. You sensed the change in his demeanor. This wasn't just Fred anymore. “You sure you don't wanna change your mind? Why not give me a whirl, baby? What have you got to lose?”

“Fred…” you murmured, stepping further into the room.

“I can begin the session by striking a few seductive poses.”

“That's really not necessary…”

“Okay, no poses. Then just skedaddle into this bed, baby, and—”

“Fred, listen to me!”

That finally got his attention. He stopped moving, sitting silently and looking at you. You say next to him, taking his hands.

“I told you I didn't call you here for your services.”

He looked away, his typical unflappable demeanor slipping, the sadness from before showing again. “So, you don't want me either…”

You blinked in surprise. “What?”

Fred shrugged. “For a male prostitute, I'm not very good at closing the deal,” he admitted quietly. “I know people don't want me, that they humor me because they feel bad for me. I'm not an idiot. I can see it. But I was hopin’…” He pulled his hands from yours, turning away from you a bit, his voice so quiet now, no longer a salesman. “I was hopin’ it'd be different with you. That maybe, for once… someone would actually want me. You know, prove I'm not horrible at my job.”

“Fred…” you tried to say, but he continued.

“And then there's the trusses. Ya know, I got one for my hernia, my spleen… I know they're a turn-off, but…”

Finally, you grabbed his face, turned it toward you, and kissed him on the mouth. Fred made a surprised noise and pulled away, the look on his face shocked.

“I, uh…” he began a bit hoarsely. “I don't usually kiss clients.”

“Good thing I'm not a client,” you murmured, stroking his cheek.

Fred gazed at you, sighing softly. “No. No, you're not.” 

You softly kissed him again, and this time, he kissed you back, though hesitantly. You smiled.

“Fred… I know I said I didn't call you here for sex, which is true. I didn't know how this evening would go. But that doesn't change the fact that I do want you. It doesn't have to be tonight, but… I don't want just sex. I want to make love to you, Fred. You. Fred, the man, not Fred Garvin: male prostitute.”

He stared at you in awe. “Ya mean, you… you really want me?"

You nodded. “Yes. I do. I have since we were in college together.”

Fred's shoulders sagged in relief. “I've wanted you, too. Well, more than just want…”

He looked away, his cheeks pink.

You smiled and turned his face back to yours. “I love you, Fred. I have for a long time.”

“Oh, honey, I love you, too!” he exclaimed passionately in great relief, taking your hands in his. “But I never thought… I mean, how could you ever love someone like me?”

“Easy,” you replied with a shrug. “You're you.”

The pleased little smile on his face made the whole evening worth it. His smile, however, then turned a little sad. 

“No one's ever truly wanted me before…” he murmured.

You leaned closer, your hands on the lapels of his jacket. “Then let me prove it to you. I want you, trusses and all.”

That made him chuckle faintly. “Okay.”

He stood, and you moved further back onto the bed, watching him as he undid his belt.

“I do work with the glasses and jacket,” he said.

You gave him a look. “Fred.”

He seemed to realize what he'd said and how he'd said it. A bit sheepishly, he removed his jacket. “But I'll make an exception for you.”

You chuckled. “Gee, thanks.” You sat up and pulled him closer to begin unbuttoning his shirt. “We’ll have to break you of these habits. With me, I want you to be yourself, okay? You don't have to put on any airs or strike any seductive poses for me to want you.”

“But I can still pose?” he asked, and the hope in his voice was adorable.

You grinned and pecked his lips. “I'd be disappointed if you didn't.”

You had his shirt unbuttoned at this point, and you were just about to push it off his shoulders when he stilled your hands.

“Wait. Allow me.” 

With a great flourish, he shed his shirt. You could see the top part of one of his trusses above the waistband of his pants, but that wasn't what you were focused on right now. No, you were far too interested in his chest and the hair there. You couldn't wait to touch him…

Fred then climbed onto the bed. “Now, I'd like to begin by striking a few seductive poses to stimulate arousal.”

You bit your lip as he began striking said poses. In all honesty, you weren't entirely sure what was seductive about them, but they endeared him to you even more.

“I call this one The Snake,” he said, laying on the bed before pushing himself up onto his hands. “Are you experiencing symptoms of arousal yet?”

“Oh, I'm experiencing something alright,” you said, trying desperately to not burst out laughing. He was precious.

Fred moved to sit next to you. “I'll take it! Now, enough foreplay, let’s get crackin’!”

Before he could move, you grabbed his shoulders.

“Wait. Listen, Fred… Why don't you let me take care of you? You usually do all the work, right? Why not let someone else pamper you for a change?”

He hesitated. “Oh, I don't know… No one’s ever done that for me before.”

“Then let me. Let me love you, Fred.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Alright. Suppose we can give it a whirl.”

“Good.” 

You pushed him onto his back and climbed atop him. As you settled over his crotch, you frowned, looking down.

“That’s my rather elaborate network of trusses,” he explained. “Maybe we should take those off first. I will need your help with them.” You got off of him and let him stand again. He shed his pants, revealing the trusses. “I’ve got the hernia truss here. I got a spleen truss. It undoes with a coupla snaps in the back here.”

You were listening. Honest. But it was difficult to pay attention when, aside from the trusses, Fred was now in just his underwear and socks, and the underwear left little to the imagination. He was already hard, which made you impatient to remove them. But first, the trusses. 

With a hard swallow, you shifted forward to help get them off. You half expected to see something, but there was nothing, no outward sign of anything wrong.

Once the trusses were discarded, Fred laid back down. He then looked over at you, his gaze trailing over you.

“Aren't you, uh… Aren't you gonna, ya know, take your clothes off, too?”

You smiled and climbed back on top of him. “I will, but I want to kiss you some more first.”

So, you did. You kissed him passionately, intent on stealing his breath away and make him mad with want for you. And you got your wish. As your tongue tangled with his, he moaned wantonly, his hands lightly moving over you as if he wasn't sure where he wanted to touch you first. You loved hearing the sounds he made, and more so than that, you loved touching his skin. With a few lingering pecks, you ended the kiss.

“So… if you never take your jacket off, no one ever touches you like this, then, right?” you asked, rubbing his heaving chest, your fingers carding through the hair there.

Fred shook his head, breathless. “N-no. Never. Only you.”

You took a breath. “Only me… Fred…” You leaned down and let your lips just barely touch his. “Let it only ever be me.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

You kissed him with that, and Fred's hands moved to start pulling at your clothes. You let him slowly undress you. It was slow because, with each article of clothes that disappeared, Fred had to touch your skin. They were gentle caresses, occasionally accentuated by a squeeze here and there. They had you wanting him more and more with each passing second.

“Fred,” you whispered as his hands slid up your bare back.

“You're so beautiful, baby,” he whispered back as you sat up. 

His hands moved around to your breasts and gently kneaded them, his mouth falling open into a silent moan. You smiled sweetly and let him continue for a moment before leaning down to kiss his neck. Fred hummed in response. The sound thrilled you, and you wanted nothing more than to shower him with kisses and drown him in pleasure. He deserved it.

You shifted upward, pressing your covered core over his crotch. You both gasped as you rolled your hips over him.

“Please,” Fred all but whimpered.

“What do you want, sweetie?” you murmured, kissing across his shoulders and collarbone. “Tell me.”

“Touch me,” he gasped. “Please, baby, I'm dyin’ here!”

You took pity on him and freed him from his underwear. A sigh left you as you as you wrapped your hand around his cock and began to lightly stroke him. Fred moaned quietly in response, his hands gripping your thighs.

You pecked his lips. “You’re perfect.”

“N-no one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Oh, Fred,” you moaned, kissing his neck again. “You deserve to hear it every day, all day.” You then looked down at your hand moving over him, your thumb swiping up a bead of precum to smear over his tip. “God, I can’t wait to feel you inside me…”

Fred’s hips bucked, and his hands flew to the sheets to grip them. “And I wanna feel you around me.”

You breathed his name again, shifting around to remove your panties before lifting up and letting the head of his cock slide through your folds.

“Gosh,” Fred gasped, watching everything. “Even that feels so good, honey.”

“I know… Are you ready?”

He nodded frantically. “Yes!”

With that, you sank down onto him, sighing in relief upon feeling him finally filling you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasped.

Fred threw his head back against the pillow, moaning, as he bottomed out within you. You echoed his moan, taking a moment to adjust to him. And, not about to waste the opportunity, you dropped your head forward to suck marks onto his neck, shoulders, and collarbone. His responding whines were music to your ears.

As you did this, you began to slowly roll your hips, making you both gasp. 

Fred's hands moved restlessly over your thighs and hips. “Oh, you have no idea how long I've dreamed of this with you.”

“Yeah?” you breathed against his skin.

He nodded. “I wanted ya for so long. Loved ya for so long.”

You sat up and began to move a little faster on him. Fred’s hands immediately flew up to cover your breasts, his touch needy. You smiled down at him and covered his hands with yours, watching him as he looked at you. He seemed to be in awe.

“Stay with me, Fred,” you murmured. “All night, tomorrow, the next day…” You then grabbed him and rolled over, managing to keep him inside of you. “I'm yours.”

Fred groaned, planting his arms on either side of yours and picking up at the pace you left off on, but only for a few moments. He became frantic in his need, pounding into you. You moaned wantonly, clinging to him, loving the feeling of his cock hitting all of the right spots within you. If what he'd said was true, he never actually got to do this very often, which made you love the fact that he was now getting to pour his feelings into this as he'd never been able to do before. 

“And I'm yours!” he moaned. “I'm not gonna last much longer, baby!”

“Fred,” you panted as seriously as you could. “Do you want to cum inside me?”

His thrusts faltered, and he choked out a moan, nodding frantically. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, keeping him close. 

“Cum in me, Fred,” you whined. “Make me cum with you!”

He buried his face against your neck, his hot, labored breaths dampening your skin as he strove for release. He was making you feel so good that you fought to hold back in order to cum with him.

“Please,” you whimpered, one hand moving up to hold the back of his head.

That was all Fred needed. His thrusts faltered once more, and he buried himself to the hilt within you, cumming hard, choked moans tearing from his throat. You were right there with him, crying out in pleasure as your walls squeezed around him.

When you both were spent, Fred collapsed against you, both of you panting and trembling through the last vestiges of pleasure. You cuddled him close, not wanting to part from him yet.

“Thank you,” Fred breathed, his hand pushing under you to hold you, his lips softly pressing to your skin. “Thank you.”

You smiled, eased his glasses off his face, and nuzzled his cheek. “What for?”

He pressed a little closer to you, tucking his face fully against your neck now that his glasses weren’t in the way. “For givin’ me a chance.”

“Oh, Fred,” you sighed, tightening your hold on him. “I love you.”

He kissed your neck again. “I love you, too, baby.”

You so wanted to convince him that he was worth it, that he was wanted and loved. No matter how long it took, you vowed you'd be there for him.

No more wasting time, you thought, kissing his cheek as he relaxed further against you — you happily took his weight. There was time to make up for and a whole future ahead of you.

And right here, in Fred's arms, is exactly where you wanted to be.

***

The next morning, you woke up with a smile on your face and snuggled closer to the warm body pressed to you. You lightly ran your fingers over Fred’s chest before lifting your head to look at his sleeping face. His glasses sat on the bedside table, so you were able to admire his face without any obstructions. And he still bore the evidence from the night before.

His usually slicked-down hair was mussed, and his neck and shoulders were covered in the hickeys you left on them… With a smile, you kissed the corner of his lips and rested your face right next to his so your nose touched his cheek.

A smile tugged at his lips as he turned his head slightly toward yours. “I’m not used to actually sleeping in someone else’s bed,” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep. His hand on your hip flexed, pulling you subtly closer. “Could get used to this.”

You hummed and kissed his cheek. “I would enjoy waking up to your face every day.”

Fred returned your hum and gently pushed you onto your back so he could settle on top of you. You grinned, wrapping your arms and legs around him, your hips shifting upward against his erection. Fred lowered his face to your neck, his own hips meeting the movements of yours so you ground against each other.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered.

You sighed, blissfully happy. “I love you, too, Freddie.”

You felt him grin before he lifted his head to look at you. “I missed you callin’ me that. You’re the only one that ever did.”

You pecked his lips. “I know, and I love that. I love you.”

Fred gazed at you for a moment before taking a breath. “Let me make love to ya.”

You nodded eagerly and brought him down for a proper kiss. You both moaned into the kiss as Fred reached down between you two to run the head of his cock through your folds. However, before he could push into you, there was a sudden commotion from elsewhere in the house, followed by voices.

“Who’s that?” Fred asked, startled.

“That’s my housekeeper, and—”

“I assure you, ma’am, the lady of the house knows me.”

“That’s Slick, my boss,” Fred said.

You nodded. “That’s who I spoke to on the phone.”

As the door to the bedroom opened, you and Fred scrambled into a sitting position with Fred in front of you, the sheets piled up over his lap, while you hid behind him.

“Fred!” Slick exclaimed, stepping into the room. “My man! I was worried about you! Usually, I hear from you before sunrise. I was getting worried, so I came down here myself.” He then smirked. “Well… I can see you had no problems with the trusses.”

Fred shook his head, nervously toying with the sheets, making sure they were fully covering him. “No, no problems.”

“And you, ma’am? I assume Fred here has attended to your needs?”

You nodded, half hiding your smile against Fred’s shoulder. “He sure has.” Fred sent you a sheepish smile over his shoulder, and his cheeks turned pink when you lightly kissed his neck. “He was perfect.”

Slick looked pleased. “Ah, of course, he was. He’s my Fred and butter man! I’ve got eight girls and Fred.”

Fred shook his head. “Had, Slick. You had Fred.”

Now, Slick frowned. “What do you mean?”

Fred glanced at you again and took a deep breath. “I’m done, Slick. I quit.”

Slick sighed, regarding Fred for a moment. “I’ll be sad to see you go, Fred, but… I’m actually kind of relieved. You needed someone steady, and I’m glad you found it.”

“Thanks,” Fred replied, turning to share a smile with you.

“Well, in that case,” Slick said, donning his hat, “I’ll leave you to it. But Fred, feel free to drop by from time to time to say hi. The girls and I’ll be happy to see you.”

Fred nodded. “I will, Slick.”

With that, Slick left, closing the door behind him. As soon as it closed, you wrapped your arms around Fred. He melted back into you with a sigh.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He nodded. “But I did. I don’t want anyone else but you. You’re all I ever wanted.”

You then began to pepper his neck and shoulders with kisses while rubbing his chest, making him hum a bit. “And you’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

You were hoping to distract him, get him worked up again, and this seemed to be working, but something was still nagging at the back of your mind.

“Fred?”

“Hm?”

Definitely distracted, you thought with a smile. “What about your trusses?”

“What about ‘em?”

“You don’t actually need them, do you?”

He was quiet. You moved a bit so you were sitting at his side, trying to get him to look at you.

“They were a way to get you out of ever actually having to sleep with anyone, weren’t they?”

He smiled weakly. “Like I said, I’m a lousy prostitute.”

“Were. Now you can be an amazing boyfriend.”

Fred nodded, his smile a little broader now. “I’d like that. Now, little lady,” he said, his voice stronger as he pushed you onto your back again. “Let ole Fred give you some animal gratification.”

With a laugh, you wrapped your arms around his neck again. “And why don’t you show me that snake pose again while you’re at it.”

Fred grinned. “My pleasure, baby.”