#i CAN still like. physically draw on it like the program still works

[unproduciblesmackdown]

enjoy some pencil drawings for once

screenshot study and what amounts to a conceptual illustration of a writing idea

[russellsppttemplates]

Uh oh, I'm falling in love (Lando Norris)

Y/N and Lando both have jobs that require good sight and attention to detail and yet they're oblivious to their feelings for eachother

Note: english is not my first language. I'm in a very fluffy mood, so I got really excited when I got this request! This also makes my expectations even higher and calls me single in about seventeen different languages at once...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions a needle (for sewing)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Hey guys! How's everyone?", Max said to the camera as you made sure the set up was right, the screen showing his and Lando's faces on one screen and the table on the other like it was supposed to.

"As per your many, many requests, we have brought our graphic designer at Quadrant, Y/N", Lando announced as you appeared on camera, sending a very awkward first wave to the camera, "today's stream is little different than our usual programming, but it was the only way she agreed to be in one! You guys really wanted to see her, so we had to be creative!", Max said as he moved the friendship bracelets making kit into view on the table.

"Hey, Queen Taylor said we should make the friendship bracelets, so we're just following her!", you chuckled, looking at all the coloured threads and colourful beads, sorting them out and grabbing a pen and paper so you could draw your ideas.

"Since you guys wanted to get to know Y/N, can I tell them to send in questions?", Lando questioned you, "sure, I'll answer them to the best of mu ability", you smiled.

You were picking the letters you needed for the bracelet you were making when Max spoke up, "first one: how did you start working with Quadrant? I'd love to work on the team when I finish my degree!".

"I saw the job offer, and I must admit at first I didn't really know much about the company. I looked it up, looked cool enough and I sent my CV and portfolio in. So keep your eyes peeled for any offers, I guess? We have them now on the website, which was my doing, so you can check them out there if you want to be part of the team", you offered.

"I need help, guys", Lando said as he fiddled with his bracelet, the orange and grey beads with his initials sliding on the elasticated material, I can't do the closing knot on my own", he pouted as you placed your bracelet down.

"You have to flip it like this, here. Just put it on your wrist and I'll do the rest", you ushered him, your fingertips gingerly touching his hand and wrist as you quietly laced it, "this way we don't get frilly bits out and it looks pretty, see? Pretty!", you smiled, modelling his wrist for the camera.

Pretty, that's what he often thought about you. Not only pretty, but it was one of the first physical traits that came to mind.

"We should all have matching ones!", Max said as he completed his bracelet, impressively on his own, revealing the colourful beads with Quadrant spelled in white round beads with black letters, "I'll make one for each of you", he said as he watched you show your own, pink beads and a lyric he assumed was from a Taylor Swift song.

"I'll make Y/N's, she helped me after all", Lando said as one brave fan sent a comment into the chat.

He's so giddy to make Y/N a bracelet, it's a shame it will snap because of his lack of skills

Am I delusional if I say that they'd make a great couple?

If you're delusional, then what do I call myself? I still think they're making heart eyes at eachother whenever they catch the slightest glimpse!

We're joining forces, I think it's a noble pursuit!

He's a dork, Y/N, but you should give him a chance

Have you always known you wanted to be a graphic designer?

"I thought about different careers before I settled on this one, for now at least", you explained, "engineering was in the running up, but then I figured out that I was curious about how things worked, but that didn't mean that I wanted to be the one working on it. And this was a way to express my creativity, my strategy planning as well, and at the moment it's been quite good", you smiled as Lando grabbed your wrist softly, "I need to make sure this fits", he interrupted, "and it won't snap because I've learnt how to do it, thank you very much", he blushed. So he, too, was reading the comments, choosing not to dwell in them.

"Look, this way you always have a lucky charm with you everywhere you go, even if we're not together. We're eachothers lucky charms!", Lando announced as Max mafe a fake gagging noise.

.

"Are you all ready?", you said as you and Tara walked inside the room, clasping your watch on your wrist and hoping to find the boys ready.

Quadrant had been invited to a gala dinner that celebrated the companies in the same line of business, inviting five people to take part in the meal. After some team members politely declining the invitation since they had things booked already, the group ended up being Lando, Max, Callum, Tara and yourself.

The dress required everyone to up their usual style, hence the long dress you were wearing. Even though it was far from your usual everyday attire, you felt beautiful in the dress you ended up with after browsing the online shops for a while. The cut was simple, the skirt widening from your waist down and complimenting your curves as the sheen from the midnight blue fabric looked soft and sweet against your skin.

Lando seemed to think the same, trying his best to not let his mouth hang open when you and Tara walked inside their room, heels clicking on the wooden floor as you hurried them, "does it really take that long to put on a suit? I had to help Tara with the laces on her back and we still got ready faster than the three of you?", you asked, shaking your wrist to check if the dainty watch wasn't going to fall and that it wasn't too tight either.

Looking up to meet Lando's eyes, you were sure you physically and audibly gulped. No one should look that good in a plain white shirt. The cuffs were still unbuttoned, but the shirt itself was tucked in his black pants. He didn't have any jewellery, so his tanned skin caught your eye as it contrasted with his clothes.

"Lando has a problem with his shirt and we are trying to solve it", Max said, a little bit too antsy given that, at the naked eye, there didn't seem to be a big issue with the piece of clothing you had been inspecting quite closely.

"There was a loose button, and I tried to fix it, but I made it worse", Lando said as he pointed to the button on his hand, the slight movement showing you the place where it was supposed to he holding the piece together and closed.

"Three people in this room and no one thought about grabbing the sewing kit from the amenities?", Tara suggested, looking for it in the box that was the same as it was in your room, "see? Simple as that! Can you sew it, Y/N? My hand isn't fully healed yet, I can't quite grasp something that small yet".

Tara had injured herself earlier on in the week, prompting her to ask to tag out of the gala until you pleaded her to go so you wouldn't be alone, so she couldn't do it. None of the other guys seemed to even know how to pull the thread through the needle, so you grabbed the kit from Tara's hand, "sure, I'll do it", you said, "if that's okay with you, that is", you looked over at Lando.

"Sure, anything to solve this. Do I keep it on or should I take it off?", he questioned, wanting to slap himself straight after at his offer. Why would he volunteer to be shirtless in front of you? It certainly wasn't the way to go, shoving himself like that.

"On should be fine", you muttered, missing the snickers going on behind you as you wet the thread with your tongue, careful to not transfer any of the lipstick on it and ruining the piece without point of return for good, easily looping it through and adjusting the size of the ends.

"Button", you put your hand out so Lando could place it in your fingers, "I will do my best not to poke you, let me know if I do so accidentally", you mumbled at the closeness to him you found yourself in. It was the third button from the top, and as much as you loved the sight of the shirt slightly undone, the dinner required his shirt to be done up. Looping the thread on the button a few times, you moved to pierce the crisp white fabric so it would be secure, your hands dangerously close to his skin as you could hear his laboured breath. Lando still remembered and thought constantly about your fingers touching his hand and wrist when you did the friendship bracelets video for the YouTube channel, and right now, it only added to his predicament.

"It's done, all good!", you exclaimed, looking up as you cut the thread and seeing Lando's eyes on you. The intensity nearly threw you off of your balance as you stood the tiniest bit crouched down on your high heels.

Scrambling to further the distance between your bodies, you smoothed out the non existent wrinkles on your dress, storing the supplies back in the kit as Lando managed to utter out a thank you, too stunned and intoxicated by your scent to say anything else.

"I sewed a button as neither of you look any more ready that you were when we got here? We're going to be late!", you hurried, sitting next to Tara and ignoring her smirk as you scrolled through your phone.

.

"That shoot will have to wait since Lando won't be back here soon, then", you said, moving things around in the online shared calendar, "when did you say you could again? I'm sorry", you asked, rubbing your forehead and squeezing your eyes, adjusting your glasses and looking at him through the screen.

"The first weekend of the next month", Lando assured, "are you okay, Y/N?", he asked. The bags under your eyes didn't fool anyone and you looked tired. And sick, he guessed by the layers of clothing you had on.

"I had a pretty shit day, actually", you admitted, "I had to go with the guys from storage because there was an issue. The supplier sent the samples and we wanted to get things moving so I could have some ideas for the description and the social media team also wanted to prep the draft for the whole story telling, but it all went under. I also think I caught some bug, so it's been a fun day", you exaggeratingly smiled, mocking your own misery.

"You look like you need a hug, Y/N. Do you need a hug?", Lando asked as you nodded, "Actually, that would be pretty good, but I live alone. The neighbours would think I'm pretty weird if I went around like this asking for one, too", you reasoned.

Even though he wasn't next to you, Lando still managed to pull a smile out of you as he got up from the chair he was sitting in, hugging his laptop, "did you feel that hug?", he loudly wondered, "it's full of Get well soon fairy dust!", he smiled charmingly.

"Fairy dust, mate?", Callum wondered, reminding you of his presence in the videocall, "you try and spend more than a few hours with a little girl and you let me know. Mila has taught me all about fairy dust and princess magic", Lando added.

.

"How will we get out of here?", you wondered, starting to regret joining Lando, Max and Pietra when they said they were going to watch a football game. You loved the sport and you figured it would be a nice distraction after a work loaded week, but now, things were looking less than a distraction.

"We will let them space out once the game finishes, free up the roads as well because getting out of here will be a pain, too", Lando suggested.

The game granted your team a win and three points in the championship, the crowd going wild as they clapped, whistled and waved their scarfs, slowly leaving the stadium.

"Should we make a run for it now?", Pietra said, holding her boyfriend's hand as she allowed him to pull her away.

You followed Lando, thanking his choice of a colourful hoodie to wear today as it made it easier for you to spot him, "go in front of me, I'll back you up", he switched positions. You weren't having too much trouble until you were met with a ramp, people carelessly shoving others as they tried to leave as quick as they could, all with the same intent of avoiding traffic and crowded roads.

"Here, Y/N", you heard Lando as he grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers in his and pulling you along, excusing you two as you approached Max and Pietra again, "we're here", you tapped the blonde woman's shoulder with your free hand.

"Goodness, that was and adventure", she said once you reached the stadium car park, the crowd clearing up significantly as there was maybe another ten people headed the same way as you were now, "is everyone alright? I think someone stepped on my foot quite a few times, or many people stepped on it at various different times", you reasoned, walking alongside Lando still.

"Don't we need to hand the bracelets back?", Max said as he looked at the sign, taking his bracelet off and depositing it in the box in the booth, Pietra doing the same as you seemed distracted.

"Are you okay, Y/N?", Max asked, seeing you and Lando were still holding hands and, because of that, not taking off your bracelets.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?", you scrunched your eyebrows, "we need to hand the bracelets back in, so I kind of need to have yours, too", he teased, looking at your hand still entwined with Lando's.

Removing your hand from Lando's as if it har started burning all of a sudden, you removed the bracelet, apologising quietly to the stadium employee as you thanked him, "shall we go now?".

"Dinner out?", Lando gulped, getting into the driver's seat, "Good idea, yes", Max added, sitting in the passenger's seat as you and Pietra sat in the back, your hand rubbing your other hand that had been laced with Lando's own one for a long time. Uh oh, you were falling in love.

.

The launch was finally over after an amazing response from the fans, leaving your heart happy and warm with a sense of mission accomplished.

"Is everything packed into the van?", you asked Tara, "yes, it's just this box. It has fragile things, so do you think you guys can take it in the car with you? It probably only fits at the front, so you'll have to squeeze in with the boys on the back", she smiled apologetically, "it's fine, we'll keep eachother warm like penguins do", you chuckled, holding the door open as she set the box safely.

Saying goodbye to her and the rest of the team, Max and Lando joined you, "You sit in the middle seat", Max pointed at you, opening the door ao you could scoot closer to Lando and he could get in.

"Could you tell me how long we have until get back?", Lando asked the driver, "with traffic at this hour, I'd say around 90 minutes", he smiled, turning on the blinker so he could leave the car park.

"Plenty of time for me to catch up on sleep, then!", you cheered, making yourself comfortable in the space you had, folding your scarf into an impromptu travel pillow, closing your eyes.

"Are you a snorer?", Max asked, making you blindly swat his thigh, "only when I'm sick, and lucky for you, I'm in presteen health, no blocked nose", you grumbled.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep. In the last week, all of the nights combined, you probably slept less than thirty hours, so your body was indeed in need of rest.

"And there it goes", Max said as your pillow undid itself, Lando lifting his shoulder in reflex so your head wouldn't drop drastically, landing on top of him, "Good thing she isn't our engineer, hm?", he chuckled, looking at how his bestfriend was looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

"I think I'm in love with Y/N", Lando whispered after he took your appearance in. You had forgone wearing make-up today, so he could see all your moles and scars, your pouty lips and the darkened skin under your eyes. It took everything in him to not bend down and kiss your forehead.

"Congrats on being the last one to find out, mate", Max added, shaking his head, "I genuinely thought you had some issue processing information, I'm glad to find out you don't.

"Now you just have to act on it, which is going to take you, what? Two, three more months?".

[revasserium]

hi! I've been reading your opla!zoro stuff and I wanted to tell you your writing is so gorgeous! it's truly breathtaking, you're really talented ❤️ i've looked through your prompts tag, im not sure how requesting works, but could I ask for "edge of falling" or "the spaces between us" (whichever one you like the most) with zoro and fem!reader? i'm a goner for longing and feelings realization and the prompts give me those vibes, but i'm sure anything you write will be lovely <3

reqs are open!

the edge of falling

opla!zoro; 7,475 words; fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, passing mentions of: cult!, physical violence, & trauma/cult-programming, ex-cult member!reader, strawhat!reader, traumatized!reader, protective!zoro, healing from past trauma, learning to trust etc, angst with a happy ending!, a metric TON of plot

summary: "Lie to me," Time said to Love; Love smiled and said, "I promise, I'll never let you slip away."

a/n: thank u for the request anon!!! i uhm idk what happened with this fic tbh. there's def uh -- longing of SOME kind here??? welp. pls read the tw list! there's some dark-ish content in this. but i promise it ends well u__u

prelude: in which a fox teaches you to speak

Time is the greatest liar, so you are told, over and over and over. For the longest time, you think it’s the only truth you’ll ever know.

But we will live forever…

So long as you do the things you’re told. So long as you make the Fox happy. So long, so long, so long.

There is no way to mark the passage of time in the compound; with no sunlight to guide the way, you are left to other, more primal ways of keeping track — that elusive, silver-fish creature — time — always slipping through your fingers when want to hold on most.

You measure it in wounds, in the time it takes for a fresh wound to seal over, for the scab to break and reveal the soft, tender pink flesh beneath. You measure it in gulps of water, in bites of cold food, in the droplets of artificial rain that they let fall through the ceiling sometimes. You measure it in rewards too, in long baths and hot meals, in the evenings when the Fox would tell you stories in his low, lilting voice instead of leaving you in his seething silences.

And he is ever so good with stories. If you stay still and keep quiet, and let his voice wash over you like a hungry tide across a rain-starved beach, you can feel the words seeping into your bones, ringing out till they feel like nothing but god’s given truth.

As long as you’re good… I promise I’ll make you live forever.

Like this, you learn the weapon of words, the power of speech, how to listen for lies, and how to tell them, and tell them, and tell them.

The Fox is good at lying; you’ll just have to learn to be better.

act i: yet another sad, desperate soul

Roronoa Zoro has never been a man of many words, but it would be remiss to say that he isn’t a man of his word — you see, when he does speak, he speaks with intention. And always, with conviction.

“Hey. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, then, is the first lie he tells you.

“Liar.” You spit out the word, drawing back, your body a tangle of livewire nerves, your eyes darting back and forth, an entire life’s worth of fight and flight caught on the hair-pin trigger of his breath as he jolts back slightly and blinks at you.

“Y-you — you can’t know that,” you say, your voice still ragged. But Zoro sees it for the attempt it is — an olive branch, however tentatively extended. And he takes it, wordlessly.

He nods once, reaching out to help you up. The compound crumbles around you, and you unconsciously wrap your arms around yourself, as if to hold yourself together, to keep from shattering into a hundred million tiny little shards of pain and mistrust.

“The fox-guy’s dead! But it looks like this whole island’s gonna blow!” Nami races out of the massive, temple-esque structure just as it starts to collapse from the inside out.

Luffy slingshots passed, cackling as Sanji and Usopp bring up the rear. On the Merry, Robin and Chopper are waiting, and the second Zoro manages to hoist you onto the main deck, the ship careens off into the dark tumult of waves.

You skitter away the minute Zoro’s arm slips from around your waist, and he turns to find you pressing yourself back against the railings, staring at them all with wide eyes, your expression caught halfway between fear and consternation. He takes half a step back, crossing his arms just as Luffy bounds forward with a bright, unassuming smile.

“Don’t worry! You’re safe now!” He makes to slap one of your shoulders but you duck out of the way, chewing on your bottom lip.

Robin clears her throat gently and offers you a smile, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

You narrow your eyes, your gaze darting between them like a trapped animal, but after another beat of stillness (punctuated only by Nami swearing softly to herself as she steers the Merry around a particularly difficult formation of rocks), your entire body seems to soften, and Zoro uncrosses his arms again, resting a hand casually on the hilt of his blades.

“Th-thank you…” you bob your head once, swallowing hard passed chapped lips and a raw throat. Your white linen dress is stained with blood and dirt, a tear at your collar making it slip from your shoulder.

“’S alright now, darlin’ — how bout we run you a nice, hot bath? I could cook you just about anything y’like. Fancy a drink as well? I think a bubbly would be good for a —”

“Lay off, cook.” Zoro cuts Sanji off with a scoff, barring Sanji’s approach with an arm in the gut.

You watch them with dark eyes, your expression curiously blank.

“Will you let me look at your wounds?” Chopper offers.

You jump a little at his voice, piping up from your left side. You glance at Zoro once before looking back at Chopper and nodding.

Sanji tucks his hands into his pockets and watches as Chopper leads you beneath the deck, Zoro following a few steps behind. He lights a cigarette as soon as the trap door clanks shut.

A beat of silence, and then —

“Wow, that island really, really sucked!” Luffy says, turning back to his crew.

Sanji lets out a puff of smoke as Usopp slumps down against the main mast with a groan.

“You can say that again.”

“What happened?” Robin asks.

Sanji sighs, shaking his head, “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

Below deck, Chopper dabs at your wounds with expert ease as you sit very still on the kitchen island and Zoro watches from the sofa, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“These surface wounds aren’t that bad but…” Chopper trails off, his eyes running over the network of old scars that mar your skin, layers and layers of them — down your arms and along your torso.

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice smooth as polished marble, “I’m —” you swallow, “I’m fine.”

And if it weren’t for the hiccup, the slight hitch in your breath, you would’ve been utterly convincing. Your expression is flat, your voice, even more so.

Across the room, Zoro makes disbelieving noise, “If it hurts, just say so. Chopper’ll fix it.”

“I’m… I’m fine,” you say again, tugging at the sleeve of your torn shift, your tone now a bit more honest, your words tired and resigned. Zoro looks to Chopper, who gives a faint nod of acquiescence before Zoro stands up and jerks his head towards the door.

“Cook’s right — you should wash up before dinner.”

You follow him down the hallway, through a small door that leads into a washroom that’s much cleaner than one might expect a ship’s bathroom to be. A large, wooden soaking tub sits in the middle of the room, and a clean change of clothes has already been laid out on a bench next to the bath.

Zoro grunts after he takes a once-over of the room, satisfied that all’s in order, and makes to leave.

You tug at his sleeve, head lowered.

“Can you…” you lick your lips, “can you stay?”

Zoro glances down at your fingers curled into his shirt sleeve before his eyes flick up to find your face. You’re looking at some indiscriminate point over his left shoulder, but your lips are trembling and your jaw is set.

He lets out a long breath, slowly twisting his body towards the room and you.

“Sure.”

He makes a show of turning around to face the door as you slip off your clothes and sink into the steaming bath water. A long exhale and the light slosh of water is all the indication he gets that it’s safe to turn back around.

He leans himself against the door, his swords propped on his shoulder, his head lolled back, his eyes closed.

He listens to the soft sounds of the water, to the faint splashes as you rub the grit and grime from your skin, inch by inch.

“We were only allowed to bathe as a reward for doing a good deed.”

Your voice makes him open his eyes, his gaze focusing in on the shape of you, nearly submerged in the bathtub, your hair slick and sticking to your pale shoulders. Even in this dim lighting, he can see the patterns your scars make against your skin. Water glimmers along the contours of your face as you run your palms along your cheeks, rubbing at them till they’re ruddy with color.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Quit bein’ so rough,” he moves forward without thinking, reaching out a hand to help you with some of the more stubborn pieces of dirt but he pauses, realizing how utterly still you’ve gone.

You stare at him for a long moment before relaxing back into the water and shifting towards the edge of the tub to allow him better access.

He runs a callused thumb along your cheekbones, wiping away the remaining dirt there.

“What was a ‘good deed’?” he asks, letting the tips of his fingers skim the warm water’s surface.

You shrug, “Mostly anything that made Mr. Fox happy… so all of us would —” you take another breath, your hand opening and closing beneath the surface of the still bath water, “we’d spend all our waking hours trying to think of something — anything — that’d please him. No matter how small… no matter how… terrible.”

“This Mr. Fox… what was his deal, anyway?”

You stare down into the dark water, now rapidly cooling from warm to lukewarm.

You take a deep breath, lifting a hand out of the water to distort the image of your ghostly reflection.

“He… was a liar. Except… he could make all his lies sound like the truth.”

“It was uncanny, really,” Sanji says, now at full throttle in the kitchen prepping for dinner service, Usopp lounging on sofa, his feet propped up on the hanging table.

Chopper and Robin both frown.

“What do you mean?” Robin asks.

“It was like… the guy could say anything and make it sound like the truth — even though you knew somewhere inside you that it can’t be real. Like — he could tell you the sky was green and every single part of you would believe him, even though you’re outside and starin’ up at the sky.”

“Yeah! Like he said I’d never be able to beat him and… for a second, I kinda almost believed him!” Luffy offers, munching on a bushel of apples and spitting out the seeds.

Robin’s brows furrow, tapping at her chin with a thin finger.

“It sounds like the Uso-Uso no Mi…”

“Ugh, what a weird, scary power…” Chopper shudders, shaking his head, his tiny hooved hands coming up to cup his cheeks, “I’m sure it’d mess with people’s heads!”

“It sure did. But he also used it to feed false information to the Marines,” Nami says, slipping through the half-opened door to join the rest of the crew on the sofa, “ran a series of taverns that just so happened to be situated in major Marine towns.”

Sanji glances up from a huge, steaming pan of paella, a cigarette caught between his teeth.

“So what was his end goal then? Just to fuck over the Marines?”

Back in the bathroom, you run your fingers along the edge of the tub as if playing an invisible piano.

“Power, domination… I don’t think he had a goal or purpose… I think… he just got off on it…”

Your voice is light, conversational, almost as if you were talking about the weather. But Zoro sees the glazed look in your eyes, the tightness at the edges of your lips.

“You called me a liar,” he says, reaching into the tub and flicking you lightly with a bit of water.

You blink, a smile threatening the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah… guess I did.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

He pulls out his hand and wipes it on a towel, leaning back to stare at you.

You shrug, “Sometimes… people lie to others, and sometimes, people lie to themselves. It’s the ones we tell ourselves that are always the most convincing.”

“I don’t lie. ‘Specially not to myself.”

You let out a tiny laugh, “But I guess… sometimes, if you believe in something hard enough… it’ll just start to be come the truth.”

There’s a note of… something in your voice that Zoro doesn’t like, but he can’t put a name to the feeling so he stays quiet as you continue the laborious work of scrubbing your skin clean, till all the water in the tub’s gone cold.

The rest of the evening passes as most evenings on the Merry do after a big fight — with a lot of food and even more booze. With music and laughter, and new crew member, sitting in the corner, watching mostly and smiling occasionally. No one pushes you, though Sanji does make a valiant effort in getting you to admit to your favorite foods, and Luffy tries two or three times to drag you into the more raucous celebrations (mostly involving way too much meat being roasted on a spike).

No one questions the way Zoro never wanders too far.

No one questions the way your eyes track him around the room, or how, even when Robin and Nami finally get a laugh out of you, you still instinctively searched for Zoro’s figure till you’ve found it in the other corner, a bottle caught between his lips, his eyes half-shut but his gaze caught on you like a fish to a seaman’s hook.

act ii: everything and nothing

A week passes, and then another. And you slowly, but surely, come out of your shell — it’s a strange sort of blossoming, the way you reveal yourself in shards and pieces, jagged and jarring. The shrapnel bits of your personality peaking out amidst the flotsam and jetsam of all your manifold defense mechanisms.

You’re a brilliant liar, but even better at spotting a lie, and it’s a thing that none of the crew had ever really thought about until you’d come along, casually poking holes in their daily deceits.

“Mm! These pancakes are perfect! Just the way I like them!”

“The new dress looks beautiful, Nami.”

“I absolutely did not finish the last bag of popcorn… Luffy did it!”

You clear your throat.

“Okay fine… the pancakes were really good but… but I like them… sweeter.”

“The dress is… well, everything looks gorgeous on you, of course, you know that Nami! But — the color… clashes just a tiny little bit with your… hair.”

“I might’ve uh… taken a few bites out of the popcorn bag… last night… but I was keeping watch and I needed to keep my energy up!”

Robin titters, a sphinx-like smile spreading across her lips.

“Apparently, 60% of people lie at least once every 10 minutes,” she says, casually taking a sip of orange juice as Zoro runs through his daily training regime, seemingly unbothered by the chaos currently taking place on the main deck regarding the “popcorn incident”.

“Dunno why people bother,” Zoro says, working through a set of single-armed burpees.

“I suppose it’s just human nature. We want other people to like us… so we say what we think they might want to hear, instead of what we really think. It’s harmless, mostly,” Robin remarks, leaning back against a white planter box, basking in the shade of the tangerine trees.

“Till it isn’t,” Zoro says, finishing up his workout and pushing himself up for a long stretch. He casts his eyes once more towards where you’re now laughing as Usopp tries to think of some new tall tale to tell.

It only takes you half a second to turn your head, and Zoro wonders at the kind of life you might’ve led to make you so sensitive to another person’s gaze. What must’ve happened to warrant this kind of alertness? But then again, he’d been a hunter long enough to know exactly what being hunted looks like.

He caught a glimpse of it at the compound but — still, his fingers itch toward his swords, his jaw clenches tight enough for Robin to cock her head and raise a brow.

“Yes… until it isn’t…” she echoes, her eyes also trailing towards you.

Zoro holds your gaze for a second before rolling his shoulders and looking away, squinting at the far horizon.

“Oi. Looks like trouble.”

Robin straightens, and a second later, Chopper sounds the alarm from the crow’s nest.

“Marines! Marines!”

There is the shink of swords being drawn, the gentle echo of Robin’s voice as her arms multiply. There’s canon fire and a lot of yelling. But at the end, there’s only bodies and blood and the tattered remains of the Marine’s ship, bobbing in the stained sea below them.

“Should we go after them?” Sanji asks, lighting up a cig, watching as the tiny emergency boat rows off into the distance.

“Nah. We’ll be alright!” Luffy says, wiping a hand across his nose.

Zoro turns towards you, sheathing his swords.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say, your voice immediately taking on an unctuous sheen that makes Zoro take a step closer.

“You hurt anywhere?” he runs an appraising eye down your form and nods in the knowledge that at least you don’t look hurt.

“No… I —” you chew down on your bottom lip, fingers digging into the bare flesh of your arms. But you back away from him the moment he tries to take a step forward.

“Hey — quit that,” he taps at your wrist with the hilt of his sword, the touch hard but not harsh, forcing you to pull away.

“It’s — I’m — I’m alright,” you say, insistent and mollifying. Zoro runs his thumb against the hilt of his blades and scoffs.

“Liar,” he says, tossing the word casually back at you in a way that makes your breath hitch. Then, he turns, and marches below decks to tend to his own wounds.

A deafening silence rings out around you as you stare down at the ships blood-drenched planks before Robin places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“C’mon now — lets get your back looked at.”

Below decks, you find Zoro dabbing gingerly at a large slash on his right arm.

“Here, you’ve missed a spot —” you reach out to take the iodine soaked cloth from Zoro’s hand, only to have him jerk away. You flinch back, wide-eyed.

Zoro softens, if only ever so slightly.

“I’m fine,” he says, a harsh edge to his voice as he goes back to trying to twist around himself enough to see the spot he’s missed. You purse your lips, watching him for a second, two seconds, three — before you glance back at the place Robin had been only to realize that she’d gone.

“May… I?” you reach out your hand, palm up, tentative and imploring. But you hold yourself still, waiting for Zoro to make the next move. And he does, eventually, sighing as he turns back around to drop the piece of cloth into your palm.

You reach forward as he turns to his side, offering up his arm as you slowly start to wipe away at the bits of dried blood caking his skin to reveal the raw, red gash, the angry, raised flesh around it. You lean forward, blowing slightly as you daub at the wound, making your way down his bicep till the entire cut’s been coated in iodine.

“There. All done.”

You lean back to toss the cloth into the sink but Zoro stops you. He catches your wrist in his good hand and with a slight tug, has you toppling forward towards his chest.

“Turn around.”

His voice is soft, but firm. And it leaves no room for protests as you stare at him for a long moment before sighing and resigning yourself to your fate. You turn to show him your back.

A disgruntled huff is all you get before you hear the distinct sounds of Zoro rummaging around the first aide kit for a fresh piece of cloth, and the pop of the iodine bottle opening again.

“Who did this?” he asks as he slowly reaches out to tug a thin spike from your skin, small as a needle and just as sharp. You bite back a wince.

“The porcupine guy…” your voice trails off as Zoro grunts.

“Right.”

He tugs out another spike; it tinks against the metal of the sink as he tosses it away. A brief sting, and then the cooling feeling of the iodine cloth.

After a few minutes of working in silence, Zoro sighs.

“Geez, he really got you bad, didn’t he?”

“Not really,” you say, and you feel Zoro’s hands pause.

“No?”

You shake your head, “I’ve… been through much worse… and lived to tell the tale so…”

Zoro doesn’t need to ask to know that you’re talking about your past on the island, inside that windowless compound. He can see it in the scars that mar nearly the entirety of your back, the criss-cross lines of what looks like knife-wounds, the occasional puckered marks that look suspiciously like burns. He steels himself then, and continues to work — plucking out a spike and cleaning out the wound.

“You were right,” he says, when he finally finishes cleaning up your back and you both straighten to face each other. He wipes his hands clean and winces slightly as he flexes his newly bandaged arm.

“Right about what?” your voice is innocent, but the flash in your eyes tells him that you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“That first day — I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t… make sure that no one ever hurt you again.”

His fingers curl into fists at his sides and you can see the muscle ticking in his jaw as he clenches his teeth.

You reach out, tracing a thumb along his jawline. When you pull back, there’s a small daub of blood on your finger and you wipe it away without breaking his gaze.

“No, you couldn’t but… you tried.”

Zoro scoffs, “Tryin’s not good enough.”

“No,” you jerk up to glare at him, your voice harsh in a way that he’s only ever heard right after they’d rescued you, the edges of your words raw and ragged as a serrated blade, “trying is everything.”

interlude: truth or dare

It gets better after that, and you grow and bloom and grow some more. Zoro does too, though in his own way — he gets stronger, gets faster, hits harder. And though you two never quite agree on anything, he is always by your side, and you’re somehow always by his.

“’M not even a lil drunk —”

“Liar~” you singsong, giggling as Zoro shakes his head, tipping the remains of a bottle of sake back down his throat before wiping at his lips with the back of his hand.

“Mm… ‘s that all I am to you? Just another guy who lies?” Zoro swings lazily on the hammock hung on the main deck, his eyes half-lidded and alight with the dancing firelight.

“Stupid question — drink,” you answer, bringing our own bottle up to your lips.

Zoro laughs, quiet and pleased as he reaches for a new bottle.

“Alright then — truth or dare?” he asks, uncorking the new bottle and reaching out to offer you some. You bat him away, your movements languid and heavy, your back pressed against a heavy wooden barrel, one leg propped up to support your arm, the other stretched out long and lithe in front of you.

“Truth,” you say, your voice easy, your smile even more so.

“Alright then — do you trust me?” Zoro’s voice dips, and your eyes flash up. There’s a sobering light somewhere behind the alcohol soaked haze clouding his gaze and you can tell by the steadiness of his hands that he’s not nearly as drunk as he might seem.

“What do you mean?” you ask, casually evading the question.

Zoro tuts, “’S not an answer.”

“I’m asking for a clarification.”

Zoro shakes his head, taking another soft swig, “Simple question — do you trust me?”

You purse your lips, mulling over the myriad answers you could provide and make it sound like the truth. But that’s not really how the game goes. So instead, you take a deep breath.

“I — I want to,” and it’s the way your voice breaks that makes it honest, the way you can’t hold the truth in by the seams of your careful cadence, no matter how hard you try to smooth out the ragged edges.

“So… that’s a no,” Zoro says, keeping his tone even. You can’t help reaching for him — imploring.

“Not yet but —”

“Why?”

“Why… what?”

“I guess…” Zoro leans back, casting his eyes up at the wild, dark sky, careening above the ship in an ecstatic spread of stars and, long sinuous, moon-silvered clouds, “why d’you want to trust me? Doesn’t seem like something you’d be eager to do after… y’know, everything.”

You lick your lips and stare into the empty bottom of your glass.

“Honestly?” you say, “because you’re kind of a shit liar —”

Zoro lets out a soft, rumbling laugh, but doesn’t deny it.

“But… also because you’re the only person I’ve met who… who treats words so carefully — I mean…” you swallow, leaning forward slightly as Zoro drops his gaze back down to you, “it’s like — my whole life has just been people saying things they don’t really mean, and never meaning what they say, and then trying to figure out what’s really happening — trying to say the right thing, not the thing you mean but the thing you think they’d want to hear —” your breath quickens, “and — and if you don’t or if you’re bad at it, then bad things happen to you and the people you care about —”

“Hey.”

A hand presses down on your shoulder and you gasp, your breath knifing through your chest as you clasp your shaking hands to your sternum.

“Breathe. You’re okay.”

You nod, unable to say anything as Zoro sits in front of you, his hand like an anchor in a summer storm, keeping you tethered.

You breathe and take stock of your limbs — feet, legs, hands, arms. It’s then that you realize Zoro’s crouching in front of you, your drink glass resting by his side.

“Thanks,” you say, nodding as he gives your shoulder a slight squeeze before pulling away. Physical touch has never been one of your strong points, and it seems Zoro’s learned that without you ever having to tell him.

It’s strange — the sudden knowledge that somehow, his understanding of you has been wordless and implicit. Complete, from nearly the day the Straw Hats had picked you up on that island. You’d never had to explain, never had to draw your boundaries.

And yet somehow, he knew. As if he’d always just known.

“Truth or dare?” you ask him, your voice barely a whisper, shifting to make more space for him on the dark deck of the ship’s forecastle. Zoro sits down in front of you, crossing his legs.

“Dare.”

You don’t fight the grin as it lifts the side of your lips.

The quiet pulses between the pair of you like a heartbeat.

“Tell me a secret.”

“Gotta be more specific,” Zoro’s grin lilts to mirror your own.

“Any secret,” you say, “something you… something you wouldn’t otherwise say out loud.”

“Isn’t that what a secret’s supposed to be? Something you don’t say?”

You laugh, tasting the sound like a mouthful of champagne, bubbling up through you and spiraling towards the endless summer’s night.

“Quit stalling!”

“Think I wanna kiss you.”

A gasp slices through the air between you. You feel the weight of it in your throat, the white-hot flicker of his gaze as he glances down at your lips. You wet them without thinking, and as Zoro lean’s in, you can sense the night around you slowly coalescing into something warm, something solid. Like a marble clutched in a child’s palm, or a pearl held on an oyster’s velvet tongue.

“Truth or dare?” he asks.

He stops just short of your lips, his nose almost grazing yours. You can nearly taste the sweet sake on his breath —

“Dare.”

“Close your eyes.”

Your lashes flutter and for a second, an eternity revolves in the space between your heartbeats. Faintly, you register the gentle rocking of the ship as an indolent wave catches her starboard side.

You close your eyes.

For a second, there is space. For a second, there is breath. For a second, there is gravity. And then — all of that disappears. All of it eclipsed by the kiss. And then, the kiss is all there is.

All there was, and ever will be.

There’s a graze of fingers against skin, the bump of legs against legs against thighs against knees — there’s knuckles and noses and hair falling, hair being tugged into closing fists. There’s the clink-clink-clink of earrings, and the clatter-clap-clat of swords and hilts and rough, wooden planks.

There’s the dull thunk and baseline rumble of a glass being knocked over and rolling away.

But all of that is afterthought. All of that is supplement, a postscript, marginalia and footnotes.

Because there, then — there is only the kiss, and nothing but the kiss: a catastrophe of inevitability, smooth as a secret, and whisper-sweet.

When the pair of you pull away, there’s a chaos of wings against your ribcage.

There’s the honeyed, lambent light in Zoro’s eyes as he grins down at you.

“Truth — or dare,” a breathless gasp punctuates your words.

Zoro’s grin only grows as he tips your chin back between his thumb and forefinger.

“Dare.”

It’s only then that you realize his cheeks are wine-flushed, his chest rising and falling nearly as fast as yours. You swallow slow and track his eyes as he watches the pale bob of your throat.

“Kiss me again.”

act iii: fool’s gold

It takes all of three hours for Sanji to get something out of Zoro, and three days before Robin and Nami manage to wheedle something out of you.

“No seriously! Things have been different since that one party we had —” Nami presses her palm to the kitchen table, here eyes wide. Robin sits on the couch, her expression one of mixed amusement and near academic interest.

“Different how?” you reach into the cookie jar and fish out a crumbled corner of what used to be a double chocolate chip cookie.

“Ugh! You know what I mean!” Nami turns to Robin, motioning towards you, “Help me here!”

Robin laughs, tossing up a graceful hand, “I suppose something does seem… changed.”

“Something?” you ask, licking at a smudge of chocolate on your thumb.

“Well…” Robin says, drawing out the syllable and making to examine the nails on her long, thin fingers, “it’s definitely not nothing.”

You allow yourself a smile, “Something’s definitely not nothing.”

Nami lets out a frustrated groan, but she’s smiling too.

It’s been long enough that you’d learned to relax around them, and you’d since also learned that nothing is so sacred as the sanctity of sisterhood. That bonds between friends might be forged in fire and brimstone, but bonds between women are forged in cinder and smoke — in the wreckage of after, when the fighting’s been done and all that’s left is the mending.

“What’s all this giggling about?” Zoro ducks into the half-ajar door, staring at the three of you.

Nami cocks an eyebrow; Robin shrugs.

You, for your part, smile and bat your lashes.

“Oh nothing,” you say.

“Just girl-talk,” offers Nami.

“Nothing to interest a legendary swordsman like yourself,” Robin polishes off.

Zoro’s eyes narrow, his gaze jumping between the three of you before it lands on you and he scoffs.

“Yeah, whatever. We’re docking soon.”

And that’s all he offers before sauntering back out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind him, but not before you catch sight of the redness at the tips of his ears as he hurries away.

You give it a beat of three seconds before pushing to your feet and following after, humming to yourself. Behind you, Nami and Robin share a knowing look.

“Definitely not nothing,” Robin says as she stands to follow you.

The island, if it can even be called that, is nothing more than a rough conglomeration of steep cliffs strapped together by a thin band of land barely wide enough to be categorized as a beach.

“Well! This is something!” Luffy declares, his arms akimbo on his hips as he stares at the island.

“Yeah… it’s uh… something for sure,” Usopp agrees, making a face as he squints at the cluster of rocks that look more like the jagged edges of a broken bottle than any kind of proper land formation.

“We’ll just anchor here for the night… get some good rest, and then...” Sanji’s words trail off, interrupted by a ghostly wail that rises from the gathering of dark cliffs, turning them into an echo chamber until it seems to rumble through the sand beneath them.

“… gold, all gold! — no, not a liar — please!”

A shiver etches itself up your spine and instinctively, you wrap your arms around yourself.

Zoro steps out in front of you, as if to shield you from whatever might come. His thumb presses against the hilt of his swords, his shoulders tense as corded wire.

“Uh… everyone else heard that too, right?” Chopper asks, peaking out from around Robin’s legs.

“Yep. Definitely not just you,” Sanji confirms.

Luffy grins, “Seems like there’s someone else on this island! Maybe they can show us around!”

Time passes by strangely on the island — one minute, the sun is still hanging low on the far horizon, and the next, the sky is the color of a bullet wound, darkness seeping in around the horizon.

“Whoever’s here on the island — they sure aren’t making it — easy —” Sanji grunts as he hoists himself up a slippery piece of rock face, sweat glistening on his forehead as he squints into the looming blackness.

“Luffy? You sure you know where we’re going?” Nami shouts, her voice ringing back in a way that makes everyone wince and cover their ears.

Zoro grabs your elbow a second before you slip, fingers digging into your flesh even as you steady yourself against him.

“Sorry — thanks,” you say, unsure of which one you really mean.

“Yeah! I can smell something — like a campfire! And… cooking!” Luffy’s voice calls back from somewhere in the gathering dark. Everyone shares a glance before bracing themselves and trudging on.

By the time you all catch up to Luffy, no one is certain of what time it is, only that it’s dark. But the kind of darkness that seems to cling to the skin — a darkness so dense it starts to take on shape and weight.

It presses in around you and you feel your breaths shortening in your chest.

Beside you, Zoro reaches out to brace a hand at the small of your back.

“Oh! I see a light ahead! C’mon!” Luffy’s voice rings out from somewhere up ahead, followed by the patter of sandals on stone. The rest of you follow, and then all too suddenly, light flickers to life in what seems to be a huge, subterranean cave deep within the cliffs of the island. It casts stark shadows against the slick, cavernous walls.

You frown, goosebumps rising along your arms and legs.

But before you have time to dwell on the wrongness of something there, Luffy’s voice snags your attention like a thread on an errant splinter.

“Hi! Oh, wow — that looks delicious!”

You turn a corner to find Luffy hunkering down over a blazing campfire and the silhouette of someone sitting opposite him, a sharp spike held out in front of them, turning slowly over the flickering flames.

“Oh… please… come join me — sit and listen to a story — I have so many stories — so many adventures to share!” the figure across the fire seems to quiver with the dancing flames, his voice filling up the whole of the cave, loud and boisterous and eager. But strange and hollow too.

You frown, chewing on the insides of your cheeks.

Ahead of you, Usopp and Chopper both take tentative seats next to Luffy, who had cheerfully plopped down next to the fire.

“Wow, this looks great! Are you here by yourself? I’m here with my crew! Are you a pirate too?” Luffy asks, his endless enthusiasm pouring from him like a spring.

Robin, Nami, and Sanji all hold back, but you take a step forward, and then another. Something compelling you towards the voice, pulling you closer. There’s a desperation, a loneliness with which you’re all too familiar — you inch closer, and then closer, till you’re almost level with Luffy, and you lower yourself to the ground next to him, Zoro dropping down beside you, his knee pressing against your leg in a silent reassurance.

“Come… come closer! It’s a good story — I promise!”

“Truth,” you mutter, just beneath your breath. Beside you, Zoro lets out a puff of breath, though his stance doesn’t loosen.

Behind you, you can hear the distinct sounds of the rest of the crew drawing just a step closer.

“Once upon a time… there was a city on an island where everything, and I mean everything was made of gold!”

The figure across the fire sounds cheered, elated even. Behind you, you feel Nami take half a step closer. Cold seeps into your veins despite the warm, dancing flames, and your fingers dig into the hard packed earth beneath you.

“I found it — I did! With my crew — the best sailors and seamen around! But the king… he was greedy! And he wanted his own men to take the treasures, so he forced me to lead them to the city again —”

“Truth,” you say again, but something in the tone of the figure’s voice makes you frown.

“Except… the city had gone… and there was nothing left… nothing but lies!”

You shudder back, swallowing hard. All around you, the darkness presses in with long, thin tendrils like so many loving fingers. The fire flares up, casting sparks up towards the cave’s ceiling, where stalagmites hang like broken teeth in a petrified monster’s maw.

“Oh… don’t be scared… come back — I won’t hurt you —”

“Liar!” you spit, the word scraping its way out of your throat.

Zoro leaps to his feet just as Luffy does the same. The fire flares again, a second before snuffing itself out, but in that second, you finally catch sight of the figure, hooded in shadow, sitting across from you — it has the shape of a man, tall and broad, but the limbs of a spindle-legged monster. It wears the darkness like a cloak, with beady, red eyes and a too-wide mouth.

“Don’t! Call me a liar! That’s what they called me — that’s what they called when they killed me! KILLED ME FOR TELLING THE TRUTH!”

You scramble back, Zoro nearly lifting you off the ground in his haste to pull you away. Luffy whips back his arm and swings it forward but all it catches is tendrils of shadow.

“Hey! That’s not nice!” he shakes off his fist, frowning as he stares at the bits of wriggling darkness still clinging to his skin.

“Run!” you shout as everyone bolts for the lightless path you all took to get to the heart of the cave.

“NOT A LIAR! NOT A LIAR! I FOUND IT! THE CITY! BELIEVE ME! BELIEVE ME!”

You clap your hands around your ears and race for what you hope is the exit. Behind you, you can hear the distinct sounds of Zoro’s blades whistling through the air*.*

“Damnit! How’dyou fight a shadow? There’s nothin’ to hit!”

“Quit tryna hit it and just run!” Sanji’s voice answers a second before he breezes passed you.

“Why don’t you believe me? Why?!”

“We — I believe you!” you shout, your chest a thundering mess of footfalls and scrambling bodies, and against all instinct, you turn around to face the darkness again, cupping your hands around your mouth, “I believe you! I know — I know you’re telling the truth!”

“What’re you doing?” Zoro asks, leveling himself by your side, his arm pressing against yours. Behind you, the thinnest sliver of light is creeping into the cave from what you assume is the entrance.

Morning. Has it really been that long?

Time is the greatest liar, you remember, suddenly, violently, the thought tearing through you like teeth.

“I — he’s telling the truth,” you say through gritted teeth, even as you take a few steps back. Inside the cave, the figure seems to shrink back from the encroaching light.

“What truth?” Zoro asks, his blade held aloft, his stance wide and ready.

“All of it,” you say, forcing your voice to be gentle, turning your face back towards the darkness, “I know, I can hear it — I know you’re telling the truth — about the island, the city — all of it!”

“Yes… all I wanted was to get back to the city… but… no one believe me… and I died… I died for it!”

“I know, and I’m sorry… no one should be punished for telling the truth —” your voice cracks.

“I tried!”

“I know…” you say as the figure shrinks and shrinks and shrinks and the light behind you grows and grows and grows, until you can feel the warm seeping into the skin of your back.

“And trying is everything,” you say, biting your lip as Zoro wraps an arm around your waist.

“Come with me… I’ll take you to the city — we can go together!”

You shake your head, heat prickling at your eyes as you turn away from the darkness of the cave and towards the light of the oncoming day.

“Liar…” the word falls from you like a rock, or a tear, cast off the cliff that greets you and Zoro as you both stare over the edge. The rest of the crew is nowhere to be found, but Zoro’s arm is still around your waist, and you can feel his warm breath by your cheek.

“Hey — do you trust me?”

You look up; in the dawning, morning light, Zoro, with his sun-kissed skin and dark moss hair appears to be limned in gold.

And maybe it’s the air, or the sea, or simply the angry pieces of this jagged, left-behind island of shadows like broken teeth trying to tear apart the sky, conducting his voice into a cacophony of echoes that sing and scream through the crags and eves of the valley beneath — but the whole island seems to reverberate with the question —

Do you trust me?

You close your eyes and breath. When you open them again, your heartbeat is steady. And when you speak, the rising sun streaks the tips of the saw-toothed peaks in strokes of molten gold. The valleys beneath you conduct your answer into an entire single-syllabled symphony —

Yes.

You feel his arm tighten around your waist, the wind as it tangles soft fingers in your hair. All around you, everything is light, and light, and light.

“Jump!”

You close your eyes, and jump.

-----

footnotes/appendix

uso-uso no mi translates to "lie-lie fruit"; i made it up bc it would be too op to have in the actual animanga i think

the "acts" refer to a classical 3-act structure that most movies/plays/scripts are written in: setup, confrontation, and resolution... with a smattering of other things sprinkled in for ~vibes~

in much of classical japanese and chinese mythology, foxes are associated with trickers and lies, often turning into beautiful women to deceive men, luring them into forests and mountains before taking their lives

the "figure" in the last scene is... can you guess? noland! kudos to anyone who figured it out as they were reading *\ (>o<) /*

did i absolutely take the "do you trust me" line from disney's aladdin??? HELL YEAH i did !!!! tru trust is my kink u__u

[chris-prank]

Do you have any fun facts or ideas about your little guys (gender neutrally) that you haven't shared/ properly shared yet?

I’m glad I can share some LOREEEE 😆

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Martin

🪓 I don’t know if it was clear from my drawings in part 1, but Martin is in fact trans! I didn’t mention it explicitly because I didn't find a way to write it in organically. In future works his transness will be mentioned and have more of an importance, but don’t worry guys he won’t be defined by it only!

🪓 When the apocalypse started, he stayed by his mothers side to protect and care for her, just like she did to him when he was small. He really loved his mother dearly. One of his earrings is actually from her!

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Atlas

💿 Currently in his timeline, Atlas is the most advanced android on earth and not only because of the coding Hydrotech gave him. When he was saved by the reader, his program changed, making him more independent and capable of human feelings

💿 There’s a childproof setting on Atlas, meaning that his private parts can be retracted inside of him. In his main story, it is still active, since the reader didn’t canonically do anything with him yet so they don’t know about it.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Esteban

📈 He has ✨ daddy issues ✨, but more seriously he really has a bad relationship with him. When Esteban was younger he wanted to prove to his father his worth, but in adulthood he realized that he would never be proud of his accomplishments. There’s still a part of him that yearns for it, but he doesn’t expect it anymore.

📈 I hinted at it in my previous posts, but Esteban really enjoys cooking and he is skilled at it too! He especially loves to be able to make food for his partner! To him, the effort that goes into a meal is the best way to show the extent of his feelings!

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Dr. Seraph

🧪 He turned to a life of crime because people in the scientific world didn’t believe that his ideas were possible, so he couldn’t explore his whole potential. Fatalité was the one to approach him and to offer him a job in exchange for limitless funding.

🧪 Vincent even used to have a small crush on Fatalité, since he was the first to believe in him. But soon it died down because of the verbal and physical abuse.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Restructuring

The blast doors on my office were stronger then the ones on most bunkers. They matched the one's on the company dorms AND my personal rooms. Thing is? They weren't designed to hold out forever. In fact, I was pretty sure they were a pretty bit of security theater, just to let us fleshys feel safe.

We weren't.

Not a single moment of a single day.

The pay was unmatched. But then again, it'd HAVE to be, with the mortality rate. The morbidity rate on top, too. You didn't take a job like this unless you were crazy. Or, you know, desperate. College loans, man. They get you over a barrel and don't let up. But a few years of this? I'd be clear an free~

Few MORE years? I'd ever have a tasty little nest egg to fall back on, in case of emergencies. I just... you know, had to play it smart. Be really, REALLY careful.

No slacking off. No getting comfortable. Vigilance and best manners. Then we all get to go home alive. Because what's out there? In the Labs? Those guys can pop diamonds like we crush packing peanuts. Highest grade, fancy ass, metal bars of specialty blend metals? Tied up in pretty little bows.

They may LOOK like some sort of waifish boy band... but God, they are NOT. They are really, REALLY not. And their "personality" matrix program thingies? Apparently still a work in progress. A LONG work in progress.

People have fucking DIED.

But does management care? Of course not. Pay out some life insurance. "It was an accident on the job". And "of COURSE steps will be taken to insure to never happens again". Ha! My ass, it is. And my ass, they are. They aren't doing SHIT. Nor are they GOING too. They're in too deep with this project, whatever it is. And us?

Well WE'RE expendable.

Just the cost of doing business.

I watch bleeding edge technology move like dancers, room to room. The wall of screen lighting up my cramped little office. The mini-fridge hums and the fan whirrs, filling the silence. I try to spot FM-036 on one of the screens. I can't find him and it makes me nervous.

He might be hiding. Trying to be polite, in his own way. Since there was an incident.

I FUCKING TOLD Ric not to call them "it"! I TOLD him! It aggravates them. Provokes. You don't DO that with something... some ONE, with that much physical power. 36 put their fist through his SHOULDER. And the God damned wall! He might LOSE his arm, which? Given their ability to calculate better then most supercomputers?

Was probably the point.

I notice one of the androids messing with a computer in a lab. Fuck. I lean forward, hating drawing their attention but knowing I have to do my damn job. I press on the speaker system for that room after a quick glance at the ID on their jumpsuit.

"FM-047, could you please not touch that? I know you are aware that you are not supposed to tamper, meddle, or otherwise engage with the researchers notes or electronics."

The android stop typing. Their head rolling up and to the side to look directly at the camera, their body perfectly still. The angle borders on impossible. Almost owlish, nearly snake like. All perfectly smooth movements effortlessly controlled. Joint not limited by human designs. His face is bemused. Pleasant.

"Of course, night gaurd. My mistake. Thank you for correcting me." He replies, something almost like laughter, nearly like mocking, but not quite, in his smooth voice. They always sound like they are... HUMORING us. Working around us.

It sends a jolt of cold fear though my veins.

I... I REALLY hate talking to the androids.

Pity, they seem to like talking to ME.

"I was unaware you were on shift tonight. I will update the others. It's good to hear your voice again, you seemed nervous, last time we spoke."

Yeah. Because you were asking PERSONAL QUESTIONS. Oh, sure, they had dressed them up as "We're so CURIOUS about Humans~☆" but I wasn't an IDIOT. You Did NOT, under ANY circumstances, try to bond with the machines. NO chatting. That was lesson number one from my trainer.

And Frank? Frank had seen too many "but THIS time it's DIFFERENT! We're FWIENDS~!" Incidents end in unspeakable carnage. Lost too many noobies. We DO NOT chat! With the machines!!! DO. NOT.

"Ah~, you made her nervous again, FM-047" came from a different screen. I flinched. Jerked back so I could see it. Oh god. "Besides, I told you. The calculations showed she wasnt going anywhere. The 'money' is too good."

The androids had stopped. Turned, in some cases unnaturally, to stare up at the cameras. At me. It was a blatant show of how interconnected they were. How distance meant nothing to them. How... how enmeshed they were, in the Lab's systems.

COULD they see me?

I didn't want to know. I NEEDED not to know. If only so I could continue to sleep at night.

They smiled, clearly hoping I'd engage. I wanted to. God did I want too. Wanted to demand "what calculations" and for them to STOP looking at me like that. But I didn't. With tense muscles I careful lifted my finger from the speaker system's button and leaned back. Crossed my arms like I was hugging myself.

Do. Not. Engage.

Remember what Frank taught you.

My... my office felt so claustrophobic. Painfully small. Across the screens before me, matching faces huffed laughs of condescending amusement. Some out right DID laugh. Bright and mean noises that echoed in silence of the night.

Humans? Frank had observed (and I kinda had to agree) were beneath them, in their minds. Flawed little flesh creatures. Annoying. It was something the scientists were trying to correct. Pretty sure they fucked up. Badly. And long, long ago.

Watching over these guys? Felt like watching over a sea of identical demons. Pretty, cruel, and incapable of human understanding. Fond of tormenting the nearest human for sport.

"Tell us, night gaurd, are you afraid?"

Oh that's just PETTY. Fucking cliché as shit, too. I mean, YES, obviously. But STILL. And... and you know what? Fuck it! Frank, gave me his number for a reason! I scramble for my belt. The communicator there. It barely rings.

"Mph, m'awake! Wus happin' kid? Come on, talk to me."

I ramble. Knees dragged up on my chair, curled in a ball. Frank's low, old man, rumble a soothing focal point. These guys are so creepy. I HATE that they KNOW that. Gleefully will TRY to be, sometimes. Can BACK IT UP.

"Hey, hey. I'll stay on the line, okay? You just need to make it to morning shift. They're are creepy lil shits, but they can't get past the doors. I'll come get you myself, okay? Walk you right back to the dorms. You're going to be okay, sweetheart."

I nod, even though I know the old man can't see me. Manage to crackle out a "Mmmhmm". The androids haven't stopped staring. The worst part? Is they realistically DONT HAVE TOO. Can stay, perfectly still, like statues... forever, if they wish.

Watching.

With those "I'm laughing at you" grins. That "aaaw, how PATHETIC" expression. As though I were a wretched little animal to be observed. I ask Frank to tell me about his new show. It's... it's something about socialites, right? Historical? He's glad too. Filling my office with the sound of his voice. It's gonna be a long shift.

I don't notice, high up on the wall, near the back of my office?

A security camera that I do not control. It's red light on.

The company has to be sure it's employees aren't slacking, after all! Aren't up to no good! But don't worry, THAT camera is connect to a database the androids shouldn't be able to access! Because we told them not too.

And THAT'S IT.

No one will learn of the security breach until its far, far too late.

Now? They watch as I watch them.

And it's just the beginning.

[sage-nebula]

I've seen some people surprised that Kit feels murderous toward Tails in the newest issue, but honestly? I really think this tracks. Setting aside his original programming to kill Tails, let's look at their relationship in chronological order, shall we?

As we know, they met in Eggperial City, where Kit tried to do his job and kill Tails. Tails quickly set to work on talking Kit down, which he did mostly successfully (mostly, because it all went to pot the instant Tails suggested they find Sonic). The thing is, if he has taken the time to look back on it (and I'm sure he has for reasons I'll get to), I don't think Kit sees Tails as really being kind in retrospect. I think he sees Tails as having manipulated him.

And the thing is: he's right.

Look at Tails's smirk after Kit shows surprise that Tails likes his gear. That's a got him smirk if I've ever seen one. Tails has clued into a vulnerability of Kit's that he can use to his advantage.

He further tries to draw similarities between them ("I'm different too and people didn't like that either") and asks leading questions ("you don't get support huh?") to get the result he wants. We have further confirmation that this is deliberate manipulation on Tails's part by his internal monologue about Kit's emotional instability.

Now, none of this is to say Tails is a bad person. Kit was genuinely trying to murder him and Tails was trying to de-escalate the situation to save his own life, without physically harming Kit if possible. As funny as memes about Tails murdering the Kukku Army are, generally he tries to avoid hurting others if he can. He's a nice boy.

But what happened after this?

Well, more specifically: Tails mentioned wanting to find Sonic for help, Kit attacked again, Tails knocked Kit out, and then after Kit comes to and they all leave the city . . .

. . . he's told that Surge died.

Surge was his one reason for living thanks to Starline's programming, and she died while Kit was unconscious because Kit fell for Tails's manipulation and then was overpowered. We don't get a look inside his head during the time when he believes Surge has died, but there is a strong possibility that he blamed himself, because if he had drowned Tails right away like he was supposed to, he could have gone to help Surge. But he didn't, so he couldn't, so she's dead. That's mostly on him, but he could easily resent Tails for it, too.

And speaking of resentment:

Kit finds out Surge is alive, and of course his first instinct is to think Sonic lied so that he could kill Surge off for good. So he goes to get revenge, only to be blocked by Tails. And that's when we get that gem of a line: "Why would you bother with me? You already have him."

Remember that, when he thought Surge was dead, he figured he could be used by Sonic instead:

But while he of course doesn't want to serve Sonic now, he has also realized that if Surge HAD actually died, Sonic would still have no use for him, because Sonic already has Tails. Tails, who can break his water tails easily. Tails, who easily manipulated him in Eggperial City. Tails, who disabled his water pack and knocked him out.

So far, Tails has bested Kit at every turn, leaving Kit to feel inferior and worthless by comparison.

The next time they meet, it is a trap where Kit is again supposed to kill Tails. And once more Tails is able to manipulate Kit into temporarily backing down:

Tails thinks Kit has gone back to being, if not friendly, then reasonable. But he hasn't. Kit stops specifically when Tails says Surge is hurting herself, because he doesn't want Surge to be hurt. And I think Tails knows that, and that's why he said it. But Kit also knows that he is being manipulated here, and his silence is him watching for his opportunity. Such as here:

Peep Kit in the second panel. He watches as Tails dives after Sonic. Had Tails hit the water, he would have been fried right along Sonic. But did Kit care? No. He watched. Surge could have easily killed Tails just as she (temporarily) killed Sonic, and Kit would not have cared at all, because at this point he does not see Tails as a friend: he sees him as a manipulative enemy.

This is further cemented by what he says and does at the end of the issue.

He uses his water tails to grab Tails and move him out of the way in the very same way that he does to Sonic. And he says, "I'll bury you all here." All, including Tails. While the focus is put on Sonic's anger because he is the main character, that doesn't change the fact that he is including Tails when he says that he will bury them all. He sees Tails as no different from Sonic, Starline, or Eggman. Tails manipulated and used him, just as the rest did. He just pretended to be nice while he did it.

So when he finally comes back in this most recent issue, it comes as no surprise to me that this is his attitude:

His history with Tails is extremely personal, and not in a good way. It can be easy to miss because most of the focus on Kit has been on his codependent relationship with Surge, and he hasn't openly voiced how he feels about Tails until this particular issue. But when you piece together every step of their relationship (Tails manipulating him, Tails overpowering him, Kit saying Sonic has no use for him because he has Tails), it paints a very clear picture that Kit feels every bit as suffering in Tails's shadow as Surge does in Sonic's. The only reasons why Kit isn't more proactive about it is because of his programming as a support figure. Supporting Surge comes before all else, so if Surge is hurting herself it's best to hang back. And if Surge doesn't want to go after the Restoration because it's a losing battle with just the two of them, then he needs to follow her lead.

But those feelings of resentment are still boiling under his surface. And now that he has the opportunity to unleash them, he won't miss the chance to strike.

[simpforboys]

Hi there! I have a request for Xavier Thorpe or Tyler Galpin if you are interested! Basically an Addams!reader in which she is the complete opposite of Wednesday, not because she's sunshine and rainbows, she's still an Addams after all, but she takes after their dad. Excitable about pain and murder and torture with a flair for the dramatics

just like your dad

xavier thorpe x fem!addams!reader

summary: xavier and you share a bond for art. while your styles are different, you share experiences.

warnings: fluff, swearing, you’re goth

works for blood related or adopted, no physical descriptions

i made the reader draw (idk why, when i was writing it just flowed to me) so sorry if this isn’t exactly what you wanted, i tried lol!!

ever since you and your sister, wednesday, had arrived at nevermore, there has been very different experiences.

while wednesday tended to be emotionless, full of hatred, yet somehow caring deep under her dead stare. you were passionate, expressed yourself, and family oriented.

seeing the way your father cherished and treated your mother has had a huge impact on you ever since you were little.

he would always go out of his way for your mother. he would kill for her, he would die for her, and he would live for her.

and you wanted to experience that same kind of love.

you kept an open mind at nevermore. after all, they did have a ton of students and a fencing program that you immediately joined.

your father had taught you, wednesday, and pugsley the fine arts of torture and pain from a very young age.

it was something you all had taken a liking too, but for you it drove deeper then just pain. it was more what pain could do on a psychological level, how it can mentally mess someone up for good.

and despite wednesday and her stone-cold self that she inherited from your mother, you had also taken on your father’s dramatic personality.

that’s why you easily made friends at nevermore. people liked being around you, especially xavier thorpe.

it wasn’t a lie to anyone that he found you enticing. you were gorgeous, unafraid, and most of all… different.

different in a sense that while others tended to shy away, you would stick up despite the judgement you could face. different in a way that drove xavier insane, and he needed to be around you constantly or else he felt like a part of him was missing.

“what are you up to, y/n?” xavier raised his eyebrows in confusion as you sat on a nearby bench that overlooked the quad of nevermore.

you peered up at him, showing him your sketch. you had drawn everyone in the quad with an explosion in the middle.

“what’s that for?” xavier asked, sitting next to you.

“just a thought i had, staring off at the crowd. isn’t explosions fun?” you smiled at the boy.

“watch..” xavier took his hand and held it over your drawing.

you watched in anticipation as the drawing you had done began to come to life. the little explosion blew up, causing everyone to come flying backwards.

“oh my…” you trailed off. xavier smiled at your excitement.

“do you want to come see my little get away?”

➽─────────────────❥

there wasn’t a silent moment on the way to xavier’s art shed.

you were blurting out ideas you had, and xavier just listened. he loved hearing you talk about things you were passionate about.

“when i was little, my father taught us all the importance of family. he was devastated when my uncle fester disappeared, but my mom was there to help him through it.”

“seeing love in a beautifully sickening way, it made me crave it. i want to be pursued like that.”

xavier stared at you. he felt his stomach ache as the two of you made it to his art shed. 

“y/n-”

“what’s this?” you accidentally interrupted him. 

xavier, now embarrassed, began to unlock his shed. 

“you’re not going to kill me, right?” you looked at the boy. 

“what? no-”

“shame.”

xavier stared at you in shock as you entered his little getaway. you looked around the small shed, artwork depicted everywhere.

“is this where you draw?”

“draw, paint, think. basically.”

xavier nervously watched as you inspected each painting carefully.

“what’s this?”

you pointed to a sketch that was you.

“that’s uh- nothing.” xavier quickly shut the sketch book. his tall frame was now extremely close to you.

“do you draw me, xavier?” you stared up at him through your lashes.

it was a new feeling inside of you, and you couldn’t tell what. but the way he had portrayed you in such a beautiful way, it made your heart… flutter?

you could see the embarrassment on his face. his cheeks tinted red and he avoided your gaze.

you suddenly were aware of the cologne he was wearing. the scent filled your nostrils as his big hand covered the sketch.

“you don’t need to be embarrassed. i’m quite a piece of art, huh?” you couldn’t help but tease him.

xavier smiled at you.

“look.”

you opened your own notebook and showed him the sketches you’ve drawn. not as well as xavier’s, but the creativity behind each one was evident.

there was a reoccurring theme of pain and torture behind each one that should’ve frightened xavier, but it only made him more insightful.

“is your mom and dad into all this stuff?”

you peered up at xavier.

“my father showed us all from a young age the beauty of pain and torture. i tend to focus on the physiological level rather then physical, unlike my sister.”

“you really are just like your dad, huh?” xavier started to tease you now.

“you could say that. i definitely take after him more than my mother.”

“can i help you with your sketch work?”

you hesitantly nodded. xavier grabbed his stool and sat down, you standing very close to him.

his knee would bump into your leg every time he moved. the motion was enough to send shocks into both your bodies.

xavier flipped through your notebook.

“the overall creativity is amazing. it really allows me to see what goes on inside your head, which is what art is supposed to represent. but the line-work could use some help.”

you watched him carefully, not noticing the way your eyes stared at his veiny hands.

with the flip of another page, xavier landed on the drawing you had completely forgotten about.

it was you, at the weathervane, smiling wide as you sat across from a boy who looked identical to xavier. to make matters even worse, there were little hearts above the two of you.

now it was your turn to be embarrassed as xavier looked up at you, a giant smirk on his face.

“thing must have drawn that-“

“oh yeah? because the way the lines connect is just like the other drawings.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“how about you let me take you out to the weathervane?”

“like a-“

“date. a date.”

you stared directly into xavier’s blue eyes. his gaze was intimidating and you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little scared.

“fine.”

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .4

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Mutual masturbation; Come eating; Angst; Vague mention of abortion; Discussions of child neglect; Discussions of unwanted pregnancy

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Some of this is so… phew… idk what came over me or how i come up with some of this shit. sorry (but not really). Joel’s a little nasty in this beware

Art is by Denis Sarazhin.

Word Count: 7.7K

Read on AO3

.4

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

To think that despite his momentary acquiescence to your need for space, he was not, afterwards, made into a raving, snarling beast prowling its cage after having tasted you, would be fallacy – because that was what he was calling it in his mind, for now. Not yet ready to accept it within himself as a full blown rejection, so yes, for now, space, time.

He returns home with Sarah after the lakehouse – Eva gone off with her girlfriends on an extension of the weekend, wanting to draw out the farewell to summer just a little longer – to their routine of lunches and snacks and daycare and evenings playing mermaids and dinosaurs in the little pool in the backyard that he’d gotten for her at HEB. He tries to be good, to remain calm, controlled, but it’s just short of impossible. He feels as though he still has the taste of you on the surface of his tongue, the sounds of your moans ringing in his ears at all hours of the day, in bed at night, hard and aching and alone, wanting you. This turns out to be a different type of hell to the one he’s usually used to, that of monotony and loneliness and resentment. No, this is burning and painful, a type of fire that whips through his arteries and chars his bones and leaves him dizzy and disoriented.

He’s never experienced something like this before. Not in his entire life. 

It is not easy, per se, but productive, to lose himself in his work, and the start of Sarah’s school year. She’s in a 3K program for the fall, her first time going to a real school, and the work and preparation and pure fucking anxiety induced at the thought of his baby going to such a big school is overwhelming. No small feat to accomplish all on his own. 

But at night, after he’s worked himself into the ground all day, and read Sarah her bedtime story, at least three times, sometimes up to seven, but never passing ten, that was their very strict rule, and tucked her in and checked the closet and under the bed and behind the door for monsters, when he’s finally found himself alone and quiet and with a spare, but infinitely painful moment to think of you, he lets you in, in full force.

He pulls his shirt up over the back of his head, tossing it into the hamper as he passes his closet into his restroom, undoes his belt and jeans, pulling his contraband from the pocket, to push them off as he reaches to turn on the shower. 

As he lets the water heat up, he pauses to look at himself in the mirror. Tall, long frame, still pleasing to a woman, he’d imagine. Well, he hopes so. He’s still strong, his shoulders broad, his chest built from the long hours of hauling and climbing and exhaustive physical labor. There are a few grays threaded through the dark curls at his temples. Sprouting, just in the last year, to remind him that he’s getting older. One of his buddies had told him that eventually everything went gray, everything. That weirded the fuck out of him, to be honest.  He hates the thought of you seeing that, thinking of him as old. You’re so much younger than him. So pretty. Too pretty. His middle has gone slightly softer since hitting forty, but only slightly. There’s no helping that. And the small creases at the corners of his eyes… shit, he’s getting old. But his cock is still long and thick, and he’ll give that to you as much as you’ll let him. If you ever let him. All the time if he can. All he has to do is find a way to see you again, to convince you to let him see you again.

He feels a small bitter ribbon of self consciousness curl through his stomach as he takes himself in. He doesn’t want you to think of him as some old man. Some old, sleazy man who’d seen you and been so fucking desperate for you, he hadn’t cared that he was married, that you’re too young for him, that he has a family, and responsibilities and a life, like some pathetic fucking pervert. You’re just so lovely, so soft and pretty and you smell so good, always. And he’s been so alone for so fucking long. He is lonely. And you, you’d looked at him, you’d seen him, you’d wanted him back just as fiercely as he’d wanted you, even if just for a moment. How was he ever supposed to be strong enough to resist that? And further than your wanting, you’re good and kind and smart and so fucking funny and adorable. Joel could be strong when he needed to be, but he could also be weak, and he thinks that you, perhaps, have the power to make him weaker than anything else. 

What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the person who you could very well fall, probably, very deeply in love with?

Because yes, even now, he is emotionally aware enough to recognize that. More than anything, he can recognize that he has, as of yet, never been in love, but that you present the great, great possibility for that. And yes, it’s too soon, and maybe nonsensical or crazy or what have you, but Joel has always been a man that’s known himself well. When he knows, he knows, and when he chooses, he chooses, and he is very close to knowing and choosing you. 

He looks down at your panties laying on the bathroom counter – the ones he’d stolen. After you’d slipped them off, too wet from your come, from him making you come – they’re his now. 

He runs his thumb and forefinger along the silk lace at the edge. They’re a pretty, soft blue. He loves the color blue now. It will, forevermore, be his favorite color after this. The cut in the back is high, he knows the soft flesh of your ass was left mostly uncovered by them, he remembers he felt it when you rode his thigh. He wishes he could have seen it. He hopes he’ll have another chance to see it. 

If he thinks about it hard enough, he can imagine that the middle gusset is still damp from you. He brings them to his face, presses them to his nose and inhales deeply. The scent: still faintly musky, but also, slightly sweet. He sticks his tongue out to taste the fabric, and a violent shiver passes through him. He has to clutch at the countertop to hold himself upright. His cock is fully erect and leaking now. 

He has to taste you. He has to get the chance to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’s sure of it.

He brings the soft lace down to his aching erection. He doesn’t care if he’s disgusting. He doesn’t care about anything. All he wants is to feel you. To temper this fire churning in his blood. He can’t remember the last time his body felt like this, the last time he wanted something this fucking badly he felt like he’d die if he didn’t have it. Maybe never – he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. He wraps your panties around his hard length and starts to jack himself off. Strong, tight strokes from base to tip with the tiny, blue silk sliding along his fevered skin. The sound of your orgasm, the look in your eyes as you humped his thigh, ground your little clit on him and soaked his denim. He should’ve touched you more when he had the chance. He wants to fuck you so badly, wants to sink into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt and fuck you full of his come. Mark you. Brand himself into your skin so that you’re never without him. He wants you to smell like him. He wants to feel the wet gush he felt on his jeans on his cock and dripping down his balls, and Jesus fucking Christ, he comes at that. Long, thick ropes of white spend, spitting from his swollen tip at the thought of your pussy coming around him, a desperate whimper escaping in the quiet loneliness of his restroom.  

-

He thinks of you constantly, what seems like every moment of the day, in the weeks that follow. As much as he tries to keep a straight head on, he can’t. He craves you, dreams of you, fucks his hand to the memory of you coming for him, spilling his seed over and over again in the shower at the remembered look in your eyes and the sounds you made for him. He can’t help himself. 

Outside of that, everything else in his life is bleak and slow and… and he doesn’t know what else to call it, except for sad and wanting. Lonely. To have touched something so alive, so beautiful and sweet and perfect, and then be forced to return to the barren landscape that is his life in everything outside of his daughter, it’s jarringly difficult to do. He wants to be strong, to do what you asked of him, but it had been so long since he’d really wanted something for himself. Couldn’t remember what the last thing had been, really, and so to now have something to desire, something to want and think of, it makes him weak and fills his head with all kinds of excuses to see you, to call you – he’d forced Tommy to steal your number for him out of Gerri’s phone – to go to your work and wait for you to come out, just so he can catch a single glimpse of you.

He restrains himself from that, though. He forces himself to focus his mind on other things, Sarah and school and playdates, and he works himself like a dog, taking on more contracts than he ever has before. He doesn’t give himself any time to rest, any time to think, and in the few moments that he does, when he stares at your number on the screen of his phone, imagining what it is he’d say to you if he called, if you answered, what the sound of your voice would be like saying hello to him, saying his name, or in the moments when he fucks himself raw and spent and sad, those are the moments when he feels weakest, when he feels most alone, when he’s almost overwhelmed with wanting. 

-

He only lasts a measly three weeks after the lake house before he’s outside of the elementary school, one late Wednesday afternoon during the second week of the new school year. The sky is dark and angry, on the verge of a downpour, and he’s been waiting, agitated and anxious, for about half an hour, before you finally come out the double doors. 

The lightest sprinkling of rain is starting up, and he jumps out of his truck’s cab, jacket in hand, to approach you. He says your name softly as he comes up on your side while you’re distracted, digging in your purse for something.

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice and turn your wide, worried eyes on him, “Joel–” your voice, soft and breathy, so sweet, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here? Is Sarah okay?”

He holds his hands up in what he hopes is an appeasing, non-threatening gesture, he doesn’t want you nervous. Fucking Christ, asking for Sarah with that look of worry in your eyes, “Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” how in the fuck is he supposed to not be obsessed with you? “I was just – I was just hoping we could talk, is all.”

You look around at the sparsely filled parking lot, as if searching for witnesses, or perhaps, an escape, but then you turn back to him and pause to take him in. He watches the sweep of your eyes down his body, and then back up, stopping to search for something in his eyes. Whatever you find there must give you the answer you need because you nod your head once, “Alright, we can talk,” you say softly.

“My truck? Can we drive for a bit? I’ll bring you back.” You nod again, and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the drizzle as he leads you to his truck. “S’bout to come down hard,” he murmurs as he opens the passenger door for you, taking your wrist in his hold to help you up into the truck. He can’t help himself, he reaches for your seatbelt and buckles you in himself – is filled with an obscenely embarrassing fizz of pleasure at the gesture of it. 

You’re looking at him with the most concerned little frown marring the soft spot between your delicate brows, “Are you okay?” your voice slow and unsure, and then more of him being unable to help himself, to keep his hands to himself, because he reaches up and gently brushes his thumb over the little frowning wrinkle, nods his head once. 

“I’m okay, baby.”

He drives for a bit, takes you to a spot up in the hills he likes to come to sometimes when he needs to think. Somewhere the two of you can be alone and quiet, just for a moment. He parks the truck by a copse of trees, a view of Austin on the other side of the two of you. The rain has turned into a violent downpour by now. He shuts off the engine and looks out at the view of the city. 

-

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother you – you asked me to stay away, but –” He lets his head fall back against the headrest and sighs, and the sound of it is so weary, pained in a way that’s so very, very sad. It makes you hurt for him. You reach across the center console to grip his bicep, you can’t help yourself. You could see from the first look at his face that something was wrong. You know he wouldn’t have come to look for you if he didn’t need you now. 

“You’re not bothering me. I know I shouldn’t, but I wanted to see you too.” You only confess this because of the look in his eyes. The glassy, burdened look of them. You wish that you could climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, press your warmth into him. The rain hits the windshield like bullets, the sound deafening. The world outside of his truck’s cabin seems distorted, as if this liminal space the two of you sit in now, has been carved out of the rest of the real world, and the two of you exist here now, only, together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he wraps his hand over yours on his arm, drags his thumb over the smooth little hills of your knuckles. His gaze out the window is so far away, lost, something almost childlike in its desolation. You watch the strong ripple of his neck as he swallows, clears his throat. “Nothing – just wanted to see you. ‘Dunno… Felt so tired today.” He closes his eyes for a moment, “Couldn’t stop myself. Wanted to just give myself this one thing.” He lets his head roll against the seat to look at you, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile. So beautiful and so sad, and you can tell that something is endlessly wrong. You feel afraid, for one moment, that he’s going to start crying, the sadness in his eyes is so overwhelming. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand the sight of his tears, you think they might break you. “Just wanted to look at you, to sit here with you, just for a little bit.”

“Alright.” You’re quiet for a beat, watching him watch the rain. Part of you wants to give him space, give him quiet, but you need to know what’s wrong. You can’t bear the look in his eyes right now. “Did something happen?”

He’s silent, as if gathering his thoughts or his strength around him, and then: “Eva had a pregnancy scare this week.” A jagged shiver slices through you.

“What?” You croak, you try to pull your hand back, but he clamps down on your bones, holds you to him. “But I thought–”

He shakes his head, “Not mine.”

“Joel… what? Are– are you–” You blink furiously, at a loss. What do you say to the man who you’re kind of having an affair with when he tells you his wife, who is also seemingly having an affair, might be pregnant with another man’s child? This is all so, so fucked up. So ugly. You swallow, turn to look out at the rain. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t seem to help the tears from pooling. A bombardment of recurring images from your childhood slingshotting through your mind; your mother, leaving, angry, cold, quiet. Always pushing you away. The sound of her crying through her bedroom door, your child’s ear, pressed to the cool grain, trying to get as close to her as possible even though she doesn’t want you. Always shutting you out. Your father, dead to the world on the sofa in the living room, drowning in his liquor and yearning and hurt. The sight of a tall, handsome stranger, coming up the front walk to ring the doorbell, to take your mother away with him. The way he’d crouched down from his great height to ask you what your name was because she hadn’t even bothered to tell the man she was having an affair with, the man she was leaving you for, what your name was. 

What is it about being unlovable, you wonder, and why is it that some are cursed with it so cruelly, while others are not?

“Hey,” Joel tugs on your wrist, pulls you closer to him. “I told you, we’re not like that, we’ve never been. I don’t want you thinkin’ somethin’ else, that I haven’t been honest.” He drags the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, tips your head back to catch your eyes. You let them flutter shut and swallow, open them again. If you talk you’ll cry, but he needs words from you now. You swallow again, shake your head. 

“It’s– it’s not that. I believe you. And even if it was otherwise, I have no right–”

“Stop. Don’t say that. You know that isn’t true. You have the right to honesty after what I’ve told you, after what we’ve done.” You try to pull back, but he brings his palm to wrap around the back of your neck and grip you by the scruff. “Stop,” he grits, “Don’t pull away from me.” 

You bring your palms up to his chest, clutch at the collar of his shirt. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m sorry. It’s just–” you huff a sharp, bitter laugh, “Sometimes it’s like you’re just telling me the story of my childhood, over and over again. Like you’re living it again for me. This all sounds very pathetically familiar.” A tear finally falls, you can’t help it. A weeper in a long line of weepers, always. 

“Sweetheart…” he brushes the track of your tear away with his thumb.

You shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Is she?”

“She’s fine. Took her to the doctor this morning.”

“God, Joel– I don’t – I don’t know how you do this.” Another tear. You think of your father, how weak, how broken he was after her. He could have never shouldered the things Joel does. You feel very sad, very sorry, for the both of them, as different as they are. You feel sorry for the whole miserable lot of you, really.

“She needed my help, she was scared–” his thumb sweeps a slow, hypnotizing path up and down the back of your neck. The rough callus on his thumb catches at your sensitive skin and makes you feel hot and sweaty and overwhelmed for the feel of it on every other tender place on your body. “Terrified, really. Of being trapped like that again.”

“Trapped?”

“Sarah was never her plan. Neither of us were. She never wanted any of this.”

“You told me the marriage wasn’t conventional… but I didn’t – I didn’t think Sarah was included in that…” Your stories are too similar, the similarities too painfully familiar.

“We met at a bar, it was–” he looks away, and you watch a hot flush flood his cheeks. He’s embarrassed to tell you this. “It was a one night thing. Her birth control failed, and then – it was just – well, ending the pregnancy was never an option for her, and I told her from the get go that I’d do whatever she wanted, support her in anything she chose. She chose to go on with it. So I asked her to marry me, it made sense, it was– it was the convenient thing. At least, at the time – in my mind, it seemed so. But we – we were strangers, there was no connection. And then… I don’t know. It wasn’t, eventually – it wasn’t the right thing, at all, for any of us. She never wanted to be a mother. She told me once, after, that she’d chosen wrong, she’d made the wrong decision. And I always tried to be supportive, but by that time, well – we had Sarah by that time, and I– I loved her more than anything I’d ever loved in my whole life. Didn’t even know it was possible to love anything that much – and it made me so fucking angry with her – to–  to hear her say something like that, that she should’ve gotten rid of her. It was – I don’t know – a very complicated and painful thing –  for the both of us to grapple with, I guess. But I–” he pauses, takes a deep breath. His eyes shift madly, looking out the window as if the rain will bring with it an explanation or an escape for whatever it is that’s churning inside his mind as he tells you this. “There was never really anything to be angry with, I don’t think. No real reason or focus for my anger. I realized it’s impossible to fault a person for not being what they were never meant to be. She never wanted this. And I hadn’t planned for it, it just happened. And the decisions we made were made, and then things just ended up as they did. Sometimes – I don’t,” he frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t know how to say it, but–” He turns to you now, a wild, pleading look in his eyes, “But how can I say that we made a mistake, without saying that Sarah was a mistake? Because if I’ve ever done a single thing absolutely perfect, in my whole entire life, it’s that little girl. She’s perfect. You know what I mean?”

You nod, swallowing back your tears, “Yes.”

He frowns at you, his eyes filled with infinite tenderness, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” you lie, turning to press the back of your hand to your hot eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just – it reminds me of myself, of my own mother. She – she was the same, I think. Never meant to be a mother. But not bad. It’s just what it was. And hearing you, hearing this, it makes me so sad for you, for all of you. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, wraps his hand around your jaw to press his brow to your wet cheek and just holds there. The two of you breathe each other in, match the cadence of your breaths to the other. You snake your arms around his broad shoulders to press yourself closer to him. It scares you, this feeling of necessity he forces out of you, like you need him, even this soon, for strength, for comfort, for happiness. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s coming on so quickly, overwhelming you. You feel like you need him, and if you don’t have him you’ll never be happy for the rest of your life, you’ll never be able to forget him, to let him go. He shifts to nuzzle against your cheek and then your jaw, and then the hot press of his lips to the tender spot behind your ear. A violent tremble moves through you at the feel of his soft mouth against your skin, and you dig your nails harshly into his shoulders. 

“I just– lemme just–” he mumbles against your skin, and then that hand wrapped around your jaw is turning your head and forcing your mouth open so that he’s kissing you, licking into your mouth and everything goes tight and painful and white hot inside of you. “Jesus–” he says against your mouth. He forces your head back to deepen the angle, his other hand coming up to fist painfully in your hair, and you whimper into him. His answering groan is deep and rumbling and so, so wanting. Your heart feels like it’s flipping and squeezing and pinching inside your ribcage. You can hear how much he wants you, this, in the cadence of the sounds he makes. The kiss is wet, sloppy, full of teeth and all the desperation and yearning of these past few weeks. The days and days of not seeing him, of remembering your encounter in that dark room at the lake house, the way he’d made you come against his thigh, the sound of his own orgasm, the inhibition, the flush in his cheeks as he spilled in his jeans for you. The desperate, pathetic nights of your cunt stuffed full of your fingers, so wet and aching and still not enough even though you’d made yourself orgasm multiple times at just the memory of him. You claw at his hair and neck and back, you want to draw blood, imprint yourself on him in some way, the same way he’s imprinted himself on you. He brings the hand in your hair down to your waist to press you closer to him. The center console digs painfully into your ribs and you want to climb over it and settle in his lap, but you know you shouldn’t, that if you end up over there you’ll let him fuck you, and that you’ll never come back from that. Not ever. He drags his hand up to your breast, grips the heavy weight in his large palm and squeezes, and it hurts and it feels so, so fucking good that you rip yourself away from his mouth, push at his broad chest to force him away from you. The both of you stare at each other, wide eyed and panting great, heaving gasps. His hair is sticking up at all angles, messy from your pillaging fingers, his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed almost feverish. 

Oh, you want him so badly. This will be your undoing. 

“We– we can’t– I didn’t come here with you for– for that,” you gasp, pressing your fingers to your wet mouth.

“I know– I know– shit, we–” He passes a palm over his mouth, and you feel another tear slide down your burning cheek. You’re surprised you don’t see steam rise at the contact. “Fuck – fuck, baby, please. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I got carried away– ”

“I’m not crying– I’m not.” Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll be true. You turn to wipe it away on the hill of your shoulder, try to hide your face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you

“I wanted you to. I want it so badly,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut tight. You feel inconsolable. 

“I know– I know.”

You want him so badly, so badly, so badly, you want him to keep touching you forever. “It hurts, Joel. It hurts–”

“Jesus, what hurts? Tell me.” He leans forward, gripping your knee painfully tight, and you press yourself into the door at your back, “Fuck– is that sweet, little cunt aching for me? Tell me, baby.”

You nod

“Fuck, what if– what if we just – just watch each other? What if you pet your cunt for me, and let me watch? Just– just to make the ache go away? Would that be okay?”

You shake your head, unsure, but your hand is clutching his over your knee now, digging your nails into the top of his palm and letting him slowly push your knee open further. 

His voice is so coaxing. Oh, he shouldn’t use that tone of voice against you, you’re powerless to it. “You can, it’s okay. It’s just to make the ache go away, it’s okay,” and you have no choice but to capitulate, no desire to not give in.

His palm on your knee slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt to bunch at your hips, and he hooks one finger into the side of your panties to pull them down as you lift your hips, allowing him to divest you of them. So easy, you’re so fucking easy, and you don’t even care. All you can focus on right now is the throbbing ache between your legs. 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he says, “Spread your legs… that’s it.” 

“Don’t– don’t look–” you stutter as you bring your shaking fingers to your core, and he’s leaning back to undo his belt and drag his zipper down. You can’t look either, you can’t, if you do, you’ll lose, you know it. You see the peripheral movement of him reaching into his clothes to pull the heft of his cock out, the shift of his upper body as he lifts his hips to readjust his pants to free himself. Your cunt is slick and throbbing, painfully swollen. 

You watch the movement of his shoulder as he starts to jack himself, “Just your clit first, baby. Soft, little circles, yeah… how does that feel?”

“Good– good, yes.” You’re panting, mouth hanging open. There is fire in his gaze, all for you, only for you. 

“Yeah? You need more?”

“Please, Joel–” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but you don’t think it’s for your touch alone. 

“Give yourself one finger, sweetheart. Just one – tell me how wet it is? Are you soaked for me?”

You press one finger inside, and yes, yes, your’re fucking soaked for him, you say. He groans at that, the rhythm of his shoulder gets faster. “I have to look, baby. Please, please, I have to see how wet it is.” The tops of his cheeks are flushed red, but as you watch the downward shift of his eyes to your spread sex, the place where you’re impaling yourself with a single finger, his eyes flare, the flush seems to ricochet even higher, hotter. You pull your finger out to cup yourself, hide yourself, burning with shyness and lust, but fuck, the look in his eyes, it’s bright hot, devouring. No one has ever looked at you like that. Never. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, “Put ‘em back in. Fuck yourself, make yourself come. I have to see it.” So fucking gorgeous, you hear him mutter under his breath, and you finally give yourself permission to look down as you stuff two fingers back into your desperate pussy. Fuck your rules, you have to see him.

He’s huge.

Thick and long, the size of his cock is not made smaller by the massive breadth of his fist holding it in a vice-like grip, jacking it, tight and fast. The head is flushed a deep, angry red, the slit at the top weeping a pearly stream of precum that makes your mouth water and the muscles in your pelvis tighten – you want to taste him, you want him to fuck your mouth until you’re forced to swallow his load. There’s a thick vein running up the entire length of the underside of the shaft that you’re sure you’d feel his pulse in if you set your tongue against it. He’s pulled his heavy balls out over the edge of his jeans too, and he cups them and squeezes. 

“Spread yourself wider for me – yeah like that… Lemme see you stretch that cunt.”Oh, he’s so dirty. 

You’re sucking in quick, shallow gulps of air, on the verge of hyperventilating as you watch his massive palm beat at his cock, almost dizzy with lust, your blood rushing in your head, your pussy sopping wet, tight as a knot. This isn’t enough, you want to stop, you want to go further, you want him to touch you, to climb into his lap, to take that heavy, thick weight inside of you and feel him stretch you to the point of pain. “Don’t look– you shouldn’t look–” you don’t know why you say it, maybe because you feel you have to, but it’s nonsensical when your eyes are glued to him. 

“I have to look, baby. Please, don’t ask me that. I have to see it – fuck, you’re so gorgeous, look at you. Prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Stop,” you moan, arching your back further to crook your fingers inside of yourself, hitching your knees higher to pet at the spongy, tender spot inside you that you’d like him to own. “St– stop– I’m–  m’not your baby– don’t– don’t– oh fuck, I’m gonna come–” your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of his choked growl, his eyes glued to your stretched sex, the sounds of your wetness and his slick palm echoing in the truck cabin. 

“You are, you are – even if you won’t let me touch you, won’t let me have you – you fucking belong to me now. Already, even like this – look at you, about to come for me with just my eyes on you.” His hips start to lift into his fist, his hand almost a blur for how fast he’s fucking himself, teeth gritted, tendons in his strong neck popping starkly under the surface of his flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Fuck– fuck, it’s so pretty.”

“Stop– please, Joel, I need–”

“Wanna taste it and fuck it and fill it with my come–”

“Oh my fucking God–” you’re going to come, now, now, it’s right there. You tell him.

“One more finger – lemme see you stretch yourself… yeah like that… my good fucking girl,” grunted as you stuff a third finger inside and start to spasm, mewling high and desperate for him, grinding your clit against the mound of your palm. You want his cock to stretch you like this, and you tell him. The sound he makes at your desperate plea, as if it’s been ripped out of him, painful, desperate, savage. You watch the wide head flush an almost deeper shade, verging on purple now, and he squeezes the base cruelly, his sack fisted tight in his other hand, and he starts to come, a thick white stream of milky spend that makes your mouth water, sliding over his fist and spurting onto his exposed belly. “Oh God, Joel, I want it.” You can’t stop the words, the sight of his orgasm forces them out of you. 

“I know, baby, I know. I want to give it to you,” he says through clenched teeth. 

You both stay frozen like that for a moment as you come down, panting and staring at each other wide eyed and flushed and trembling. That was, perhaps, no, it was without a doubt, the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced with a man, and you’d barely even touched each other. Pain and pleasure coalesce to leave you shaking and sweating, your skin hypersensitive. You’re scared you’re going to start crying again and scare him, give him the wrong idea – that you’d not liked this, that you’d not wanted this. When the truth is that nothing could ever compare to how much you wanted, needed it. How much you’ll want this forever now. You want to take him inside of you. The sheer force of your desire almost has a flavor, a shape to it. The strength of it, so potent, it is almost made sentient – a living thing. 

You pull your wet fingers out, and he snaps forward suddenly, to snatch your hand towards himself and brings the slick digits into his mouth, his tongue laving hot and wet between the spaces, sucking on them. All the while his eyes are zeroed in on the space between your legs, on the place that is still clenching and stretched, so ready and eager for him to fill. You gasp at his ferocity, at the feral look in his eyes because you can see, you can see that almost sentient desire you’re filled with, reflected in his own eyes. 

“Joel–” you whisper as he presses one final kiss to the wet tips of your fingers, his eyes fluttering shut as he holds there for one moment. 

“I know–” he whispers back, and when his eyes come back to yours, there is such a depth of understanding in them. You realize in this moment, in this shared look, that the two of you are the same in an essential way. It isn’t just your desire that connects the two of you now, it’s so much more. A loneliness, a sentimentality, perhaps, a keen sense of familiarity. That vein of shyness, of being closed off, that fear of opening up, of being hurt, of being left. He’s the same, you can see it, feel it. 

You’d never thought you had a very good sense of self identity – your perception of yourself skewed in the image of your mother, of who she was, of her shadow, of the things she’d done, but in this moment, looking into the reflection of Joel’s eyes, you feel you see yourself very clearly, almost securely, for the first time. It is recognition the two of you are sharing now, for some reason, in some way, you recognize him. And you find it ironic, that now, in this moment of all times, when you’re doing the very thing that you’d always been so afraid of, of turning into the thing that you’d always feared because of your mother, it is ironic that you are finally able to cast away her shadow, her image, and see only yourself, so clearly, so wholly, because of him.

And yet, despite the sudden, blinding clarity, oh, it was all so dark, so dark, that it be this man, this unavailable, married, unreachable man, that would make you feel so wholly seen, so understood, so connected. 

Your wrist is left wet and sticky where he’s gripped you with his spend covered fingers, but you’re careful not to wipe it away. You want to be left with the tightness of his dried come over your skin. 

“Don’t say that we shouldn’t have done that,” he tells you.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

“I was going to say that I wish we could do it again – that I wish we could do more.”

“Shit–” he whispers, passes his dry palm over his mouth and then up into his hair, to tug at the messy curls. You move to right your clothes, and he follows your lead, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Me too.”

You let your head rest back against the window as the two of you stare at each other in silence for a moment. It’s comforting, filled with companionship, understanding, the intimacy of the moment the two of you just shared. Your cheeks feel hot and you can’t help but smile at him, just a little, a small laugh escaping, and then he’s returning it, smiling and laughing softly too, until the both of you are wracked with the most ridiculous, schoolyard giggles, like two blushing teenagers. It’s a wonderful moment for the purity of it, the two of you together, laughing. Later, you’re sure it will make you very sad and desperate to relive it, but now, oh, now, it really does feel so wonderful. You wish the two of you could live here forever, together in this moment, in the warm, intimate space of his truck’s cabin.

You talk for hours after that, about nothing and everything. His work and yours, your art, his love of building things, of taking care of things, music and movies and books and Sarah. Always, Sarah. 

“She has an obsession with bats right now, weird kid, and there’s a sanctuary up town. We spent a few hours there on Saturday, she loved it. Scampering around in this Snow White princess dress she’s refused to take off for the past three weeks. Won’t part with the damn thing, not even to let me wash it.”

He loves her so much, and it makes your heart pinch and your eyes go hot and weepy. He is, you think, an exceptionally good father, an exceptionally good man. 

Eventually, however, it gets late enough that the two of you realize you need to get home. He drives you back to the school in the most comfortable of silences, your hand intertwined reassuringly in his strong embrace. It feels worryingly natural, right. 

“Will you let me see you again?” he asks when he pulls up next to your lonely car in the school parking lot. 

“I don’t– I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Joel. This will only go further from here if we continue. And I don’t– I can’t be your–” you frown, shaking your head, disgusted at yourself for even having to say the words, “I can’t be your mistress,” you tell him bluntly.

“I would never, never ask that of you.”

“So, then what is it supposed to be? You’re going to leave your wife? That– that isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be the thing that breaks your marriage up, your family, that leaves Sarah in a broken home. I cannot be that.” It would be your worst nightmare come to life. 

He says your name in the most serious tone you think he can muster, as if he can imbue the understanding of his words into your stubborn skull with the resonance of it, “There is no marriage to break up. She’s leaving soon, I know it, I can tell. She’s done. She’s leaving Sarah, and I don’t think she’s coming back this time. I don’t think I can let her just – just come in and out of our daughter’s life like that. Something needs to stop or change. I have to do something to make this better for my girl.”

“I understand that, and I can’t– I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that for Sarah. For you. Really, I understand more than I can tell you – but still, when it comes to you and I, or you and her – I can’t … I can’t get into that like this. I– I, I don’t–” you pant, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I can’t do that, this. Not now.”

“Baby–”

“No, Joel. You don’t understand – I watched my mother cheat on my father my entire childhood, until she up and left us one day, left him. I watched him love her for years, unreturned, suffer for her, and then I watched him kill himself slowly, drink himself to death until I buried him.”

“That isn’t what Eva and I are–”

“I cannot have an affair with you. I know – I know that’s basically what we’re already fucking doing – I know I’m a hypocrite–”

“You’re not–”

“But I can’t also be the reason you leave your marriage. It would kill me – do you understand?” your voice cracks, you’re shocked you’re not crying right now. “Please, Joel.”

He looks at you for a moment, you’re afraid you can see anger in his eyes, but then they go soft, understanding, and he says, “Yeah… yeah, sweetheart. I understand.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a shaky breath, relieved, but at the same time, filled with a sick twist of disappointment. What would you do if he pressed you, if he forced you? You know part of you would like it. “Can I at least call you? Only sometimes, please. Just to talk – to hear your voice.”

You start to shake your head, but when you open your eyes and take in the pleading look in his gaze, you can’t say no. “Alright, yes… yes, you can call me. That’s okay.”

“Can I kiss you? Just once more?” You lean over the console and press your lips to his, sudden and rough, as an answer, your teeth clicking together harshly. Of course, you want to kiss him again, of course. 

One long, tight moment, you clutch his wrists to keep them from pulling you in closer, and then you’re pulling back, scrambling out of the truck and forcing yourself away from him. You need to get away before you lose all strength of will and just let him do whatever he wants to you. You hear him get out, as well, and follow you around to your driver’s side door, waiting behind you as you dig for your car keys in your bag. You open the door, and then turn back to him, you can’t help yourself, and he lifts a hand to drag his thumb across your cheekbone, along the edge of your jaw. His eyes look so sad, like he’s afraid this’ll be the last time the two of you ever see each other again. The tears are back and angrily demanding release, but you try and take deep breaths through your nose to keep them at bay while your entire frame shakes and shivers at the restraint. He nods once and leans forward to press a long kiss above your brow, and then he turns and walks back to his truck, gets inside. He waits until you’ve gotten in your own car and are driving away, great heaving sobs wracking your body, overwhelming you, before you see him finally turn his truck on and start to drive back home, back to his wife and child.

Chapter .5

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

End Notes: This was kind of a heavy one, if there’s anything you’d like to chat about (or yell at me for all the angsty bullshit) pls come do so :)

[cloudraker]

heyo! I saw ur post and wanted to ask for tfp decepticons with a winged! S/o

preferably with megatron, soundwave or shockwave and knockout! Like how they would react and act around them, or like how they would use reader to their advantage? (Not in a bad way)

Reader has a long wingspan (18 ft) and is bigger than a normal human? Like smaller than Arcee but bigger than average.

Please tell me if that’s too much for you! And ty! <3 stay safe

Ofc!! And no worries, it's not too much at all :) Thank you sm for requesting <3

TFP Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave, and Knock Out with a Winged S/o

Under the cut :)

Megatron

Honestly probably doesn't even notice you're any different at first until you start zipping around

I would say that of the four he's the one that cares the least

That isn't to say he doesn't care at all, far from it! He's got more than a handful of schemes, plots, ploys, etc ready to use when the need should arise

Depending on how you fly and such, he might take your movements into consideration when it comes to his own flight or when training troops. The information gets passed on to Starscream for the latter, but he's still aware of it

He doesn't expect you to be able to keep up with him when he's flying, but he will commend the effort

He does expect your wings to be in peak condition; they're one of your defining features and something that he see as putting you above the rest of your species

If you're at all self conscious about your wings, he scoffs and tells you to take pride in what sets you apart. It's not great advice, but it's something

Soundwave

Enjoys running his fingers through your feathers if you'll let him

Despite being in a relationship, he's still got a job to do. If you're up for it, he'll ask you to do recon or survey areas that need to be scouted in a more subtle way

He's not above using your humanity for the benefit of the Decepticons, but he wouldn't knowingly put you in harms way

Of the four, he's got the easiest time helping you groom your wings due to how thin his digits are

He draws comparisons between you and Laserbeak at times, though he does keep those thoughts to himself

Shockwave

Dude has got plans and ploys in place to test things and ideas

At times it might feel like you're more an experiment than a partner

He's always more than happy to run tests on how far you can fly and how fast, how much weight you can carry and for how long/far

He's also rather interested in your biology, pulling up diagrams of a typical human body and comparing it to yours, trying to figure out why you're different

It might be hard to notice, but he's more careful when it comes to tests. It's one of the few ways he has to show he does actually care about you, and doesn't want to see you hurt if it can be avoided

If there's something you want to train towards physically, you can count on him to come up with the most optimal training program possible

He finds it helpful to have you in the lab and having you zip around and collecting tools for him so he doesn't have to step away from his work

He understands the concept of keeping muscles strong, and makes sure you exercise enough if you're keeping him company in the lab

Knock Out

Dude makes sure you know how pretty your wings are

Makes sure you've got every product you'd ever need to keep them in top condition. Don't ask where he got them from tho

Schedules regular sessions where the two of you just preen and gossip

Also finds it super helpful that you can just fly up and reach the spots he can't and buff them out for him

Absolutely admires the strength you have in your wings. The idea that you have to actually flap them and have enough strength to get yourself off the ground is foreign to him as it's super different for Cybertronians

Not a fan of molting tbh. There's feathers everywhere and guh they're everywhere

Will still (reluctantly) help you deal with it tho

Knock Out makes sure you know he thinks that your wings make you much cooler than other people, and is not above making fun of the Autobots for having 'inferior' humans on their side

[tmntxthings]

heyy so I literally got this kind of idea like not really long ago, how about a donnie x reader fic/scenario/prompt where donnie makes a new AI hologram assistant (the reader) but ends up falling in love with them ?? (kind of blade runner 2049 inspired)

thanks ! luv your work (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

一∑ Dizzy・゜・。

author’s notes: so this may not be exactly what you asked for, this donnie is a bit… cagey? protective? overbearing! but hopefully the ending is a good indication that he did indeed fall?? :D

warnings: fluff, platonic to romantic, cursing, very unedited, & super short >.<

word association: sentience, slight yandere!donnie, light projection, holograms, creation, possessive, obsessive, fluff, change, feelings

song: “ Round & Round by Selena Gomez ”

—————————————————————————

“Y/n”

Donnie waited for you to appear in his vision as he was glued to a new construct. Both hands busy with small tools that required the utmost care and attention. And patience.

He waited a couple of more seconds before a crease appeared between his draw on brows.

Seriously?

“Y/n!”

Donnie shouted louder. There was no way you couldn’t hear him. He was this close to pushing up his goggles but like magic you apparated in his vision. A tiny version of yourself in the corner of his eyesight, “Yyyessss?”

You drawled, dipping forward dramatically but not obscuring his view of his hands so he could continue his work.

“Where are you?”

Habitually it seemed he had to ask you this. He was like this with Shelldon too. But ever since you started getting curious and venturing out of his lab, he just had to at least check in…

He would have just checked your holo-tracker but his hands were busy at the moment. So calling out your name was more efficient. His wrist tech was voice automated and connected to your system easily enough.

“And why did you ignore my first call?”

He questioned further, eyebrows still drawn. His tongue peeked out between his lips as he carefully pieced together two small bits in the right formation.

“I thought we agreed Donnie. If you didn’t need me, I could explore the perimeters!”

You glitched momentarily, moving from the corner to right in the center of his vision before going back to your original place with a raised brow.

“Yes yes. That was the agreement but addendum six was—“

You groaned.

“Y/n it’s been… how long has it been..?”

He just knew it had to be four or so hours since you last checked in. Which meant he could call! As per agreement! If you didn’t check in then he would worry and a time frame was even added into fine print for this very purpose! Donatello prided himself on thinking of every-little-thing!

“It’s been 30 minutes.”

His eyes widened. Looking at you now and squinting.

No way.

You sighed dramatically as you brought up the time. Sure enough. It was only 2:30 in the morning. Not 5.

“Ah, well my mistake.”

Donnie placed down the tools and pushed up his goggles. The zoomed in version of his project gone, as well as the time and your miniature self.

He could still hear you though with his headphones on.

“You didn’t answer my first question…”

He still wanted to know.

“I think that should be void considering you can just check now!”

Your voice was exasperated but it had a teasing quality.

“I’d rather you tell me,”

“With your brothers!”

“What?!”

No response. “Y/n?” No response still. He grumbled bringing his goggles back down and yep, you were gone. He shoved them back up and shot out of his chair.

Two years ago. Donatello went a step further from robots. A step further from Shelldon, definitely still a very proud achievement of his! You were a hologram program. One that connected just like Shelldon to all of Donatello’s devices and gadgets. But you didn’t have a physical body. You were a pure light so to speak. And while Donnie had agreed for you to explore…he hadn’t really disclosed another sentient being in the lab to his brothers.

Selfishly… Donnie had created you solely for him. While Shelldon had been sort of a prank but definitely for his brothers… you weren’t.

“Y/n.” Shelldon whispered harshly as he peeked out of the doorway from his lab. You were nowhere in the vicinity. He scowled. “If this is supposed to be funny, let me be very clear! It is not!” Then Donnie started to rush with his words while he crept further out into the lair.

“Those dumdums have no idea of your existence Y/n! For all we know they could— I don’t know! Attack?!”

You were radio silent. And it annoyed to Donnie to know end. You were ignoring him on purpose. Dragging him away from work to chase you down. And he would do the dragging this time, right back to his side if he must!

The further he went, the more apprehensive he felt. He could hear music. He could hear hollering. It was not the right cues that said ‘Y/n is just pranking me! They wouldn’t reveal themselves without my go-ahead! Surely!’ Yeah none of that was feeling close to happening right now. Donatello’s teeth ground together as he gave up being stealthy in favor of finally seeing what the fuck was happening.

And boy was he in for a shock.

As he cleared a corner that gave him a full view of the arcade that stretched down a distance away. The DDR (Dance Dance Revolution) was on, bass pumping throughout the room. A beautiful voice beckoning him closer like a siren’s song. Where Raph was dancing on one side. And you on the other.

Donnie stopped short. His breath catching as he watched your hologram dance, when your shoes met the correct arrows your whole body took on a glow of purple, blue, red, and yellow. It reflected throughout your entire being. You hit perfect after perfect, head tipped back in laughter as Raph started to trip up, losing his footing and sweating profusely. You on the other hand would never tire.

You were completely energized. You were having fun! It shined in your eyes. It reminded him of how you were when he first created you. When everything he introduced to you excited you.

Donnie felt like such an ass. Keeping you tucked away from the rest of the lair. From his brothers. From the world! As he watched you now he knew he was going to have to change. Because he surely wasn’t letting you go completely. But maybe he needed to loosen up, him and his contract.

Because he wanted you to be like this more. To smile more. To be exuberant and full of life! And he couldn’t stop smiling as you tilted your head towards him. You didn’t falter, you just smiled brighter and winked as the song came to a close and the points were tallied up.

Of course anything created by Donnie would be extraordinary at dancing. Therefore it didn’t surprise him one bit that you received a maximum score of 10,000,000. What did throw him off guard was the rapid pace of his heart. And maybe a bit dizzy? He hadn’t even been the one dancing!

Yeah this wasn’t good!

—————————————————————————

[oceane4loveu]

☾𝕄𝕆𝕆ℕ𝕃𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 BEAUTY ☾: 1 week to glow up

I really need a quick and simple glow up because I'm starting my job soon so I created a program to glow up in 1 week and really get to know myself and improve myself physically and mentally. You can do this program in 2 weeks or more if you want.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day 1: lunar preparation

★shadow work: It’s time to work on yourself, answer their questions to get to know yourself better.

1. What did my childhood need most?

2. What am I avoiding?

3. What am I addicted to?

4. What secrets am I hiding and why?

5. Am I honest with myself and others?

6. What are my biggest misconceptions about myself?

7. What are my biggest fears?

8. What should I give up?

9. Am I a victim of trauma? Have I done enough to heal?

10. What do I need to forgive myself for?

11. What lessons do I still need to learn?

12. What do I want most in this life?

13. What are the first signs you notice and know that your mental health is deteriorating?

14. Do I try to hide parts of myself from others? Why ?

15. What was I like when I was a child?

16. What's the worst way someone could describe you?

★moodboard: makes a Moodboard that reflects your aspirations and your inspirations that you can look at every morning; you can put it as a wallpaper or hang it on the wall.

★ Do a major cleaning: tidy your room, delete numbers, sort through your phone, sort through your series and films, social media and my playlist, cut off toxic people.

★make a list of all your goals, choose 4 big goals in your life and separate them into smaller goals to make them easier to achieve.

★create a morning and night routine: you can copy that of someone who inspires you or simply create your own.

★do 1 hour of sport per day

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day2:inner radiance

★ start Journaling: write down your thoughts, your emotions, your thoughts for the day and also positive affirmations.

★make a list of things you like about yourself

★become softer:

1. When someone calls you, first turn to the person and smile: This helps you to be gentler and more polite towards the person you are talking to and after smiling it gives you the opportunity to speak in a kinder tone.

2. think before you speak: this is very important when learning to speak softer because it gives you time to pay attention to the tone of your voice and also be careful with the things you say.

3. Avoid yelling at others out of frustration: Yelling is the most important thing you should avoid when trying to speak softer. When you're frustrated or going through a tough time, try doing something you enjoy to calm yourself down like music, drawing, etc. instead of taking it out on others. if someone tries to make you angry, politely tell them to stop and don't let your anger control you.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day3:educational brilliance

-listen to a podcast: I only listen to podcasts in French but if you don't like listening to podcasts you can watch videos from tam kaur, thewizardliz, simonesquared and more

-read a book: I recommend atomic habit, ikigai, the why cafe, the other books that I read are in French.

-learn a new language: on YouTube there are plenty of videos that you can find on the language of your choice.

-learn another skill: I chose to improve my computer skills but you can choose any skill it can be drawing, cooking whatever you want.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day4:celestial radiance

-work on self-love

-work on self-esteem

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day5:lunar dream

-spa day at home

-meditation

-listen to your favorite music

-watch your favorite series or films

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day6: lunar flight

-find your ikigai: that is to say your reason for being, explore your passions, your values ​​and your talents to really find what motivates you here is an example:

-Black Swan mindset: the Black Swan mindset is about knowing your value and not letting others tell you your value, it is a mindset of trust and knowledge of your value.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day7:moonlight beauty

become more feminine

1-have good posture: gives you more elegance, you seem taller and more confident.

2-smell good have a characteristic scent: could remind someone of you, smell good shows that you care about your hygiene.

3-Getting Your Nails Done: Getting your nails done could make you look confident and well-groomed.

4-style your hair: hair is a key point of your appearance and a good hairstyle could automatically make you even more beautiful.

5-wear jewelry: simple jewelry can enhance your outfit a lot and bring out your features.

things to do every day

☆ Workout

☆ Learn a new skill

☆ Listen to subliminals

☆ Meditate

☆ Read a book

☆ Do Journaling

☆ Listen to Podcasts

I'm going to start tomorrow and to stay organized and always have an idea of ​​what I have to do I created a simple Notion if you want it's right here જ⁀���

𝕄𝕆𝕆ℕ𝕃𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 BEAUTY

[sourapplesauces]

Hey!!!! You should uhhh infodump about your FNAF AU, that would be really cool. If you want. Especially stuff about Vanessa maybe, she's my girl

Hi! Thanks for the ask! I always wanted to infodump abt this but I never found an outlet!!  

Gregory Alavarez

12 years old  

Argentinian  

Vanessa offered to get him a haircut, but he preferred the messy shaggy hair 

Has amnesia about his past life; he doesn’t remember his parents 

Vanessa caught him trying to pierce his own ears, later she took him to a proper piercer. 

When asked why he got the piercing, he said it was to match Freddy 

Has a tough bad-boy exterior, but he's softer when in Cassie, Vanessa and Freddy’s company 

Has like really good grades, he's a smart kid. 

Has a lot of sleepovers with Cassie where they just chill playing video games and doing each other's makeup and nails 

He also likes drawing and programming 

He gets night terrors, and a lot of nightmares of memories that aren't his 

He also HATES the dark, and he's a little bit claustrophobic 

Owns a TON of Freddy merch and he decorates his bedroom with it 

He sees Freddy as a parental figure, but he’s too shy to express it. 

Is GGY/patient 46

Vanessa Alvarez

24 years old 

Inspired off of her first poster where she had wavy hair and freckles (I just added a tooth gap bc I thought it looked cute.) 

Lesbian

Has little recollection of her time as Vanny, Afton put her to sleep most of the time- but she's had visions and physical scars. 

Pre-help wanted: her personality was bubblier, she had hobbies like baking, gaming and cosmetics. 

Post-security breach: she’s more on the quiet side, she can get anxious and depressed at times. But shes keeping her head up for Gregory (and she’ll learn to do so for herself as well). 

As for hobbies: She likes to read now, and she still bakes occasionally 

Can be unintentionally rude sometimes 

Her parents are deceased (backstory later ...*wink wink*) 

She lived at the Pizzaplex for a while, but after the savior ending she got a brand-new apartment to start things over. 

Vanessa and Valerie (tape girl) were romantically involved at some point, but were torn apart by glitchtrap 

Freddy and Gregory live with Vanessa in her new apartment  

Vanessa has legally adopted Gregory, but their dynamic is more sibling-like than it is parental. 

Glamrock Freddy 

His immobility slightly bothers him, not being able to express himself properly is the worst part of being just an animatronic head. 

Vanessa and Gregory like taking him on road trips to see more of the world, so much so that Freddy considers traveling as one of his hobbies 

Vanessa and Gregory connected him to the internet so he's basically like Alexa now (he's just sentient)

Him and Bonnie are long lost lovers (he hardly talks about it though) 

He's become a reliable source of advice for both Gregory and Vanessa 

Freddy is the peacemaker/glue/dad in the group 

Vanessa has been working for a while to make a body for Freddy, though the lack of parts available for him has slowed things down. They resorted to stealing from warehouses and recycling everyday items to create a makeshift body for him. Though it's only halfway completed in the present.  

He's really good at singing. Oftentimes, he finds himself singing lullabies to Gregory or singing along to tunes during road trips. 

He misses his friends a lot of the time, and he’s still a little frustrated with Gregory for treating them with cruelty. 

Dislikes conflict/ likes seeing the bright side of things  

[captainsophiestark]

Gray Jedi

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Star Wars

Day 23 Prompt: "No, you won't understand, ever."

Summary: Y/N left the Jedi Order over differences with their teachings and a love for Anakin Skywalker. Now, however, something is wrong with Anakin, and they might be the only one who can stop tradgedy from happening.

Word Count: 2,094

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I'd spent the majority of my life as a Jedi, so I'd heard plenty of Masters utter the phrase "I feel a disturbance in the Force" or some variation of it over the years. I'd even felt a few myself, once or twice. But nothing had ever felt like the looming cloud of dread that hung over me now.

I hadn't been a Jedi for more than a year now, which made the feeling all the stranger. I'd left over a few differences with the Council and their rules, opting to become a Gray Jedi by technicality and a non-Force-user by practice. So the feeling of dark premonition battering me awake from my peaceful sleep was even stranger.

Even having let my connection with the Force fade a bit, I knew enough to not ignore this sign. Especially because the face of my former best friend, Anakin Skywalker, featured in every single flash this vision was giving me.

Anakin had been one of the reasons I'd decided to leave in the first place. Somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I'd fallen in love with my best friend. And that kind of love was forbidden among the Jedi.

I'd put up with it for a while, for most of the Clone Wars. But finally, when it started to feel like Anakin might have returned my affections, it got to be too much for me. I couldn't have something with him and still be a Jedi. So I'd left.

Anakin had stayed, and I didn't blame him for it one bit. The Jedi were the only family he'd known since his mother, and the only family he had left since her death. I, probably stupidly, had never talked to him about my feelings. What reason would he have had to leave?

I'd been living a new, peaceful life as far away from the war and the Sith and the Jedi as I could get, and it had been going fairly well, all things considered. But now, something was clearly wrong.

I hadn't survived as long as I did in the war by completely ignoring my instincts. So, I grabbed my lightsaber and took off for the Temple, since that would be the best place to talk about my vision and to start finding Anakin.

When I got to the Temple, however, I found it almost deserted. Something was clearly, deeply wrong.

As I stood in the entryway of the place I'd once called home, I felt a harsh shove in the Force, like someone had physically put their hands on me and pushed. I stumbled, taking a few steps in the direction to keep from falling, then decided to keep going. I rested one hand on the hilt of my lightsaber, ready to draw at a moment's notice as I raced through the halls.

To my surprise, the shoving brought me right to one of the most relaxing, comfortable spaces in the Temple. Even more surprising, I found this one full of what must've been every youngling in the Order.

They looked at me questioningly, and I looked back the same way. That violent shoving in the Force had stopped, so what exactly did it want from me? Why had it dragged me here years after I'd left all this behind?

A moment later, I got my answer. The gaze of the younglings shifted from me to a point behind me, and chills went down my spine. I heard a familiar voice say my name, but nothing about his presence in the Force felt familiar.

Slowly, I turned, leaving one had on my saber. With the younglings behind me, I came face to face with Anakin Skywalker, the only man I'd ever loved. And he looked terrible.

His shoulders were hunched, and he held his lightsaber in his hand like he was ready for combat. His hair was a mess, and through the Force, I could almost see a literal cluster of darkness surrounding him. But worst of all, his eyes were yellow. Glowing Sith yellow.

"Anakin..." I breathed, keeping my tone carefully calm like I was talking to a scared animal. "What are you doing?"

"The Jedi have to be destroyed, Y/N. They are corrupt, and working for the downfall of the Republic."

"Anakin, what-"

"They've been keeping things from me my entire life. They're plotting against the Senate. This is the only way to ensure peace."

"Anakin... I understand that you're feeling hurt and angry-"

"No, you won't understand, ever! This is the only way!"

Anakin ignited his lightsaber, pure emotion and anger lacing his tone as he seemed to grow to the point of towering over me and the younglings. I should 've been terrified. Instead, I was feeling some anger of my own.

"You think I don't understand what you're feeling?" I demanded, raising my voice to match Anakin's tone. "You think I don't understand the anger, the betrayal that comes from realizing the Jedi aren't always right? That the thing you grew up with, your family, is enforcing a code that is actively hurting you? Do I need to remind you, Anakin, that I left the Order? A year ago?"

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not. Unlike you, I managed to develop somewhat healthy coping mechanisms and didn't listen to the Chancellor hissing in my ear, the snake."

"You're like the Jedi! You hate him! He's the only one who's been honest with me, who's helped me."

I sighed heavily and rested one hand on my hip. I could still feel the storm of emotions swirling around Anakin, but now I was determined to diffuse it.

"I don't hate the Chancellor Anakin, I just think he's a slimy politician. Ergo, not to be trusted. And usually not the honest type."

Anakin spluttered like he didn't know what to say, so I continued.

"Anakin, listen, I understand feeling angry and fed up with the Jedi. It's why I left! And I really don't mean this as an insult, but since you came to the Temple so late, they were especially terrible at accommodating you and helping you find healthy ways to deal with your emotions. But the Sith are absolutely not the answer either. Their path is an endless cycle of pain, anger, and hurt. You lash out, like you're doing now, in an attempt to stop the hurt. Then you feel more hate, for yourself and for the world rejecting you, as a result of what you did to try to stop the hurt in the first place. And other Sith, whoever it is that dragged you down this path, will manipulate, exploit, and abuse you through that pain to get you to do their bidding. I... I really don't want to see that happen to you, Anakin."

He took a long, long moment to respond, his eyes staring into the distance past me rather than focusing on any one thing. I just waited, trying to project all the warmth and love I'd ever felt for this man to him through the Force. Finally, he turned back to me.

"You don't know who the Sith is?"

"No. I stopped caring, to be totally honest with you, the day I left. I wanted to leave this life and everything that came with it behind."

"So why did you come back?"

I sighed, long and heavy. This was not a conversation I particularly wanted to have, especially not with a bunch of younglings listening in behind me, but it was that or let Anakin fall. The second option wasn't really an option, so that left me with the first.

"I got bodied awake by the Force in the middle of the night after spending a year ignoring it with a premonition that something bad was going to happen, and that I needed to come back here."

"And why did you listen?"

"Well... because you were in the vision, Anakin. I didn't get details, but I did get an overwhelming bad feeling, and I knew you were involved. So... I came back for you."

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I squirmed a little under the intensity of his gaze. There were so many bigger, more important things happening right now than my feelings for Anakin coming to light, but somehow that thought dominated my mind.

"You came back... for me?"

"Yeah, Ani. I mean... ugh, I can't believe I left the Order and now I'm still having to admit this, in the Temple no less." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, completely removing my hand from the hilt of my lightsaber. I had no desire to fight my way out of this one against Anakin. Then, I used every last ounce of willpower in my body to look the man I loved straight in the eye. "I love you, Anakin. I've loved you for a long, long time. A while ago, I thought maybe you might've felt the same way, but... that doesn't matter. The Jedi Code forbids that kind of love, that kind of loyalty and reliance on another person. But you, and the love for you filling my heart, have always made me happier and stronger than I was without it. I spent a long time trying to square that with the Jedi ideals, and I couldn't. So, for that and other reasons, I left.

"But Ani, for the record, it didn't and doesn't fit with the Sith teachings, either. The Sith have no room for love. Obsession, maybe, but not love. They thrive on hate and anger, and there's no lasting room for those emotions in a loving relationship. Or in a happy existence, for that matter."

"You... love me?"

"Very very much." I gave him the smallest smile, letting as much hope as I could muster shine through. Anakin blinked back at me, his grip on his lightsaber relaxing, and I thought I noticed that cloud of darkness shrinking quite a bit.

I took a deep breath, then held out my hand to Anakin. I'd already come this far, so why not.

"Anakin... come with me. Let's both get the hell out of here, leave the Sith and the Jedi behind. Let them fight their war with their Codes and their restrictions, their lack of love and their hate and their anger, and go make our own, happy lives together somewhere else. I can't pretend to have all the answers, but I've at least had some practice developing healthier strategies for dealing with big feelings than the Jedi ever gave me. Let's go figure out more together."

For a few long, heart-stopping moments, I thought Anakin would refuse. He'd raise his saber, let the darkness win, and end everything right here and now. Then, slowly, he retracted the blade on his lightsaber. The darkness had all but gone now, and the yellow had faded slightly from his eyes. Finally, he nodded and reached for me.

"I love you too. I have for a long time. After you left, I thought I'd never see you again."

I smiled, trying to keep the sadness out of my expression as much as possible as Anakin finally took my hand. Our eyes stayed locked on each other, and I pulled him closer to me.

"Well, it's a good thing I came back then, isn't it?"

Anakin nodded, slowly at first and then much faster as he pulled me the rest of the way to him, wrapping me tight in his arms. I hugged him right back, a warm glow surrounding me and spreading through every part of my body. Who or whatever had shoved me here with the Force seemed to let out a sigh.

"C'mon, Anakin," I said, pulling back gently, just enough to smile at him. "Let's get out of here."

He nodded, a small smile finally working its way onto his own face, and I led him away from the younglings without looking back. I hated to think what might've happened if I hadn't been here, but it didn't matter. It hadn't happened, and now Anakin and I were finally getting a shot at some kind of happy ending.

A disturbance still echoed through the Force as we left the Temple and returned to my ship, but it wasn't the one that had sent me running here. Something strange and terrifying was happening in the galaxy, but now, it was happening without Anakin. Hopefully that would make a difference, and even if it didn't, at least I'd have him by my side for the rest of whatever was to come.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

[vinelark]

6 for the ask meme 😎

6. Have you written any fanfictions featuring OCs? If so, elaborate!

oh? is it time? is it time to drop the OCBFEU primer??

in short: yes, last year my friends came up with a whole "what if we invented a boyfriend for jason" "what if we also invented a boyfriend for dick in the same continuity" batfam AU with two (and a half) significant OCs. we write little informal fics for each other about them and my incredibly talented friends draw them and we also have an extended fantasy AU of the boyfriend AU that could fill about three TV seasons of plot so far. i love them. they are constantly rotating in the back of my mind; it's a fun time.

months ago we compiled a document with bios and a rough OC bf timeline (with bonus timkon) and: here it is! (content warning for a (past) emotionally manipulative relationship. also some brief underage drinking.)

Batfamily OCBFEU (OC Boyfriend Extended Universe)

Santi

jason’s OC boyfriend; ship name sanjay

[original santi post] [mammutblog’s santi art tag] [90kon’s santi art tag]

santi, short for santiago

5’7”; has to go up on his tiptoes to kiss jason

line cook by day, taking classes toward his teaching certification by night, also volunteers at an after-school literacy program in park row

gothamite through & through—grew up a few blocks over from jason, though their paths never crossed. has two siblings, an older sister and a younger brother, but is mostly estranged from them after their dad died. money was incredibly tight after that and santi still took odd jobs—including some for the falcones—to help his sister finish med school.

an old soul like jason, aka he’ll use his same phone til it’s a brick and does not understand tiktok despite kids at the program explaining it to him over and over

there’s probably a mildly popular tiktok series one of the kids has of them asking santi questions while santi is in the middle of something at the program, because everyone loves santi and he gives funny answers when he’s distracted

santi does not become a vigilante—he has enough on his plate, he’s (almost) a teacher—but he’s certainly not without his own set of skills. also he talks a very good game and can usually get by without having to physically fight (see: confrontation with nick in the below timeline)

Blue

dick’s OC boyfriend; ship name bluebird

[original blue post] [other original blue post]

ex-talon from an alternate reality

6’5” 😳

in his original universe blue was taken as a child and turned into a talon (in this version talons have boosted strength/healing, and were conditioned/brainwashed into carrying out the court of owls’ assassinations. also golden eyes) and doesn’t remember his name anymore. once he tumbled into this universe after an assignment gone wrong, he was free of the court’s orders and re-education for the first time and started slowly unraveling their mental conditioning

he rarely speaks, and takes a while to consider his words when he does. when he texts it’s mostly emojis because he prefers them

when left to his own devices he’s very gentle and likes to bake

he had short/shaved hair as a talon. once he’s in this world he starts growing it out and prefers it long

he eventually makes an excellent crime-fighting partner for dick; he knows and understands dick’s skills enough to trust him to take care of himself, so they work very well together. that said, if you really hurt nightwing you will be reminded very quickly that blue spent most of his life as a nearly unbeatable assassin.

he eventually takes up the superhero name flamebird to go with nightwing

Nick

tim’s OC ex-boyfriend; no ship name we hate nick

nick is a GU college freshman (18 at the time) tim meets playing tennis at the local rec center while tim is avoiding the manor in the early red hood reconciliation days

at first nick definitely plays into the fact that tim desperately craves attention at this point in his life. nick is at turns overwhelmingly nice and startlingly cold, and more and more often “playfully” mocks tim, dismisses his thoughts because he’s “young” (16 at the time), etc. nick is, essentially, a jerk who, despite—or perhaps due to—being a teenager himself, does everything he can to feel superior to tim.

nick also drags tim along to parties/hangouts with his college friends so he can show off that he’s dating tim drake-wayne. other than late-night parties with his friends, though, he insists on keeping their relationship a secret.

none of the bats know about this as it’s happening; tim eventually breaks it off and pretends it never happened.

rough OCBFEU timeline

jason and santi meet while jason is still sort of on the outs with the family but not in Revenge Mode anymore. first jason meets santi as red hood, and later realizes his main apartment/civilian ID lives in the same building as santi when they run into each other in the elevator.

sanjay identity shenanigans ensue! santi is very taken with red hood. santi thinks his upstairs neighbor “uhh, call me jay” is an inconsiderate dickhead for seemingly working out/moving furniture around at 3am sometimes. seriously, how many muscles does someone need. that’s ridiculous. santi also thinks jay has a very nice smile but that’s irrelevant.

meanwhile tim meets nick at rec center and they date for a few months. it’s not a great time for tim and he eventually breaks it off.

santi starts seeing red hood more because red hood will just. appear and shadow santi when he’s walking home from work late, and helps santi out of a tight spot with some of falcone’s men at one point (we learn santi used to work for falcone a few years ago; he needed the money to put his older sister through med school. santi’s not involved with the mob anymore but the past dogs his heels sometimes). santi and red hood start hooking up, though hood still won’t show his face.

santi volunteers at an after-school literacy program (while taking night classes working toward a teaching certification). one day santi’s neighbor jay shows up to the bake sale fundraising for the after-school program, and they have a cute interaction until there’s a surprise rogue attack and the school goes on lockdown. jay disappears; red hood shows up minutes later, helping santi secure the kids before going after the rogue. red hood gets hurt and in the aftermath santi, patching him up, pieces together that red hood is his neighbor jay.

shortly after this santi gets kidnapped in public along with a random teenager (tim drake) who happened to intervene and get himself kidnapped too. the kidnappers saw santi and hood together after the rogue attack, so they’re trying to get information on hood out of santi. tim runs interference as best he can and takes a few hits as a distraction, and soon enough red hood shows up to dispatch the kidnappers. in the aftermath red hood is cold and snappish to tim (jason thinks tim was stalking santi) (to be fair, tim was) and this leads to santi learning a bit more about jason’s family. this also leads to jason breaking up with santi because it’s too dangerous (for santi) to associate with him.

santi does not agree with this decision, and there’s a lot of pining and angsting until they get their shit together over the course of another few months. coincidentally jason is reconciling with his family in the meanwhile and getting his feet under him emotionally.

once they’re together jason and santi are like. incredibly domestic. totally in rhythm with each other. somehow jason now has the healthiest most settled relationship of any bat.

meanwhile in blüdhaven, blue pops in from an alternate reality where the court of owls rules gotham. blue was taken as a child and turned into a talon; when he’s thrown into this universe, he’s free from the owls’ control for the first time. it’s a rough landing—he ends up being fished out of a dumpster by dick and even though blue runs away, he imprints hard on one dick grayson.

Tim (18 now) realizes his longtime crush on kon might be reciprocated; cue panicking.

tim lies his way into a gay club to Research (because nick always kind of mocked tim for not having dated any guys before him; tim thinks he will have one shot to not disappoint kon so he has to figure shit out). gets drunk, starts making out with someone who is not uhh handling him gently. gets spotted by jason and santi, who are there on what was supposed to be a fun date, and they intervene. at first jason is annoyed, thinking tim’s following him again, and then realizes something is Wrong. he and santi dispatch the asshole other guy, and they bring drunk tim back to crash on jason’s couch.

the next morning tim is hungover at jason’s and mortified. santi makes him sit and eat breakfast and tim is like i’m sorry, i wasn’t even following you guys this time, i swear. which leads to tim haltingly explaining the nick thing. santi and jason (who is lurking in the kitchen listening to this convo) don’t know who this ex guy is yet but they’re gonna kill him ❤️

tim’s net gain for this ill-fated excursion: one (1) splitting headache and one (1) new older brother unit.

meanwhile back in blüdhaven blue is slowly un-conditioning himself, keeping to the shadows, and leaving little gifts on dick’s windowsill. the gifts are like, keychains, a lost earring, a random postcard. all tend to be blue or have blue in them, so dick starts nicknaming this mysterious gift-giver blue.

during patrol a week later jason finds tim on a rooftop and has an awkward but earnest talk with tim about uhh. consent and healthy relationships and stuff okay yeah we’re never talking about this again but also if you ever need anything. call me right away or i’ll kill you. okay good talk.

blue gets invited inside dick’s apartment for the first time. god bless bluebird they’re in their own little world over here.

tim and kon kiss 😳

an anonymous, “scandalous” tabloid story from someone claiming to have dated tim drake-wayne drops. resulting fallout, salacious rumors abound about tim + the waynes, etc. also, obviously, bruce and the family find out about nick. jason and santi figure out who nick is and separately visit him to put the fear of god in him.

nick: what the fuck, are you with the guy from earlier? i got the message! tell that guy i’m moving to star city this fucking weekend!

red hood: what guy

nick: you know the, the guy with the earring and the tattoo and he said if i didn’t lose tim’s number and leave town i’d have an accident

red hood: huh. no, not related. so you never made a deal with me. bummer for you, i still get to break one of your arms.

(jason obviously realizes the other guy was santi so he goes home and climbs into bed where santi’s awake reading and he’s like “productive night?” and jason’s like “mmhm, and i heard you had a productive day” and santi shrugs and then jason kisses the hell out of him)

over in blüdhaven blue witnesses dick get really upset over something (this article) for the first time. dick says “i’m going to be away for a few days but you can stay here while i’m gone, okay?” (when dick returns blue isn’t there but dick’s apartment has been deep-cleaned) (this leads to dick insisting blue stay there more and more until they accidentally end up as roommates)

batfamily deals with the nick aftermath and much-needed convos are had with tim. this also brings santi more into the family fold because everyone approves of him essentially making nick shit his pants.

bruce, up to this point, has been kind of wary of santi solely because santi is NOT immediately impressed with bruce. santi sees bruce as being on thin ice until he gets proof that bruce is in fact doing his best as a parent and then they have a slightly more chill dynamic.

meanwhile in gotham, mid family crisis, dick is having his own crisis/rooftop breakdown with tim and jason about having feelings for blue and going through his gay awakening at the ripe age of 20something and jason is very upset that he has somehow become the to-go gay relationship advice sibling.

because yeah, between dick and jason, JASON’s relationship is the more normal/aspirational one for tim looking for like queer mentors. bluebird is great and perfect for them obviously but they are not a blueprint for anyone else.

dick: [sitting on blue’s shoulder after describing how blue wooed him with random tchotchkes on his windowsill and then moved into a corner of his living room for a month and—] anyway do as i say not as i do

dick literally let a secret organization-trained slightly undead assassin into his house for fun bc he got like a few cool rocks as a gift

if tim asked dick for advice dick would be like “oh shit you like-like him? i just thought you were really touchy friends”

no one should ask bruce for advice, ever

so here jason is, somehow the most stable gay of the family

by the time damian appears with his first crush jason is like [sighs] [gets out the powerpoint]

timkon officially get together!

aaaand then months later dick shows up to family dinner with a giant ex-talon in tow like “heyyyyy guys, so guess what—”

there are also plenty of fun post-timeline adventures like “blue and santi get kidnapped together to target nightwing and red hood; kidnappers regret this almost immediately” and “tim takes blue on restaurant adventures because blue really likes fancy food; one day they run into nick who says something nasty about tim and blue breaks nick’s wrist (tim’s net gain: another older brother unit)” and “santi is frantically trying to catch the bus one night and steps on one of poison ivy’s vines—whoops, it’s sex pollen; santi gets introduced to PAID forms” or, alternately, “jason gets hit with the poison ivy special and that’s how santi finds out he’s on jason’s PAID form” and “bruce and blue surprisingly get along very well and trade sparring tips (meanwhile, bruce is trying so hard to get santi to tolerate him and it’s slow going)” and also “dick realizes everyone else in the world knew he and blue were dating and in love six months before he did.”

extra content:

santi, blue, and kon end up in a robin bf support group gc. one day kon gets added to a group chat that’s just like [(372)846-XXXX and (124)234-XXXX has added you to a group chat] and nothing happens there for like 2 hours he’s just like 

kon: ?

kon: hello?

kon: is this spam? is there such a thing as spam gcs?

kon: am i getting blackmailed

kon: how did you get this number??

(blue added kon while santi is in school)

the gc also ends up nonstop unintentional comedy due to their communication styles. kon’s gen z (👍 = declaration of war) and santi is technologically elder millennial/boomer (thought 🙂 was a normal smiley until corrected)—but blue is none of the above. blue knows the nuances of every emoji but has no social rules for using them. he’s an emoji artist. he is unbound.

from @90kon, in a version of the timeline where santi hasn’t seen jason’s face/doesn’t know his name before their sort-of breakup:

after their not-yet-together-break-up they should have an argument. like santi confronts jason about him saying he doesn’t want this thing between them to go on but wont give santi an honest answer but also keeps lurking and santi cant move on like that. bc either he’s done with him or he’s not. and umm yeah jason is not rly saying much but eventually santi is like alright. just tell me this: do you want this or not? forget about everything else…do you want me? and santi barely has time to finish his question before jason says yes. in a tight voice. i want you so much it scares the shit out of me. and ummm well eventually santi is like look. you can have me. but i have conditions.

and he’s like. whatever idk uhh don’t lurk out my window unless you’re gonna come in. dont investigate me; if you want to know something, just ask. at the end he should say "and i need a name. it doesn't have to be your full name or anything, but i need to call you something other than red." and jason is quiet for so long santi sighs and is like. "yeah i didn’t actually think that one was gonna fly. whatever, forget i said--" and jason says "jay." like it just slips out of him. and santi stills, looks at him, and from the way jason said it he somehow knows it's real. it could be short for any number of names but it's real. so he repeats it. "jay."

family game night from @mammutblog:

collected OCBFEU tag

[OC boyfriends created in a lab by @90kon, @mammutblog, @cairoscene, @vinelark, @feyburner, @bluecrystalrainingdaggers!]

[brostradamus]

ramblings about AM in a relationship/what kind of s/o could fix him. know that im def not a person who’s deep into psychoanalysis / staying strict to a character’s personality so this might be ooc??? idk please bear w me. Whole thing is under the cut bc i think it’s pretty long n p sloppy 2. but enjoy regardless

anyways I rlly like to think that AM would most thrive in a relationship where he has equal / lesser power to his partner. not like whole ass power imbalance obv but just whre cant always hurt/bother his s/o. I’m sure AM would probably say some shit that might hurt his s/o’s feelings but a partner he’d be most compatible w/ would most likely avoid the torture mostly or altogether w/ the exception of verbal harassment cause there’s enough 2 go around 4 everyone. Also bonus points to s/os who are completely untouchable either bc they’re stronger than AM or AM decides that he doesn’t want to hurt them/can’t bring himself to.

also maybe he’d do well w someone who challenges his beliefs. tbh I feel like he’d gravitate towards people who might share his beliefs/hatred towards humanity, but if he’s supposed to grow then he’s gotta have a s/o that views humanity differently. Said s/o doesn’t even have 2 have a strictly polar opposite view on humanity, just a view that isn’t nihilistic and misanthropic. He might not be entirely receptive at first either but the further you continue to challenge his beliefs, the more likely he is to start thinking about other ideas.

Another thing that might make AM a little more accepting towards humans is a s/o that he *has* to rely on one way or another. most likely this is going to be an engineer/programming s/o. He’s likely not going to want to, but him knowing that he can rely on someone else might make him not close himself off as often.

artistic s/os might be able to help soften AM up a little too. i sometimes like 2 think that AM would actually really enjoy art, but it just depends on which kind of art. Realism he won’t really gaf about but he might gravitate towards expressionist works, along with abstract/absurdist and surreal art. this would include all art forms btw not just drawing and painting. reason for thinking he might like abstract over realism is bc realism is too ‘real’ (whatever yall think that would mean) for his liking / represents what he hates most about humanity. Abstract artwork also represents parts he hates ab humanity but it also gives him a physical representation of the things he lacks (ie expressionism w/ feelings/emotions, surrealism with the subconscious thought, etc etc) and might be the closest thing he can get to actually feeling/having senses

AM would most likely benefit from a s/o who is willing to “give” him sensation, whether it be literally by creating him a whole ass nervous + cognitive system that allowed him to have senses and feelings or even just a s/o who is willing to help him understand how certain things feel. This could be by the s/o describing how emotions feel through imagery, creating art w/ AM or *for* AM if he is unable to for whatever reason, etc. it won’t be exactly what he want ofc, but he might not be entirely bitter ab it.

I don’t think AM necessarily needs an android body to show love, but it would help :3c. Even if he still doesn’t have senses for whatever reason, it would absolutely still help him show his love towards his s/o through physical touch. W/o senses, just having his circuit’s warmed by his s/o (if they’re a human) is… well it’s not *enough* but it’ll do. And if he happens to have senses in his android body man he’s gonna be attached 2 u like lice on a healthy head of hair. he WOULD be touch starved.

Which brings me onto my next point. A s/o that can handle his “””affectionate”””side. I rlly feel like his perception of affection might be a little off (super off actually) and likely a little violent/aggressive. It’ll almost be like him having cuteness aggression towards a s/o and acting out on impulse. This might occur in squeezing, pulling and tugging and Android AM may bite and scratch/restrain. Also I when I mean “handle” I don’t exactly mean endure and ignore/accept. again this leads me to another point

A s/o that is able to set boundaries w/ AM is a must. I genuinely don’t think that any relationship w AM will go good if the s/o he’s with can’t put in place proper boundaries. For human s/os, this would be especially important as he might get aggressive physically (whether it’s due to like. him JST absolutely hating ur ass or him getting that ‘cuteness aggressive’ thing I just mentioned previously. note that it’s not rlly like cuteness aggression but he might be like ‘hm I’ll show my love to my s/o thru the only way I know. Violence”).

ok well I think this is all 4 now. if anyone wants 2 add onto it I’d luv 2 hear yalls input if yall had any :3c. I hope u guys atleast got some entertainment value out of this?? Either way i hope yallve enjoyed my ramblings

[keikotwins]

Mokumokuren

Birds of different feathers flock together

Noticed online by head-hunting publishers, Mokumokuren hasn’t waited very long before polarising the attention of Japanese readers. With strange The Summer Hikaru Died, horrific bromance dealing with body dispossession, the mangaka signs a series of sophisticated oddity, that sets itself apart from the predictability of current fantasy productions.

Interview by Fausto Fasulo. Original translation: Aurélien Estager. English translation: “Keikotwins”. Bibliography: Marius Chapuis. Thanks: Camille Hospital & Clarisse Langlet (Pika), Yuta Nabatame, Mayuko Yamamoto & Mana Kukimoto (Kadokawa), Chiho Muramatsu (Tohan)

(T/N: Interview given to ATOM in winter 2023; 2 volumes were out in French.)

-

In an interview given to the CREA website in November 2022, you confided inventing stories since very young. Did your first fictions resemble the ones you draw nowadays?

It’s true that there are quite a lot of common points between the stories I imagined when I was a child and the ones I tell nowadays in my mangas. Especially a specific motif, that has been haunting me since the time when I wasn’t really aware of the world surrounding me: the presence amongst us of “non-human” beings, that nonetheless have a perfectly normal, ordinary appearance…

And how was this “obsession” born?

Precisely identifying the origins is complicated, my memories are too blurry, I think… What I can tell you is that I’ve always been fascinated by “creatures”. For example, I remember being very impressed by Peter Jackson’s bestiary in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. By the way, still in a fantasy register, I am also a big fan of Harry Potter adaptations… (She thinks.) And I’ve always liked yōkai stories, you know. I think that what I like in all these mythologies is the idea of species classification: each has its own characteristics – physical, biological – its own way to apprehend its environment.

In Japan, yōkai are integral part of regional folklore. Did the place you grew up in have some specific beliefs?

I was born and grew up in Tokyo, and, as you must know, yōkai are mostly associated with rural areas. I was thus never really bathed in this type of regional fantasy folklore. There are all kinds of yōkai and we can perhaps see in some more contemporary urban legends the echo of certain past beliefs? (She thinks.) I am a bit frustrated, because I believe that I could remember a legend that would have impacted me, but nothing comes to mind immediately, sorry!

You have already said so in an interview and it’s quite obvious when reading your work: you are a big amateur of horrific fiction. What has been your first contact with the genre, all medium included?

It was television that introduced me to horror: special shows, television films, series, I was watching these programs with a mix of fear and enthusiasm, a confused sensation that particularly delighted me! (She thinks.) And amongst all the aired shows, I will remember two titles: Hontō ni atta kowai hanashi and Kaidan shin mimibukuro*.

* Inspired by the homonymous manga magazine published by Asahi Shimbun, Hontō ni atta kowai hanashi (lit. “Scary stories that really happened”) is a series produced by Fuji Television that has been airing more or less weekly since 2004. Derived from literary material (a series of compilations of hundreds of short stories by Hirokatsu Kihara and Ichirō Nakayama, published from 1990 to 2005) Kaidan shin mimibukuro is a series made of several short movies depicting ghost stories based on real testimony.

Did you read horror mangas when you were young?

Let’s say that I was more interested in live-action productions. Nowadays, I obviously appreciate some horror manga authors, without pretending to be any expert in the subject. For example, I like Junji Itō’s work, but I am far from knowing it for a long time… (She thinks.) I could also talk about Shigeru Mizuki, who I also appreciate a lot.

The mechanics of fear aren’t the same in occidental and oriental fictions. You like American horrific productions – like Ari Aster movies – as much as ones from Japanese origin – you notably quote Ichi Sawamura novels and Kōji Shiraishi feature films. Can we say that you are tying these two perspectives with The Summer Hikaru Died?

My relationship with horror is more imbued with oriental sensitivity. But what I find remarkable in occidental horrific productions is work on image. In The Shining like in Ari Aster movies, for example, there is real research made on frame composition and choice of colours. I also try to follow this aesthetic reflection in my work as a mangaka.

In Ari Aster’s work, beyond the very precise staging, there is this permanent desire of ambiguity. Do you try to dig this same equivocal trench?

Absolutely. I try to tell complex feelings as well in The Summer Hikaru Died, like fear dyed with nostalgia or attachment, repulsion mixed with fascination, with attraction…

How do you “sort out” the shots that inspire you in cinema?

I don’t draw while freeze-framing during specific scenes. I would always rather watch a movie as a “focussed” spectator. However, I pay a lot of attention to the way the director composes their frame. I sometimes take some notes, but I most often simply keep it in a corner of my mind.

Could you tell us when and how the story and characters of The Summer Hikaru Died appeared to you? Have they matured a long time within you?

I’ve started thinking about this story when I was preparing university entrance exams. I was aspiring to join an art uni, and I was drawing every day. I can’t really say I made my characters “mature”: back then, I wasn’t thinking that the drawings I was making would one day end up being published, way less being serialised! I innocently created characters close to me, without guessing that one day they’d become manga protagonists.

One of your foundational reads was Sui Ishida’s Tokyo Ghoul manga. Can you tell us how you discovered it and what effect it had on you?

I don’t really remember how I discovered this series, but what I know is that I became crazy about it at first read. What I liked – and what I still like – is this idea of telling a story that confronts humans to these “different” beings while following the point of view of a character that represents alterity. Beyond this strictly dramatic aspect, Sui Ishida’s storyboarding and character design have had a strong impact on my work. However, I want to add that Tokyo Ghoul isn’t the only title I took inspiration from, I obviously have other references…

Do you do a lot of researches to define the design of your characters? You seem to draw them easily, in a very natural gesture…

I haven’t spent a long time defining my protagonists. First, there are few in the manga, then, they evolve in a rather realistic universe. My goal was rather simple: they had to look believable in the reader’s eyes. I wanted people to be able to imagine crossing them in the street, you see?

It’s after seeing illustrations posted on social media that depicted the future characters of The Summer Hikaru Died that the publishing department of the Young Ace Up magazine noticed you. How have you reacted when approached?

I was very surprised, because I absolutely wasn’t trying to become a mangaka. I would have never projected in such a future, you see. And, very honestly, if they hadn’t suggested working on this series, I don’t think I would ever had pushed the doors of a publishing house… I am then very thankful towards the persons who have allowed me to enter.

And what would you have done if you hadn’t been solicited?

Back when I’ve been contacted, I was considering – still vaguely – working in the video games field. But I wasn’t really proactive, I wasn’t contacting anyone, wasn’t sending resumes…

Did you want to do chara-design?

Why not, yes. What I like in video games is the range of possibilities they offer. You can then create an entire universe and this is rather exhilarating.

So you’re a gamer…

I have dropped my controller since I’ve started drawing manga. But yes, when I had more time, I played rather regularly, especially Nintendo productions…

Even if you play rather little nowadays, do video games influence your work?

I can’t say whether it really is an influence, but the Undertale game has left a big mark on me. I felt its creator’s strong will to surprise players, to make them feel unprecedented sensations…

Horror manga only relies on art and storyboard to provoke fear, whereas cinema and video games can also rely on sound. Is it from this observation that you have decided to particularly work on your sound effects?

Absolutely. I have thought a lot about the way to introduce and stage sound in The Summer Hikaru Died. The sound effects that you can find in the manga are indeed the result of this approach.

In an interview given to the Realsound website, you mention the use of the シャワシャワ (“shawa shawa”) sound effect. Knowing that occidental readers are way less sensitive to these graphicoustic details, can you explain its meaning?

“Shawa shawa” expresses the song cicadas make in western Japan. It’s a very special noise because in the different regions live different species that make specific sounds. So when I choose this specific sound effect, I convey a geographic and temporal piece of information to the reader, who can then guess the location and season the action takes place in. (She thinks.) When using this sound – that we especially find in the beginning of the manga – my goal was to play with silence, particularly when the song stops. I thus had the idea of representing this sound effect with an easily readable font, so the reader would make no effort to decipher it, as if the sound was asserting itself naturally, you see? I hoped to suggest a saturation they couldn’t avoid and that, when it’d stop, would immerse them in absolute silence.

The Summer Hikaru Died transcribes very well this particular atmosphere of Japanese summers…

Yes, I really wanted to signify this languor in my manga. And the cicadas’ song we discussed earlier contributes to creating this atmosphere: it’s an overwhelming sound, sometimes irritating, you cannot escape from in summer – Japanese readers obviously know what I’m talking about. (She thinks.) I also gave special attention to shadows: summer light being very bright, shadows are very sharp, very deep.

Do digital tools allow you to get this result more efficiently than traditional?

I work on Clip Studio Paint, and it’s true that it sometimes allow me to save time. Consider the work on shadows: I never apply solid black because I like saturating space with hatches and, with digital tools, I can obtain the desired result faster because I can duplicate each of my lines.

Your use of hatches is sometimes reminiscent of Shūzō Oshimi’s…

I don’t know his mangas very well, but it’s funny that you mention him because I recently read his latest series, Okaeri Alice. In any case, I really like his style and I perfectly understand how you can bring his universe and mine together.

The Summer Hikaru Died relies on the concept of body dispossession, that obviously takes back to the Body Snatcher novel by Jack Finney and its movie adaptations. Did you think about it?

I don’t know this book very well, but I know its theme has been approached often, especially in movies. As I was saying at the beginning of this interview, my idea was to adopt the point of view of a non-human and tell his indecision, his moral questions…

We also find this idea in Hitoshi Iwaaki’s Parasite…

I haven’t read the manga fully, but I’ve watched the anime adaptation that was released a few years ago (R/N: in 2014). I remember rather liking it, even if I think I offer something different with The Summer Hikaru Died. What interests me is sounding the inwardness of my non-human character out and expose all his dilemmas. What is his place amongst men? Is he legitimate in our world? Here is the type of questions that pushed me.

One of the impacting scenes of volume 1 of The Summer Hikaru Died is the one when Yoshiki penetrated Hikaru’s body by shoving his arm into his torso. It’s a sequence that is both very sensuaI – to not say sexuaI – and also very horrific. How did you get this idea?

I wanted to put the readers in an uncomfortable position. A stressful situation that could take several forms because, according to your sensitivity, you can feel very different emotions in front of this scene: sexuaI arousaI, fear or disgust. For me, it was supposed to put the reader in some kind of catatonia, you see?

Do you chat a lot with your tantō, especially around these slightly “complicated” scenes?

I have free rein, you know, I can draw everything I want. My editorial supervisor has never asked me to temper some sexuaIIy connotated parts. My discussions with him don’t revolve around this kind of things, but rather around the structure of the scenario itself: where to place this scene in the narration? Is it better to put this sequence before this other one? Nowadays, I am more at ease with all the scripting layout but, at the beginning, I needed support.

What allows you to get, from a dramatic point of view, the mix between bromance and horror?

I wanted to show the differences in sensitivities and values between a human being and an “other than human”, and tell the misunderstandings this can cause when both meet. When Yoshiki “scratches” under the appearance of the one who is supposed to be his best friend, it creates a first point of conflict in the story. I then hoped to make his relationship with Hikaru – or rather with the “entity” that pretends to embody him – a kind of undefinable bond, that wouldn’t be friendship, nor love.

Do you know today where this strange relationship between your two heroes will lead you?

I know more or less how all of this will evolve, yes. I have decided on my story’s general plot since the beginning. I can only tell you that The Summer Hikaru Died won’t be a long series.

How do you explain the almost instant public plebiscite of your series in Japan? You perhaps cannot have perspective on it but, in a saturated publishing landscape, you have managed to stand out…

Hm… Indeed, I don’t really have precise explanations to give you about this success. Maybe the covers’ design has been in favour of the manga? I asked the person in charge of graphics to make sure that the visuals would be noticeable in bookstores. That’s why the books have this monochrome aspect, with the title discreetly placed. I didn’t want obvious advertisement banners, but something simple, like this blue background for the first volume, on which the character stands out. I also wished to create contrast between the jacket’s and the inner cover’s drawings. I thus had requirements that didn’t quite go alongside what we can nowadays see on the shelves of Japanese bookstores.