#I’m going to be shameless here and admit that yes this post is aimed

[alexlesuagz]

Sorry I’m gonna be very shittalky here

Imagine being a grown adult and shittalking a MINOR because they don’t like AI art and block you for it. Absolute pissbaby loser behavior. 💀

“Their art style is shit” At least they can draw, fucking pussy. Use a Picrew or pick up a goddamn pencil because your posts with AI art have proven that you’re nothing more than a lazy, talentless hack who whines and cries when people obviously don’t like it.

Grow the fuck up.

[psalloacappella]

scherzo

Day 2 Prompt:  Cooking // “I didn’t know you had that habit.”

@sasusakublankperiodweek

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

“You miss him — don’t deny it! You’re a softhearted man.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Quiet laughing, shared only in a small clearing at the edge of the world, filthier than they like but close to the salt and earth and sea, nothing in between them but love and a basket of peeled fruit.

The first time she does it, Sasuke is quite sure he’s succumbing to blindness, or at least some degradation of sight. Must have been a trick of the light.

The second time she does it prompts a double-take.

On the third time he looms up behind her as she crouches near the fruit basket, and can’t help the incredulous sigh that escapes him, which startles her; in hindsight, his approach was a poor choice of abrupt entrance into her space, considering she’s been putting a sharp object so close to her lips.

Discarded rinds flutter to the forest floor as well — as butterflies, as kaleidoscopic confetti littering the ground beneath them from her produce peeling.

“Sasuke-kun!” The knife falls to the dirt with a keen metal pitch. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“What are you doing, Sakura?”

“You said your vision was fine,” she says with a pout. “Making dinner, obviously.”

“And . . . have you always done that?”

“Done what?”

A rustle and sigh, not wanting to give form and shape to the action. Plucking up the knife now spattered with dry soil, she gently cleans it against the material of her thigh and settles into her haunches properly, seeming puzzled. Flame of the small makeshift pit of fire popping merrily, a boiling stone pot waiting to be fed previously-peeled vegetables. Between her thumb and forefinger she dangles the knife absentmindedly.

Maybe it’s a silly worry — maybe he’s just hungry. Brow furrowing, he decides to tell the truth in his sometimes brusque way.

“Just be careful with that. And anyway, where’d you pick that up? Seems like something our teammate might do.”

When her eyes flash for a moment, bright in the fading daylight, he considers that so far out from the main road, no one could hear him scream. Ah, stupid response.

She rolls those elegant green eyes in a long, mocking arc, and blows a strand of long pink hair out of her face. Both of them are a bit scruffy, a long way from an inn or even a village, off the grid for a while after encounters with persistent bandits. Possessing renowned abilities and not exactly strangers to the world after being honored post-war, they concluded they may have overdone it in their retaliation.

And, propping up the bodies afterward near a visible post near the road (gently, of course, and with all limbs intact!), they decided to travel light and low the following weeks.

They’ve watched each other transform into slightly more feral versions of one another. It’s not unwelcome, the smudges on her face and the ragged edges of her hair beginning to reach her waist. He wonders what he must look like to her; brutish, perhaps, although by the way they’re so close at night, perhaps not.

She’s not exactly the same girl he left behind.

“Is poisoning the way you wanted to go, darling?”

Sasuke blanches. “Sakura?”

Flipping the knife and catching it again, she aims the point at him. “Do not compare me to Naruto, or there will be a tragic accident here indeed.”

He’s done this before, stumbled into a flippant comment that he doesn’t expect to get her going. Well, he’s learning.

“In fact, don’t compare any woman to Naruto,” she adds, wrinkling her nose. “Not if you prefer living.”

Sasuke tamps down a snort that could be laughter. He doesn’t usually stop her rants — they’re sort of endearing.

“Listen, I know you were wandering around the world with your own . . . aims,” she says, waving the knife around again, “but I did an absurd lineup of missions while you were gone:  reconnaissance, medical dispatch, undercover — yes, I did, I see that smirk of yours, and don’t you know women tend to have much, much higher completion rates than the men on those?”

Yes, Sasuke knows all these things, but getting her heated, sometimes, is a joy and entertainment in itself that he’s at least been smart enough not to admit. Assumes she’ll discover it eventually, the way he quiets down in the face of her temper, the shameless way he’s realized he watches her eyes and lips and an angry rouge simmer up through the skin of cheeks and chest.

“Not to mention I’m usually the only kunoichi on those missions, or at the very least outnumbered; do you know what it’s like to bunk with a whole damn bunch of you? Gods!”

Jabbing the knifepoint in the basket next to her laden with a colorful bouquet of chopped produce, it comes up with a piece of apple, which she points at him in a vaguely threatening manner.

The sight of this particular fruit sends a strange pang throughout, plucking at a string in his heart in the vein of a vibrating and resonating harp.

“And if you’re worried about me hurting myself,” she says with a sharp tongue cluck, “I’ll have you know — but you should already know! — that I’ve performed countless surgeries, sewed up hundreds of bodies, been horribly poisoned, pinned like a cushion, and sure maybe I have picked up a gross habit or two from Naruto, but you know what being around him is like, he rubs off on everyone, and the point is,” and now she takes an angry bite of the apple chunk that’s still speared through with the knife, chewing angrily, and waves the uneaten half at him some more, “I am perfectly capable of using knives, and at total and complete liberty to lick the knife when I’m done! It isn’t the worst thing you can put in your mouth anyway. You’re one to talk:  You put all sorts of inanimate things in your mouth, even when I offer to help you, you were bandaging wounds with your teeth for gods’ sake!”

Just about spent, she seems to burn even brighter in the dusk. Sasuke thinks of fruit on hospital floors, the earth splitting beneath his feet:  She is at once something gentle, something fierce.

When she tosses the knife back into the fruit basket and the spearing of a cleaved, unlucky fruit chunk sounds between them, Sasuke’s too slow to hide his smirk and knows he’s been found out.

“You think this is funny! Oh-ho, you think it’s hilarious when I’m mad, don’t you? When I defend myself?”

Sasuke shakes his head, lackadaisical. Settled in and sated like a large jungle cat. “I didn’t want you cutting yourself. That’s all.”

“Could’ve saved me the rant, then,” she mutters. Her stomach growls louder than she anticipates, and she presses her hands to her face and groans. “So embarrassing! I’m hungry, dirty, fucking vagabond vogue and you just sit there and you look so, ugh, self-satisfied.”

Sighing, she tumbles back into a sitting position and cards a hand through her long hair.

“I shouldn’t have compared you to Naruto,” he offers, still fighting a smirk. “It wasn’t what I meant in the slightest.” He pauses. “I . .  like you this way.”

“Oh, what way?”

“ . . . scrappy?”

“You mean filthy?”

“Strong?”

“Should’ve known that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Bandits? A lil’ thing called the Fourth Shinobi War? Naruto’s ribs?”

“Ah, now who’s bringing up the idiot?”

“You miss him — don’t deny it! You’re a softhearted man.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Quiet laughing, shared only in a small clearing at the edge of the world, filthier than they like but close to the salt and earth and sea, nothing in between them but love and a basket of peeled fruit.

“Perhaps . . . I did speak out of turn.”

Sakura leans back on hands, tosses her head to the sky to beam at the budding evening stars.

“I do appreciate it, though. You caring, I mean,” she adds. “But I promise I know my way around sharp objects.”

Something slips from his lips in undertone, a quiet remark that draws her mischievous green gaze.

“That too,” she says. She tosses her long, wild hair over her shoulder and meets his eyes head-on.

Staring back and channeling the same crackling heat as the fire a few feet away.

“So,” she says triumphantly, eyes aglitter, “shall we discuss, over dinner, the bad habits involving your mouth, Sasuke-kun?”

[sky-squido]

16, 21, 30, or 34? ALSO HAPPY BORTH YOU WONDERFUL PERSON 'yeets a cake at you'

*gets cake yeeted at me*

MORPH ILY

it's really funny thought cuz my parents actually got squido WRITTEN ON THE CAKE AAH

anyway *coughs*

here's where you can find the answer to 16! ^^

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

all of these are gonna be platonic cuz ew romance ((post was made by the probably aroace gang)) and FOUND FAMILY IS THE BEST

okay so i write a LOT of downfall duo,,, like a LOT. it might be my favorite pairing, but it feels a little too easy sometimes. i'm a total sucker for rarepairs like sky&legend, four&legend, wind&legend twi&legend—I'M A SHAMELESS LEGEND STAN OKAY

oh hyrule&sky is fire, too

okay but in all seriousness i ADORE writing twi-sky parent gang and wind&twilight also gives me SO MUCH LIFE. my favorites are legend, sky, and wind, and i feel like the latter two especially are just really underutilized. the most fun i have in my fics is like, yes there's a storyline and Serious Things Are Happening but they're still a buncha kiddos going on an adventure together and i feel like the more banter and rarepairs a fic has, the more real it all feels

enough rambling okay YES i love downfall duo with my whole heart but also i think the beauty of LU is the diversity of interactions you can play with and anything with a soft legend or a badass wind and/or sky in it is a recipe for a VERY happy squido. just,, sky and wind, and twi, too, i feel, are often the "recessive" characters in an interaction, if you will. it feels like they're usually not the main characters and tend to be a vehicle for the plot of whoever's talking to them so when THEY'RE stepping up and taking a role, it just makes me so happy! ^^

as i mentioned here, they're all the main characters of their own games so watching them all step up and take charge, especially the traditionally timid ones is just YES

okay enough rambling what was the other one? ah yes

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

yes.

no i’m kidding.

well only sort of.

the way i see it, angst and fluff, hurt and comfort, they’re like push and pull. it’s a dance, my friends, a dance of hurt and healing and you need both to feel satisfied. fluff fics are nice, but they’re not food. angst fics are great, but i always leave them feeling sort of empty. but both, the angst sets up the conflicts and the fluff resolves it. i think you really do need both to have balance in a fic. obviously fics don’t have to show you the whole picture and authors can write whatever they’re comfy with and sometimes you want a fluffy comfort fic and sometime you just want pain—i’m by no means trying to say that my way is the only, or even the best, way to write a fic. it’s just my personal preference and that intertidal zone between the soft yet stagnant sands of fluff and the roaring, turbulent waves of angst is where i make my home. the tides come and go, waves crash and pull, but life flourishes in the cracks in the rocks and the burrows in the sand and sjghsfjghfldkgsehfjgsd i really just went off didn’t i

tl;dr:

yes

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

ohh this one's hard.

i had a big ramble here before i remembered two excepts that just take the cake and these are probably my favorite things i've ever posted on ao3

this one’s from Burns:

 “Tell me, do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?” The man said that like it was somehow supposed to explain something. Like it meant something.

 Wind thought for a moment. “No, I can’t say that I do. Sunset… it’s beautiful.” Wind smiled despite himself, gesticulating excitedly. “The sky lights up a million colors and the ocean turns to molten gold. The sea stays warm even as the wind grows chilled and the first stars begin to blink into the sky, a welcome sight to any navigator. Sure it’s sad that the day ends, but the night is beautiful in its own way. I welcome them both. Two sides of the same coin, you know?”

 The man remained in silence for a moment. “But what about the twilight? That time when the world hangs precariously between the two, balanced on the coin’s edge. What about that time?”

 Wind felt his brow furrow in confusion, but he indulged him nonetheless.

 “Yeah, it’s nice. That time when the first star blinks into the sky, the bravest and the brightest, a beacon of hope guiding sailors on their journeys. It’s like the dawn, but not quite as still. It’s like… it’s as if the day is an inhale and the night is an exhale and twilight is that little time in the middle when the world holds its breath. Is that what you mean?”

 The man’s gaze shifted to the ground, a bittersweet smile on his face and his eyes suspiciously wet.

 “Yeah. That is what I mean.”

 Wind opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the man saying: “call me Twilight.”

:D

This is from What Hyrule Hadn't Seen chapter 10 and it’s both spoilers and kinda long and i don’t want this post to be five miles so

 “Wind, we need to get you out here. You can barely stand.”

 “Bullsh*t! I’m not leaving you behind!”

 “I’ll manage,” came his reply, the blade of his spin attack passing above Wind’s crouched head.

 “No you f*cking won’t! I’m not going to leave you out here to die!”

 “So you’d rather we both died instead?!”

 “You admit that this is a suicide mission, then!”

 “Stop wasting time and get out of here!”

 “NO!”

 “WIND! As your commanding officer, I am ordering you to get to safety!”

 Wind finally rose to his feet, his right leg bleeding and clearly supporting none of his weight, his sword unwavering in his determined arms.

 “The day I submit to your authority when you're being an ass is the day I f*cking die.”

 Warriors let out a small whine, a sound Wind never could have imagined the captain making. He spoke in a low, slicing tone, his eyes like his blade—cold, steely, and far too wet—as he faced the sailor.

 “I’ve stood over far too many corpses. Don’t let yours be one of them.”

 Wind straightened his posture and said nothing, pulling his bow from his back, his gaze like fire—hungry and bursting with life—and wordlessly turned his back to the captain, knocking an arrow, brilliant luminescence collecting on its head as he aimed into the blackened forest that seethed with darkness.

 “Come on, tactics man, use your head. If you fall here, the town won’t be safe. Nowhere will be.”

 He smiled a smile that had no right to cover the face of a child.

 “If we’re gonna die, we might as well do it together.”

 Warriors’ shoulders heaved in a silent sob, but he quickly quelled it, regaining his composure as best he could, brow furrowed and sword quivering in his hands.

 “I just can’t f*cking win with you.”

 “No, but you can lose with me one last time.”

 "So be it."

 Warriors said nothing more, diving into battle once again.

 Wind fired his arrow.

 A halo of light burst through the forest, shattering shadows into dust.

 And a sword slipped past the captain’s wavering guard. 

read it here uwu: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25993870/chapters/68195218

[innaminitus]

Italian nights #2

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Request: I had this idea for a fic with Loki based on Blank Space by Taylor Swift where reader like the song in front of other people because she’s crazy and manipulative and seductive and goes through a ton if men but Loki learns she’s super anxious and sensitive in private??? Idk if that works, and it’s up to you if you wanna add smut (from @psycho-on-thephone)

Warnings: part 2/2, language, smut

Word count: 2799

A/N: I decided to stay with Taylor Swift for this fic. Was thinking about getaway car but that would’ve been too savage. Anyways, it’s 3am and I’m posting instead of sleeping 

Gorgeous

Loki was watching you sway your hips to the music. You tried to sing along, but didn’t know the words and kept laughing at yourself, peaking at him from time to time to make sure his eyes were still on you.

Whiskey in his glass warmed him enough to care a little less about the worries of the world, your bare legs did the rest. You were not wearing any shoes, your feet moved on the sand as if it was the softest carpet when you joined other people’s dances.

You accidentally found a beach party organized by a hotel or a club and decided to join.

Your little agreement seemed to work. You’ve spent majority of the time together, he managed to be your distraction from whatever demons you needed to hide from. He enjoyed your company more than he would admit. There was something… mesmerizing about you. About how different you acted when you were among other people and when you were just with him. You were like two sides of the coin, and yet he somehow adored both of your faces. The crazy one, daring, the one that liked to drink and kiss was fun to spend time with, but it was your calm side, the one that wasn’t afraid to show vulnerability and calmness was the side he enjoyed most. He didn’t know why you decided to trust him with your feelings, but he was happy you did.

He could show claws thanks to you as well.

“I would gladly spank that ass of hers,” said a man on the barstool next to Loki, who turned to face him. He was watching you as well. “Bet she would enjoy every minute of it.”

Blood boiled in Loki, but he managed to not kill the man on the spot.

“You think?” The god raised his brow and his eyes were back on your body. You were smiling at some man, then at another, but not giving them much attention.

“One look at a girl and I know what she needs, believe me, dude. And this one here needs some good spanking…” He took a big gulp of beer and continued to follow you lustfully with his sight.

Loki forced himself to keep calm. No need to start a fight because of it. Yet.

“Why don’t you go and try your luck, then?”

The man laughed and shook his head.

“Maybe I should!”

You caught Loki’s sight, discretely asking you to come to him. You excused a girl you were dancing with and with a smile that made his insides twirl slowly walked to him.

He greeted you with a smirk, and ignoring the man next to him guided you to straddle his lap.

“My queen,” he murmured in your neck.

It took you just a mere second to pick up his game and your smile widened.

“My king…” You kissed his lips gently.

“Fuck, I am-“ The man next to you stuttered and Loki broke the kiss.

“What were you saying about my girl? Ah, yes. That she needs a good spanking,” he said as calmly as he could and you raised your eyebrow before turning to the man.

“Kinky,” your voice was almost erotic and Loki shivered at the sound of it. “You want to do it to me?” You reached and with your finger traced the hem of the collar of the man’s polo shirt. His eyes were slightly widened, he was drunk enough to think you were serious and was now thinking either about escaping this situation without a black eye or about you in his bed. Loki didn’t want to know if it was the latter. “You want to spank me, solider? Till my ass is nice and red for you?”

He couldn’t bare it. He didn’t want you to talk like that to any man that wasn’t him.

“Like hell I do,” the man said eagerly, completely ignoring the fact that you were on Loki’s lap.

It wasn’t even a second when you reached under your dress, to the thigh holster and pulled out freshly polished Colt King Cobra, aiming it at the man’s head.

His eyes widened in terror, he suddenly got as pale as a dead man. Somehow no one noticed that you were holding a revolver yet. Loki couldn’t hold a laugh at your mad action.

“Have some respect for woman around you, pervert. You never know if they aren’t able to kill you.” You smiled at him sweetly and reloaded.

“I think the lady wants you to apologize.” Loki smiled as well, although his smile wasn’t as pleasant as yours.

“I’m- I’m sorry!” The man cried, looking around for any help. Loki knew you didn’t have much more time to play anymore.

“Do you promise you won’t do it again?” Your voice sounded as if you were talking to a child.

“Yes! I promise!”

A single gasp somewhere near made you blow a kiss at the man, hide your colt and get off Loki.

“I’m bored of this party. Let’s go somewhere else.” You took his hand and dragged him with you.

You should think about the consequence

Of your magnetic field being a little too strong

You still held his hand even when no one could see you. You needed to feel that something was keeping you on the ground.

For a second you really thought you were going to pull the trigger. You’ve done it so many times before, it was as natural for you as breathing. Shooting unpleasant guys in unpleasant situations.

You needed cold shower.  

You weren’t sure what made you mad more; the man’s comment or reaction of your body when Loki called you his queen. Your stomach jumped, every inch of you wanted to hold him and kiss him. It wasn’t what you’ve signed for. You wanted distraction, someone who would keep your mind busy for more than just a few hours or one night, maybe friendship. Not this sick affection you felt. Not the need to touch him, to have him for yourself. You were scared about coming back to the States, to a normal life he wasn’t a part of.

You walked in silence along the beach, soon finding yourselves completely alone, far from loud music and laughs.

“I want to swim,” you said suddenly, stopping and locking your eyes on the sea. “With you.”

A day. You only had a day more with him.

You didn’t look at him when he walked behind you and with gentleness untied the strings holding your light, black dress. You pretended you didn’t shiver at his touch when he slid the straps down your shoulders and moved his hands along your body, releasing you from the dress. His fingers undid the belts of your holster and it was soon on the ground as well, leaving you only in your swimming suit.

You wanted it gone, too. You wanted him to take it off with his teeth, kissing his way along your body. But when you turned to him, he wasn’t looking at you. He was watching the calm waves.  

And I'm so furious

At you for making me feel this way

He couldn’t look at you, not when you were almost naked, bare to his sight and no one else’s. He wasn’t sure he would be able to control himself.

You gently tugged on his shirt, forcing him to look at you. Your gorgeous eyes were locked on him, your fingers wrapped around the fabric.

“Are you going to swim in your clothes?” You asked, your voice sounded somehow insecure.

It amazed him how quickly you could change from psycho with a gun at a man’s head to an anxious girl, uncertain about her own being. He didn’t mind it. Not when he knew who you really were.

With two moves Loki’s shirt and trousers were on the sand.

“Come, then,” he said silently, not being able to take his eyes off of you once he laid them on your body.

You smiled slightly and nodded, turning around to take a few steps and walk into the water. He let himself enjoy the view of your almost naked body in movement before following you with a sigh. The water was warm, even though it was the middle of the night. You walked until the water was reaching your elbows and suddenly stopped, your fingers created elaborate patterns on the calm surface of the sea. Ha came closer, to see your face. Your jollity disappeared, evaporated into thin air.

Was it because of the man? Or did he do something wrong?

“Y/N?” His voice wasn’t any louder than a whisper.

You only snuffled as if you were about to cry. He’s never seen you cry, not from the confusing emotions boiling inside of you.

Loki took a deep breath and stepped in front of you and insecurely took your face in his hands, making you look at him.

“What’s wrong?”

And you should think about the consequence

Of you touching my hand in a darkened room

Easier question would’ve been what’s not wrong. His stupid, ridiculously beautiful face was right there before you, and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to kiss him or slap for making you want him.

You felt hot, shameless lust whenever he was so close to you. Your heart ached unbelievably every time you pretended to be his, because you wanted, no, you needed to be real or else you would rip yourself in two. But you were sure it was just the agreement for him. A handshake. You wished you never approached him, never interrupted that girl who was flirting with him. Maybe it would’ve been her problem now. The pain in chest.

You never thought of yourself as of somebody actually able to love anyone, not in a healthy way. You were possessive and manipulative. No one deserved that. You didn’t deserve anyone.

That’s why you just shook your head and smiled at him.

“Everything’s perfect,” you lied.

He raised his eyebrow at you.

“No, it’s not.” He stepped closer. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

You shut your eyes. Opened your eyes. Clenched your jaw. Relaxed your jaw.

No words were able to form sensible sentence.

You released yourself from his hands, placed yours on his shoulders and pulled him closer. Your lips fell on his, tongue forced its way into his mouth. It wasn’t a good kiss, your teeth hit his, but after a second you pulled away.

“That’s what’s wrong,” you gasped, shocked at your own actions. Psycho. “I can’t stay away from you. I want you.”

His breathing was heavy when he watched your face with disbelief painted on his face. He didn’t want you back.

“Y/N-“

“No, don’t say anything.” You shook your head. “This can never work. Not with my sick personality, and-“

“Oh, shut up.”

You couldn’t stop him and, to be honest, you didn’t want to. He kissed you, gentler than you kissed him, more passionate. You almost melted under his touch when he lifted you up without breaking the kiss and walked out of the water, his tongue dancing along with yours as he did so.

He muttered odd words that sounded like Norse and suddenly you were surrounded by a green light, at what you clung onto his wet body harder.

When the light disappeared, the sound of waves was also gone. You pulled away and looked around. You were in your hotel room.

“How did you…?” You didn’t manage to say anything more, because he pushed you on the bed and shut your mouth with his lips.

“Just an old trick.” He smiled and continued to leave a trace of wet kisses along your neck and collarbone.

He slowly slid both straps of your bikini bra before undoing it on your back.

“Loki…?” You panted silently when your nipple ended up in between his lips, tongue caressing the sensitive bud.

He lifted himself a little to look at your face, concerned.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

His eyes were locked on yours and you were close to the edge of a breakdown. How could he want you?

“Skip the foreplay,” you asked quietly. “I need to feel you.”

You wanted him so badly, even if it was just for a night. Quickly, before he changes his mind and realizes how broken you are.

He rested his forearms on the sides of your head and kissed you sweetly. Why did it felt so real when it certainly was a dream?

“I don’t want to just fuck you like the other men, Y/N,” he said and pressed his lips onto yours again. “I want to make love to you. Let me…”

You shook your head, a tear you weren’t able to hold back anymore rolled down your cheek.

“You can’t want me,” you sobbed. “You can’t.”

“Stop telling me what I can. I want you. The real you, not the girl you pose to be.” He kissed the tear away. “Let me put the broken pieces together.”

You couldn’t say anything, you just wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to kiss. His lips fitted on yours perfectly, his hot kisses warmed your body.

“Please,” you sighed again. “Please, just fill me whole.”

He kissed your neck and with a flick of his fingers the rest of your clothes were gone. Nothing was separating you anymore, your burning skin touched his and when he parted your legs to line himself with your entrance you were already lost for him.

You didn’t want these feelings. You wanted them gone, to rip your heart and throw it into the sea.

He pushed himself inside you and you moaned loudly, completing his sigh.

And you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad

You make me so happy it turns back to sad

You clenched around him so perfectly he shivered and almost lost control over his arms, nearly falling onto you. Delicious sounds of your pleasure filled his ears when he slowly pulled out only to equally slowly push himself deep in. He didn’t want to take you fast, not this time at last. He wanted to take his time with you, to cherish every inch of your gorgeous body, but you didn’t want him to.

Did you felt the same way he felt about you?

Your hips gritted against him, hurrying him. He did as you asked, quickened the pace and moaned into your lips at the feeling of your wet, warm pussy clenching around him. Your fingernails left red marks on his back as he slid his hand in between your bodies and began to rub circles on your clit.

You squirmed under him, the sound only turning him on even more.

But you didn’t want him. You made it clear. You only wanted sex, after he so thoughtfully helped you avoid strangers in bed.

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have

And you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad

The pleasure was overwhelming, Loki’s lips on yours swallowed every sound you made. His thrusts reached deep inside of you and your ecstasy was close, closer than you could imagine.

This isn’t love, you kept saying to yourself. This is just pure lust.

Another pretty lies.

You couldn’t bare it anymore; the pleasure surrounded you like the water you were just in, floated violently into you, making you cry.

Loki was just behind you, groaned onto your neck and, shaking, spilled himself inside of you, warmth of his cum helping you ride down your orgasm.

He was heavy breathing when he pulled out and collapsed next to you.

You didn’t know what to say.

He did.

“I love you,” he spat out as if it was an insult. “I love you, but I can’t be with you if you only want sex.” He turned to you and grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. “Let me take care of you.”

He loved you.

“I am-“

“If you are going to say you are too broken for a relationship, cut the crap. I keep saying to you that I love you. Not the mask you put on every day. You.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. If he was being sincere, this could actually work…

“Can you fix me?” You asked silently, his hands now gently cupped your face as he placed a loving kiss on your lips.

“There is nothing to fix.” He shook his head. “You have to let yourself love somebody again. Love me.”

You nodded, somehow believing every word he said.

“I love you.”

But what can I say?

You're gorgeous

[nikkigrand]

Sakutaro

Summary: When Haruno Sakutaro said that he'd date the hell out of himself, he wasn't being literal.

But they say that man makes plans and God laughs, and ain't that the truth?

Somehow finding himself in an alternate dimension where he's a girl, Sakutaro finds himself venturing into unknown, salaciously ridiculous territory...for science.

Word Count: 10k

A/N: Posting this here because male Sakura x female Sakura is trending! Warning, this is kinda kinky...

Kill me, I’m hungover.

Sakutaro groaned as he rolled over in the soft, dewy grass as the early morning sun warmed the lightly freckled skin of his bare shoulders. Burying his nose into what he recognized as a cluster of mint leaves, he inhaled deeply and found himself holding it against a giant wave of nausea.

A few seconds and a soothing pass of healing chakra later, Sakutaro felt sober enough to prop himself on his forearms and lift his head to search for his best friend through squinted, bloodshot beryl eyes. Except, he didn’t see any silky tuffs of platinum blonde anywhere in the expansive training grounds.

Rolling his eyes, Sakutaro stood with a huff and raked his hand through his messy jaw length hair before plucking a few mint leaves from the ground to chew on as he walked. It was so like Inomatsu to leave him for dead after a night of irresponsible drinking. The boar probably saw him sprawled out in some obscene undignified position and decided he’d just leave him there because, wouldn’t it be so funny if Sasuka tripped over him?

Sakutaro begged to differ, it would be the worst day of his life if the woman he’d been pining after for over a decade had come upon him while he was unconscious. Inomatsu would definitely get a kick out of it, but he’d been trying to impress the raven-haired beauty since he met her nearly fifteen years ago, and he would be mortified if he gave her any more reason to look down at him.

In fact, Sakutaro was sure Sasuka still thought he ate worms—never mind the fact that they were in their early twenties—and that was even after he slapped the shit out of that crazy rabbit god during the war. For some reason, no matter what he did, his teammate just wouldn’t notice him.

And wasn’t that just unfair? He had Naruko and Li practically falling over themselves for a date with him, and Sakutaro knew he was charming, so why wouldn’t the damn girl just see him and give him a chance? He wasn’t ugly (something a lot of women in the village would attest for) and he wasn’t stupid, he was one of the most intelligent men in the village. So what was he missing?

Sakutaro had come a long way from the sniveling, awkward mess of a boy he’d been when Team 7 first formed. He even stopped declaring his feelings for Sasuka—the whole lot of good that did him—and left her alone for a while. But he found, much to his chagrin, that it was hard to abandon such strong feelings for someone and he approached the situation with a lot more tact.

Sakutaro’s booted feet took him down the familiar dirt paths and roadways of his home village, the hitai-ite across his forehead marking him as one of her ninja, and was heedless to the villagers’ curious stares as he took thoughtful strides in the direction of the hospital. Too distracted by depressing thoughts to notice the lingering stares, Sakutaro shoved his hands in his pockets with a pout.

He’d once gone to Sasuka’s older sister for advice, and was too nervous to even articulate his dilemma, much less confess his feelings for her younger sister. Where Sasuka’s beauty was sharp and piercing, Itamina’s was soft and breathtaking. But where her face was soft, her eyes were hard and Sakutaro found it difficult to speak under such an unwavering stare.

He’d developed a bit of a crush on her that day, but he was nothing if not loyal. Sasuka held his heart, and the worst part was that she knew it.

God, how depressing can I be, Sakutaro sighed as his nimble fingers slipped his apartment’s key from his pocket. He could almost hear Inomatsu’s voice teasing him for getting so hung up over a girl, that shameless flirt. The pink haired man was comfortable in his sexuality (he’d have to be in order to withstand the mean-spirited teasing that came from having rosette locks) to admit that his blonde best friend was a handsome man. What was the word Saiyu had called him? Ah, yes, gorgeous.

Inomatsu was a gorgeous man and used it to his advantage, something that Sakutaro would loathe to say to the man’s face. He had a big enough ego as it was, with his stupid, long and silky cornflower hair that drew attention wherever he went. It was bad enough that Inomatsu didn’t seem to own any full length shirts, imagine what he’d be like if his tried and true rival admitted that he was the better looking one out of the two of them.

The man would walk the village naked, Sakutaro was sure of it.

As if he needed more female attention, anyway. Sakutaro scoffed as he climbed the few steps to his door on the fourth floor. Inomatsu had women trailing after him like lovesick puppies, and Sakutaro used to be slightly bitter that he didn’t have that type of swagger to make women jump into bed with him with only just a smooth word or two and a smile.

But, after a few one night stands and casual flings, he found that no one quite did it for him like Sasuka. No other woman was as fiery, as ruthlessly intelligent and efficient like her. They didn’t have her flame, her beauty, her will of fire.

Naruko was too loud—too brash and obnoxious with her orange clothing and blonde pigtails. She was also his best friend, and almost like a sister to him—which made things extremely awkward on his part when he hit puberty. And although she was strong and pretty, Sakutaro could never see himself falling for her—besides, Hinazo was in love with the girl. What kind of man would he be if he pursued the love of his friend’s life?

The asshole kind, that’s what.

The other women in Konoha’s Rookie 11 weren’t his type, either.

Chouko would never love him as much as she loved food. To Tenshi’s grief, Nemi was too serious and proud to consider dating outside the Hyuuga clan. Li had a good heart and was a kind girl, but she was too eccentric and youthful for his tastes. Shika was a genius and came from a good clan, but she was lazy and unmotivated. Kiwa was too wild and untamed, as were those from the Inuzuka, and Sakutaro wasn’t sure he’d survive that relationship. Shizu had an entire hive living under her skin—in no life would he be comfortable with that—and she was too withdrawn.

Therefore, the only other woman he’d see himself falling for is if he were a woman. Which, in all sense, would be impossible.

“If only.” Sakutaro grumbled to himself as he unlocked the door to his apartment, pushing the door wide with his foot as his hands worked to unbuckle the clasps to his medic and weapons belts.

But when his foot nudged the door closed with a slam, it was by the grace of his war honed reflexes that he caught the sharp kunai aimed for his head. Pivoting on the ball of his feet to face his attacker and wielding the enemy’s kunai, Sakutaro hadn’t dropped the blade only because his senses were confused—and maybe he was still slightly drunk.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?!”

Narrowing his emerald eyes at the petite woman before him, Sakutaro determined that he was not in the mood for any of Naruko’s pranks today. His pounding headache was starting to come back and he needed water.

Making his way towards his kitchen, Sakutaro was determined to ignore his pesky teammate until she got the hint and left. Except she’d do no such thing and stepped in his line of sight, right fist glowing and kunai bared in the other.

“I said,” she spat, “who are you, and what are you doing in my home?”

Swiping an impatient hand through his short hair, Sakutaro sighed, “Naruko, I’m not in the mood. Go home.”

“Naruko?!” The girl hissed, “Listen here, mister, I don’t think you know where you are and who you’re talking to—“

“Except I do know where I am and who I’m talking to, Naruko.” He stepped towards her, his patience worn extremely thin, “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, that Oiroke jutsu of yours is inappropriate and I don’t want you using my image.

So, please, stop.”

Because, honestly, how creepy was it of Naruko to pay such close attention to him that she’d managed to catch even the most minute of details in his face to perfect her jutsu. Sakutaro was close enough that he could see the light freckles dusting the bridge of her nose in a way that mirrored his own. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever let her get close enough to see the flecks of blue in his irises and the thin blonde lashes he’d gotten from his father tangled with the customary pink.

The woman in front of him was an exact replica of himself—that was if he had breasts and other lady bits, and when did he ever have such long hair? As in, it was Sakutaro as a woman. Courtesy of Uzumaki Naruko.

“Naruto,” the girl growled, “This isn’t funny. I don’t know how you managed to copy my chakra signature, and I’m not going to even dwell on how accurate the little things are, but I’m letting you know right now—I am not amused. So cut it out!”

“Naruko,” Sakutaro barked, already having had enough of her games, “I’m not stupid, Naruto is the name of your male henge, so drop the—“

Wait, did she just say they had the same chakra signature? Naruko was smart, but not that smart, and chakra mimicry was a forbidden technique. His chakra instantly reached out to probe the other pink haired woman’s.

Normally, probing and outreaching with one’s chakra for another always had some type of feedback. It was why chakra control was of such paramount importance as a medic, a stranger’s chakra was always fighting against you. No two chakra signatures were as compatible to blend seamlessly, the only way that could ever happen is if someone’s chakra interacted with itself. And yet, that is what Sakutaro’s chakra did; it blended with this woman’s chakra effortlessly, almost as if her own signature was an extension of himself, and he stumbled back in shock just as she reared back as if slapped.

“What the fuck was that?!”

Their voices rang out in the apartment, both shinobi baring kunai at each other and eyes tracking each small ruffle of clothing and tensing of muscle.

“Who the hell are you?” The girl cried, her voice rising in pitch to match her growing anxiety.

“Who the hell are you?!” Sakutaro pushed back, his own voice deepening in response to the threat.

“This is my apartment and I asked you first!”

“Like hell! You’re all fucked up, lady, all fucked up! This is my apartment!”

“Excuse me?!” She screeched, green eyes the exact shade of his own blazing furiously, “You’re the one who’s delusional enough to make yourself look like me and then come barging into my home like—like you don’t know who the fuck I am!”

“I’m delusional?!” Now wasn’t that rich, “I have no idea who the hell you are, actually, so drop the stupid henge and release that jutsu you’re using to copy my chakra before I drag your ass to the Hokage!”

By the time Sakutaro was finished shouting at the girl, he had a split second to block her punch with his forearms (accompanied by a screech of fury, mind you) before it met his face. And wasn’t that a mistake?

The instant her fist met his arms, a precise output of chakra had him crashing through a hole where the window—his window, his!—used to be and he bit back a scream as the bones in his arms shattered.

Who the hell has strength like that?! It was—it was monstrous!

He skidded through the streets in front of the hospital (because wouldn’t it be so convenient if he’d found an apartment by where he spent every waking moment?), narrowly avoiding screaming civilians, and quickly jumped to his feet.

Sakutaro hurriedly directed his medical chakra towards the bones in his arms, wincing as each bone realigned and mended itself. He watched warily as his pink headed counterpart jumped from the hole where his window used to be and made her way towards him—his eyes narrowing at each crater following her footsteps.

Best avoid her limbs then; but no matter, Sakutaro had something even greater than monstrous strength—precise chakra control. All it’d take is a brush of his fingers and she’d be incapacitated long enough to drag her to the Hokage’s office and then T&I.

Adjusting his leather gloves, Sakutaro widened his stance in anticipation for a destructive fight when she came to a stop in front of him—ignoring the growing crowd of shinobi and civilians.

“I’m going to ask you again,” the woman started, cheeks flushed and voice hard as steel, “Who—“

“Sakura-chan!”

Both heads turned towards the loud voice bellowing from above. Sakutaro instantly recognized it as the gravelly baritones belonging to Naruko’s Naruto-henge and if his shoulders tensed anymore he’s sure he’d pull a muscle. Because if Naruko was there, then who was in front of him?!

He wanted to accuse Inomatsu of learning Naruko’s perverted jutsu and playing such a ridiculous prank on him, but Inomatsu didn’t have the chakra control to demonstrate such strength. In fact, in terms of brute strength, Chouka was the strongest in all the village—due to her clan jutsu, of course.

“What’s going on?” Naruko jumped next to his counterpart, and Sakutaro felt slightly betrayed. Naruko was his teammate, so what was she doing?

His confusion and hurt must have shown on his face because familiar eyes the color of the bluest skies settled on his face, already narrowing into slits before her lips curled in a sly grin—giving Sakutaro the distinct impression of a fox.

“Sakura-chan~,” Naruko sang, the deepness of her voice making Sakutaro’s skin crawl, “I knew you were kinky…using my kage bunshin for such purposes, how scandalous.”

“Shut up, idiot!” The one Naruko called Sakura screeched, the chakra emitting from her fists glowing brighter with her ire, “That’s not me!”

Instantly, playful blue eyes hardened into ice as they settled on Sakutaro’s taller frame.

“Oh?”

“How interesting.”

Sakutaro froze at the deep murmur that came from beside him, all too aware of the sharp tip of a kunai pressed threateningly to the nape of his neck. His eyes shifted to the left to see who had spoken and it was only etiquette that kept him from going slack jawed.

They even had Keiko-sensei going along with this stupid game? Team 7’s perpetually late Genin instructor with the sharp undercut and shuriken patterned scarf was now a man with wild, silver hair and a mask—of all things!

But Keiko-sensei wasn’t the one holding a kunai to sever his spinal cord, and Sakutaro would recognize the chakra signature crackling against his skin if he were deaf, dumb, and blind. It was Sasuka who was standing so coolly behind him, and he was absolutely appalled that they’d somehow managed to coerce someone as proud as Sasuka into this humiliating joke.

“Girls,” Sakutaro’s voice warbled dangerously, a cue to all who knew him to evacuate the premises lest they lose control of their limbs, “This game has gone on for long enough.”

Except Sakutaro was ignored as Keiko-sensei directed her attention to his evil twin, and the sting of betrayal was not pleasant.

“Sakura, who is this?” His sensei’s once smooth, pleasant voice was now as deep as Sakutaro’s own and he shuddered. It was so wrong.

“I don’t know, Kakashi-sensei!” Sakura cried, and Keiko-sensei called herself Kakashi?! What kind of name was that?! “He just walked into my apartment like he owned it and told me to get out!”

Sakutaro tensed as Sasuka’s kunai pressed deeper against his skin, feeling the sharp tip break skin and the sting that came from it—and betrayal. Traitors!

“How did you get into Sakura’s apartment?” Sasuka asked, and there was no way in hell Sakutaro could have suppressed the cringe that came from hearing his crush’s sweet voice be so masculine. She sounded like her father, Mikotsu-sama—if Mikotsu-sama had a stick up his ass.

But wait…

“Sakura’s apartment?!” Sakutaro exclaimed, incredulous, “That’s my apartment! I live there! I’ve lived there for the past six years!”

“Bullshit!” Sakura stepped towards him, hands on her hips and less defensive now that she had backup, “I’ve lived there for the last six years!”

By that point, Sakutaro had already had enough. There were too many oddities, too many inconsistencies with their behavior to be his teammates, so he pulled his hands into a seal and sent a pulse of chakra to unravel any genjutsu that could be causing this—this mockery of his team’s behavior.

When nothing happened, Sakutaro did it again and noticed that the other three were watching him cautiously to see what he was trying to do. Not that they didn’t know! They were the ones who had laid such an elaborate genjutsu that even he as a genjutsu perfectionist couldn’t dispel!

“This is no genjutsu.” Sasuka’s cool voice filtered through his brain until the only thing Sakutaro could reply to that was,

“Well, shit.”

How eloquent.

“Will you tell us your name?” It wasn’t a question, and Sakutaro knew as much.

Sea glass eyes finding his counterpart’s with a frown and furrowed brow, his fists clenched at his sides, “My name is Haruno Sakutaro. And you are?”

“Liar!” Sakura took another step towards him, eyes blazing so familiarly it made something in his gut clench, “I am the only Haruno with pink hair!”

The knot in his gut unfurled with his fury at the absurdity of her statement. “Bullshit! I am the only Haruno with pink hair!”

In fact, the color of his hair was because of some freaky recessive gene from his clan’s roots in Whirlpool (another reason why he’d never date Naruko, they could be related!) and he had been bullied all throughout his childhood for looking like a girl. They had even called him—

“Sakura.”

The rosette’s jaw shut audibly at his voice and she glared at him, daring him to refute her claim as a Haruno as if he were blind enough to do so.

“Your name is Sakura,” Sakutaro sighed as he dragged a hand down his face, “And I am Sakutaro.”

She stared at him as if imploring him to get to the point. If things were as his heart were telling him, then he’d be correct in assuming her patience was close to extinction.

“We are either family, or cut from the same cloth.” Sakutaro drawled, tired from the night before and tired from the joke his life had become.

His only consolation was if Sakura were as smart as he was, then she’d surely figure out what he meant, and judging by the twist of her lips and the furrow of her brow she’d understood him.

“I guess a trip to the Hokage is in order, then?” Keiko-sensei—no, Kakashi—hummed, already breezing past them in the direction of the Hokage’s tower and Sakutaro nearly groaned as he was forced to follow behind him—flanked on either side by the other three as if he were a prisoner.

He was still hungover, for Hokages’ sake! He just wanted an aspirin and some water, maybe a granola bar or two. Was that too much to ask?

Somewhere out there, wherever he was, Inomatsu was cackling away at his expense. He had a feeling this—whatever this was—had something to do with him. The man was always dabbling in fuinjutsu in conjunction with his clan’s Mind Transfer techniques. Sakutaro rued the day Inomatsu declared he had a crush on Naruko and decided the best way to pursue her was to have her tutor him in fuinjutsu.

Luckily for Sakutaro, Inomatsu quickly figured out that Naruko was even more of a loudmouth blonde than he was (“…and who even lets her out of the house in that crime of an outfit anyway?! Sakutaro! You’re not her friend. You don’t love her! How dare you?!”), among other things, and the conquest ended quickly. Unluckily for Sakutaro, Inomatsu continued to meet Naruko for fuijutsu lessons and he’d decided that his best friend Sakutaro would be his guinea pig.

As if Sakutaro wanted to have conditioner and hair pomade sealed into his skin…

He did, however, convince Inomatsu to develop a seal for storing herbs and plants on his body while also preserving their potency. The seal was still at its infancy, and if he remembered correctly, the platinum blonde had been working on it before they’d gone drinking.

Honestly, it was all a bit fuzzy. But all Sakutaro had to do was check his forearms to see if the seals were still etched onto his skin. It was too bad he wore compression sleeves up to his biceps, though.

Nonetheless, there was a link between Inomatsu’s drafted fuinjutsu, their unholy consumption of booze, and Sakutaro’s current predicament.

And, if he was right, Sakutaro was going to take such joy in shaving Inomatsu’s head.

The walk to the Hokage tower was as short as he remembered it always being, having been apprenticed by the Hokage himself, and the pink haired man wasn’t surprised that all of the receptionists he remembered as men were now women.

He was quickly adapting to his situation, he knew, or maybe he was just in shock? Either way, Sakutaro should have been surprised—he really should have—but he was not the least bit derailed when they just waltzed into the Hokage’s office and instead of seeing Tsubasa-shishou sitting behind the grand mahogany desk, he found his female counterpart.

“Tsunade-shishou.” Oh, and would you look at that, Sakura was also apprenticed to her Hokage, of course, “We have a problem.”

Standing in front of the generously endowed woman whose eyes were as eerily stern as his shishou’s, Sakutaro couldn’t help but be cowed. If this was his powerful and scary sensei’s counterpart, he had every reason to defer to her.

Tsunade’s eyes travelled from the tips of his booted feet to the top of his distinctive crown of pink hair, and he swallowed when a mischievous grin curled her painted lips.

“My, oh my, Sakura,” The Hokage crooned, “I didn’t know you were so resourceful. Kage bunshin?”

“Shishou!” Sakura cried as she flushed deeply while Sakutaro blanched. Just what the hell kind of sexual deviant was she?! And were those sake cups on the Hokage’s desk?!

“It’s not like that!” Sakura whined, her hand combing through her messy bangs, clearly frazzled, “This is very serious!”

“Oh?” Tsunade rose an eyebrow at that, “How serious?”

“Baa-chan!” Naruko—ugh, Naruto—shouted, “This guy here,” and he poked him to make a point, “says he lives at Sakura-chan’s place! But we’d know because she’s our teammate and since when does Sakura-chan bring guys home, anyway?”

Raising an eyebrow at that, Sakutaro directed his flat stare to the petite female looking like she wanted to hide under the Hokage’s desk and come out only when humanity keeled over for good.

“Oh my god, Naruto, will you shut up?!”

Smiling sheepishly at his teammates venomous hiss, Naruto tried a different approach, “Baa-chan! This is as serious as that time we thought Sasuke couldn’t have Uchiha brats!”

And Sakutaro could have sworn the temperature dropped several degrees when another, even more venomous, hiss sounded from beside him.

“Dobe, shut the fuck up.”

“Hey! Don’t tell me to shut the fuck up! You shut the fuck up! It was a serious concern for the village!”

“It’s not your business!”

“The hell it ain’t! Who knows what that snake bastard did to you while you were away! You sure as hell won’t tell us!”

“Because it’s none of your—“

“Enough!”

Sakutaro would neither confirm or deny that he jumped at the booming sound of the Hokage’s voice, but wow Tsubasa-shishou would be proud. The woman commandeered attention as well as he did.

“You!” Sakutaro immediately directed his attention to the Hokage at her bark, “You tell me what is going on!”

Clearing his throat to stall for time and hands twitching at his side, Sakutaro struggled to come up with an explanation without sounding like an irresponsible idiot. How does one explain to a foreign kage—who’s supposed to be his village’s kage—that he and his best friend had been tampering with fuinjutsu before getting hammered? And then forgot all about said fuinjutsu?

It was quickly becoming apparent that no matter how he said, phrased, or fenagled it, Sakutaro was going to sound like a fucking moron.

Swallowing his dread, Sakutaro decided that if Tsunade was essentially Tsubasa, then she could probably smell his fear and he might as well get it over with.

“Well, Hokage-sama,” he started, voice rough but even, and thank the world for small miracles, “I’m not entirely sure what exactly is going on.”

“Well, then start from the beginning.”

Knowing an order when he heard one, Sakutaro slipped into every ninja’s mission debrief mindset.

“My friend, Inomatsu, and I were experimenting with fuijutsu,” the ninja in the room tensed and Sakutaro hurriedly continued before they pounced, “nothing too dangerous or serious. Inomatsu is a novice in the field, even if he is a brilliant learner, and he theorized that sealing fuinjutsu transported items to empty dimensions for storage purposes. By drawing seals onto the skin, we’d be able to direct chakra to it without using blood as a conduit, and Inomatsu decided he wanted me to give it a try.”

“Why you?” Sakura asked, gears churning in her head as everyone listened intently.

“Because I have absolute perfect chakra control.” And Sakutaro couldn’t help but be smug every time he said that because he was the only shinobi in all the Five Shinobi Nations to have such absolute control of his chakra.

Except Sakura didn’t seem so impressed and rolled her eyes, “Oh, big whoop, I do too.”

Bristling a little at her shut down, Sakutaro ignored her and resumed his debrief, “It worked, but only for small items. Inomatsu was disappointed, but he’d decided that the seal working was reason enough to celebrate—so we did. My friend is a very demanding man, so I didn’t have time to properly remove the seals before we left.”

“So, let me guess,” Tsunade mused dryly, “You and your friend, Inomatsu, then got completely wasted and don’t remember a lick of what happened after that.”

Bowing his head sheepishly, Sakutaro scratched the back of his neck nervously, “That is correct, Hokage-sama.”

Shaking her head at what must be his stupidity, the Hokage waved her hand lazily and he continued his story.

“At some point during the night, I assume Inomatsu tried to modify the seal and—we were both drunk, I don’t know why I agreed. And I must have tried to use it, I don’t see why else I’d be here…” Sakutaro trailed off, coughing awkwardly to stave his embarrassed flush.

“The next thing I know, I’m waking up on Training Ground 3. I don’t know how I got there, I figured that Inomatsu and I had passed out there since it’s where my team and I spend most of our time. But I couldn’t see him when I woke up, so I went home, and I found, um, Sakura there and she then proceeded to shatter my forearms.”

There was a slight silence after his report where Tsunade stared at him like he was an idiot, and Sakura and Naruto stared at him like he was an idiot, and Sakutaro wouldn’t dare look at Sasuka’s—Sasuke’s—face.

And who even knew what Kakashi thought behind that ridiculous mask?! It wasn’t like he didn’t know what was behind it anyway! What was so shameful behind a mole?

After everyone reached a consensus that Sakutaro was an idiot, Kakashi was the first to speak.

“Luckily for you, Naruto here is our resident seal master. May we look at them?” How nice of them to poise it as if he had a choice. His voice was muffled behind his book, appearing to be uncaring and distracted, but Sakutaro would be a fool not to know that the man was always poised to strike. He knew Keiko-sensei was.

Shrugging, he slipped off his gloves and started pulling up the tight sleeves to expose his forearms as they huddled around him. “Sure.”

The more his seals were revealed, the more Sakutaro wanted to roll his sleeves down. Inomatsu had modified the seals all right…with smiley faces and squiggles and was that a penis?

Naruto’s howl of laughter confirmed that yes, that was indeed a phallus drawn in permanent ink on his forearm; and as Tsunade-sama handed him a cup of sake, Sakutaro vowed to shave Inomatsu’s head and eyebrows.

The rice wine burned as it went down his throat and he tried his hardest to ignore the veiny depiction of the male anatomy taking residence on his corded forearms. Sakura looked at him with sympathy as Naruto grasped his arms with surprisingly gentle hands, bringing his crown of blonde closer to get a better look.  Sakutaro took small comfort that even in this, wherever he was, he was still taller than the Uzumaki—even if it was now only by a few inches.

Naruto’s spiky hair brushed against the tip of his nose, bringing with it the peculiar scent of ramen and wind. Wrinkling his nose, Sakutaro decided that it wasn’t entirely unpleasant and not unlike Naruko’s normal scent, but she at least wore a bit of that expensive perfume Hinazo had gifted her. Naruto probably didn’t even do his laundry…

“Well, Sakutaro-baka,” Naruto cheerfully started, his head still downturned and therefore blissfully unaware of the scathing glare the pink haired man directed at his head, “This is so weird, but also so funny.”

Sakutaro didn’t think it was funny at all! How was any of this even remotely funny?

Naruto pointed towards a squiggle that served as a smiley face’s eye, “With this right here,” then he pointed to a squiggle that served as a shamefully thick vein in Inomatsu’s art, “and this,” his calloused fingertip slid down his pale forearm to stop on a sharp line that may or may not have been the beginnings of an obscene character, “and this, you and your friend have yourselves a space time ninjutsu conduit. Apply a little bit of chakra and bam! You’ve got yourself a case of interdimensional travel.”

Sakutaro could only stare at the blonde blankly because they did what?!

“Are you familiar with space time ninjutsu?” Sasuke asked from beside him, bi-colored stare trained unnervingly on his own bewildered orbs.

“Vaguely.” Sakutaro replied slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he and Inomatsu had managed to bullshit their way to another dimension. “Kagumo, the rabbit god, used it often during the Fourth War.”

“Kagumo?” Sakura repeated sharply, drawing his attention to her, “Was that the male version of Kaguya?”

Sakutaro nodded, “Aa. He was very difficult to defeat. We were lucky that my team and Itamina-san were there to seal him away.”

He couldn’t help the sadness that churned in his chest at remembering the war and he averted his gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We lost many souls on that battlefield. It was a bloody war.”

Jerking in surprise at the feel of small hands brushing against his own, Sakutaro caught the haunted look in Sakura’s eyes as she withdrew her hands.

“Ours too.”

It was then, at that moment, that Sakutaro knew that he and Sakura were one in the same. A medic might understand his pain—his grief at the cumulative loss of life—but only he could understand the hollow feeling of failure. Of not being fast, good, strong enough to be everywhere at once like Naruko—and by extension, Naruto—could be.

Losing so many Allied shinobi was a crippling blow not only for the shinobi forces, but for morale. The medics were too tired, too hungry, too chakra deprived to heal the shinobi who’d been gutted but who would have lived if only they’d had enough chakra.

Sakutaro had retrieved too many bodies from the battlefield whose souls could have been saved if only they’d had enough medics with enough combat experience and chakra to send to the front lines. As one of the only medics with combative training, Sakutaro was not—under any circumstances—allowed to expend all of his chakra on healing. In the case of an attack on the Medic Corp’s established base, he and a few others would be their front line of defense. He’d stood idly while shinobi he could have saved perished because of his commander’s orders, and he’d never be able to forgive himself.

Sakutaro had devoted years of his life to medical ninjutsu, to learning such intimate details of the human body and how to stitch, mend, and fight death by sheer force of will to get to where he was. He’d spent grueling hours perfecting his task, buried under heaps of medical scrolls and devouring tomes, breaking and rebreaking, mending and mending and mending his bones and hurts in an endless cycle in pursuit of nothing short of excellence. What good was he if he couldn’t even save one dying person? Or ten? Or hundreds? Gods knew he had the skills, but not the chakra.

And something viscous and angry had crawled up his throat to fill that hollow feeling of failure in his chest for one, awful moment when Naruko’s chakra had consumed the entire battlefield to regenerate lost limbs and punctured organs. Naruko, who had never had any type of formal training and didn’t know the difference between the fibula and the ulna, could regrow legs and arms with just a wave of her hand from hundreds of feet away. She, in a few minutes, had done what he and his medics and tried to do for the last year, and wasn’t that just fucking unfair?

The war took something from him—from all of them, and all the shinobi killing and dying on the battlefield for peace or love, or for war, they would always be him. Sometimes, Sakutaro would look to the horizon in the direction of that horribly scarred and empty battlefield that would never heal just to close his eyes and look away.

They were still out there.

And with a fleeting gesture and a moment of soul bearing eye contact, Sakutaro knew that Sakura understood him probably deeper than he understood himself.

“Wait,” Naruto dropped Sakutaro’s hand, stepping away to scratch at his head, “You were in the war? With us?”

Sakutaro’s lips twitched at Tsunade-sama’s muffled “Idiot,” and shook his head.

“While I was in a war, I was not in your war, Naruto-san.” He explained patiently, not entirely unlike the way he’d go about teaching aspiring medical ninja, “As your teammates have already figured out, I’m from a different dimension. One where you and everyone here exist…differently.”

Naruto stared at him like he’d said something exceptionally stupid, which was saying something because it was Naruto, who—like Naruko—was not the brightest bulb in the bunch. They were brilliant in other ways, but some things just weren’t their forte.

“You expect me,” Naruto drawled slowly and with flourish, “Konoha’s resident fuinjutsu expert, to believe that you and some other moron created a dimensional portal with some squiggly lines, a smiley face, and a drawing of a dick next to a storage seal?!”

Naruto dissolved into howling laughter, tears streaming down his whiskered cheeks, “As if!!”

“You were the one that said it was a space time ninjutsu conduit, asshole.” Sakutaro grit his teeth as Naruto’s laughter rose in volume. Fortunately for Sakutaro, no one else found it quite as funny.

“Okay, okay,” Naruto wheezed in between heaping bouts of ugly laughs, “One: I’m not the asshole, you’re the asshole! And two: I was only speaking hypothetically. As in, if you didn’t have all this other shit around it, then that’s what it’d be! But since you got a wiener on your arm, it’s literally impossible for it to work!”

“And yet here I am.” Sakutaro told Naruto, voice contemptuous and wry, almost as if he wanted to spread his arms like a bird and bow for his graceless audience.

Sobering up, Naruto placed a fist on his hip and scratched his chin with the other, eyes squinting and head tilting as he observed the taller man’s face.

Never was there a day when Sakutaro was happier to note that in Naruko’s extensive list of facial expressions, Naruto’s current face was not one of them.

“So,” Naruto pursed his lips, “Hypothetically speaking, if you were from a dimension where things were different, who would you be here?”

“Dobe…” Sasuke very nearly groaned at his blonde teammate’s idiocy. Sakutaro could relate; was Naruto not able to read chakra signatures?

“Shut up, Sasuke-teme!” Naruto spat, “This is a legitimate question!”

“He’d be me, Naruto.” Sakura growled from where she stood next to the Hokage’s desk, fingers rubbing her temples in circular motions, “I am him, and he is me. We are the same person—just from different dimensions.”

Naruto’s mouth dropped open silently, before he shut it with an audible click to stare at Sakutaro suspiciously. “I don’t believe you. You can’t be Sakura. Prove it.”

Blinking slowly at his demands, Sakutaro turned his head expectantly at his female self. It seemed she was at a loss for words, as well. There weren’t many ways to prove a person’s identity. There were the obvious two: DNA analysis and chakra signature identification. But those methods took days, and Naruto looked like he wanted an answer now.

Fortunately, Tsunade was there to save the day.

“And how do you suppose they prove it, brat?” The busty blonde sighed as she leaned an elbow on her desk with her cheek resting against her fist.

Naruto sputtered for a response, clearly not having thought that far, before settling on whatever his mind must have first latched onto, “What’s something only Sakura-chan would know?!”

“Naruto,” Sakura intoned, exasperated beyond all belief, “He wouldn’t know anything about me because he’s not me! He is the guy version of me! It doesn’t mean we have the same mind!”

“Well then, I don’t know!” Naruto huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “But he’s not Sakura-chan unless he proves it.”

Having apparently had enough of the tomfoolery (something Sakutaro had quickly grown tired of himself), Tsunade stood and pointed a perfectly manicured finger at her female apprentice.

“Sakura,” Tsunade said, voice sharp as a whip, “You have two birth marks, correct?”

Sakura squeaked, and then blushed deeply, “Yes, shishou.”

“Wonderful.” Clapping her hands, Tsunade gestured towards the storage closet by the book case where Tsubasa-shishou kept his cleaning supplies. “Go in there and confirm that yours and Sakutaro’s match.”

Excuse you, lady?! She wanted him to what?! No!

From an outside perspective, all shinobi in the room watched intently as an identical shade of rose flushed up the two pink haired people in the room up to the roots of their hair. The female of the two fanning herself and the male shaking his head resolutely.

“No, absolutely not.” Sakutaro replied, completely adverse to the idea as Sakura also shook her head.

Tsunade’s eyes narrowed, “You think you have choice? Get in there before I make you do it in front of these three!”

Sakura squeaked and made a beeline towards the closet, Sakutaro dragging his feet behind him as he followed. Inomatsu must definitely be cackling behind some stupid book on poisons by now. It’s just his luck, just his luck, that he’d have to show his embarrassing birth mark to someone—both in such intimate places, too!

As Sakura opened the door to the storage closet, pulling the chain to the light bulb as she went, Sakutaro’s breath picked up as he nervously shuffled in behind her as he shut the door. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been with a woman before, or been naked around one. And he’d seen plenty of female bodies as a medic, this was no different.

Plus, Sakura was himself. He was Sakura. There was nothing weird about getting naked in front of yourself, right? It’d be like looking in the mirror…if his reflection had breasts and lady bits. God, he was twenty-two and could barely stomach the word vagina in reference to himself!

He was doomed. He was so nervous. Why was he so nervous? His palms were clammy and he wished he’d put his gloves back on, no one likes clammy palms. But it didn’t matter! It wasn’t he was going to touch her—himself?—anyway, so it didn’t matter!

His wide eyes scanned the closet for something to focus on. Was it small in there, or was it just him?

“Okay,” Sakura sighed, twirling a muted lock of pink around her finger and looking everywhere but at him, “Let’s go at this like medics, okay?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so Sakutaro nodded.

“Okay.” Sakura nodded to herself, and he admired the smooth collectiveness of her voice, “You’re a medic, I’m a medic. This is just another physical, nothing to be nervous about.”

Her eyes were identical to his own when they sought them, and he bit back a huff of surprise at her proximity because he could see the blue in her eyes even in the dimness of the supply closet. So, yeah, the closet was definitely smaller with two people in it.

“Besides,” she said shyly with a tremulous smile, “You’re me and I’m you, right? We-we shouldn’t be nervous! So, let’s just get this over with, hm?”

Sakutaro nodded in acquiesce, eased by her gentle bedside manner, but the trembling in Sakura’s hand as she reached for the zipper of her vest belied her nerves. Dissociating himself from the situation, he forced himself to look at her as other patient—something that was admittedly not hard to do—but as the tug on her zipper revealed inches of smooth skin, a lock of long rosette hair fell forward to brush against the curve of her breast and his concentration was shot.

Sakutaro was so embarrassed he wanted to cry. He, the great Sakutaro—hero of the Fourth Great War, one third of the second coming of the legendary three, wrecked by the appearance of his female counterpart. He couldn’t even dissociate! The situation was too weird! What medic couldn’t dissociate themselves?!

But it was his medical and scientific curiosity that spurred him to drink in the sight of her exposed flesh, light freckles and tiny moles placed identically on his own body (freckles only on his shoulders from being in the sun, one tiny mole under his collarbone, two others by his ribcage and his elbow.) His eyes clinically swept up the elegant curve of her neck, taking in her full lips, the straight slope of her small nose, her large eyes staring at him demurely, all set in a pretty heart shaped face.

Sakura was beautiful.

And wow wasn’t that a fucking weird thought? It was so weird, soso weird! But, Sakutaro fancied himself a handsome man, so it’d only be logical that he’d find his female counterpart beautiful, right? He was Sakura, Sakura was Sakutaro.

It was then that he noticed that she was looking up at him expectantly, and she was just so small! He was well over a head taller than her! He’d always thought, in some depraved part of his brain, that if he were ever a woman, he’d be as tall as he is now.

Well, apparently not.

“Y-Y’know,” Sakutaro cleared his throat as if that’d get rid of his nerves, “We don’t have to look at anything. We can just walk out of here and say that we did. No big deal, right?”

Just as Sakura started to nod along to his suggestion, a booming voice sounded clearly through the door, “Haruno Sakura, I dare you to lie to me!!”

Said girl “eep!’d” before repeatedly banging her head gently against the shelves. Sakutaro exhaled nervously, a small grin finding place on his lips as he tried to scratch the back of neck in a nervous gesture he’d picked up from Tenshi, only to put his arm down because the space was too limited.

“She’s scary, huh?”

Sakura huffed a small laugh, “Yeah, she is. The scariest, you have no idea.”

Sakutaro hummed. “Oh, I think I might.”

“Is your shishou scary as hell, too?”

“Tsubasa-shishou is absolutely terrifying. I swear they cow village children by telling them Tsubasa is going to get them if they don’t behave.”

Sakura giggled softly, eyes dancing in the dim light, “I hear visiting mothers at the hospital tell their children to eat their vegetables or else the scary Tsunade-hime is going to make them eat pebbles!”

Their quiet laughter was interrupted by a loud banging on the door, “I did not send you in there to have a tea party! Do as you’re told and get out here!”

Rolling her eyes but still keeping a grin on her face, Sakura unzipped the rest of her vest as Sakutaro did the same.

“I stopped having tea parties when I was five.” Sakura mumbled under her breath as she undid her chest bindings, her fingers freezing when Sakutaro’s head lifted sharply from where he was attempting to unclasp his belts to stare at her with wide eyes.

His mouth dropped open silently, words forming but unable to speak.

“You…?” Sakura’s own lips were hesitant, frozen as a statue, eyes widening in wonder as a bright flush bloomed across Sakutaro’s cheeks.

“Don’t tell anyone!” Sakutaro gasped before shyly averting his gaze, fingers working clumsily to undo loops and buckles.

At Sakura’s silence, Sakutaro added softly, “I was alone a lot, and I didn’t have many friends until Inomatsu.”

Glancing at her from beneath his lashes, Sakutaro watched her bite her lip as a gentle smile softened her face, “It’s okay, me too. I won’t tell.”

He smiled gently in response, and Sakutaro crossed his arms. This part would be easier for him than it was for her, and he lowered his gaze respectfully when Sakura reached the last of her chest bindings.

“Alright,” Sakura sighed, “Let’s get this over with.”

Carefully lifting his eyes to stare directly into her own, he found her standing awkwardly with her arms crossed over her chest. He made sure to look nowhere else but her eyes until she told him to, he did not want shattered forearms again—thank you very much.

She was very nervous, he could tell, and so was he. But he didn’t have to expose himself like she did, so perhaps if he made her laugh…?

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He grinned at her, eyes warm and keeping a respectful distance. His grin, however, faltered when she blanched and made a face like he’d just farted.

“Ew,” she frowned, “Don’t say that! You’re such a guy!”

“What?!” He laughed, slightly confused but picking up on the teasing lilt in her voice, “I was only trying to make you laugh!”

“But what you said was so dirty!”

“Listen here, woman, I go only where your mind takes me.”

“Oh, my god,” Sakura groaned, hiding a smile behind her hand, “I’m such a dork.”

“I am not!”

Clearing her throat, Sakura held eye contact with him and dropped her arms and Sakutaro, in light of her professionalism and the less awkward atmosphere, successfully dissociated himself enough to reach out with a clinical hand to push aside her vest—right over her pounding heart—to look closely at the nipple of her left breast.

He hoped she forgave him for what he was about to do, but he couldn’t see very well, so he brought his head closer—close enough for his breath to fan across it and see it pebble in response—and angled her towards the light.

A small smile curled his lips as he glanced up at Sakura, who was doing her best to avoid looking at him. There, crossing onto the skin of her nipple from her areola was a slightly darker patch of skin in the shape of an oval. One that matched the one on his own left nipple.

Releasing her vest and taking a step away from her, Sakutaro nodded his head and Sakura nodded back before boldly pushing his vest aside with cold fingers. He stood absolutely still, but shuddered as she trailed her fingertips down his well-formed pectorals, gooseflesh rising quickly along his skin, and was very surprised that she was so…handsy. His own nipple, the same exact peach shade of her own, stiffened as she leaned in to get a better look.

He felt, more than heard, her murmur to herself, “Well, would you look at that.” Before stepping away from him with her own smile.

“Okay!” Sakura chirped, zipping up her vest without doing her chest bindings, “That wasn’t so bad! There’s only one more left!”

Sakutaro raked a hand through his hair, “Yeah, that wasn’t bad at all. Next is the one where the groin meets the pelvis, right?”

Sakura hummed in response, her slim hands already hiking up her black, civilian skirt to reveal black lace panties.

“Trying to impress someone?” He asked slyly, relishing in the blush that spread across the bridge of her nose as she lifted her head—just like him.

“How did you—“ She trailed off at his knowing stare and huffed, “Right. You’re me, I’m you.”

Unbuckling his pants, and sliding them down his legs, Sakutaro took a moment to be mortified. He just met her and he was practically naked! This was so weird!

Standing there with his pants around his ankles, and rolling his black boxer briefs as high as they could go, Sakutoro was quick to curse Inomatsu.

Sakura chuckled, “Black. How sensible. Trying to look cool for someone?”

Sakutoro scoffed as he straightened, “As if she’d ever let me get this far.”

Sakura shrugged as she lifted a glowing hand to her inner thigh, “She’s missing out, then.”

Crouching down in front of her, the glow of her medical ninjutsu illuminating the sharp contours of his face, Sakutaro smirked, “So is he.”

Using the light emitted by medical ninjutsu to find that elusive birthmark in the shape of a stupid flower on her inner thigh wasn’t much better than using the light in the closet, and Sakutaro cursed.

“Well, I can’t see anything,” He said as he rose to his full height gracefully, “I’ll take your word for it then.”

But Sakura had a frown on her pretty face and he didn’t like it, it was like he was upset.

“Hey,” Placing his hand on her shoulder, Sakura looked at him from below her lashes, “What’s wrong?”

Sakutaro’s brow furrowed when her eyes refused to focus on his face, and blinked when they suddenly did just that.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” She asked, teeth worrying her bottom lip familiarly,

“Curious?” He repeated, not sure what she was asking of him. He was curious about many things, like why he was staring at himself as a woman.

“Yes.” Sakura whispered, eyes lighting up as something bloomed in her mind, “Aren’t you curious about how perfection and accuracy travels through dimensions? Are we exact replicas of each other, save for—well, you know—or do we have something the other doesn’t? Can we tell by facial expression what the other is thinking? Do we have the same tics? Do we like the same things?”

He didn’t say anything, but she was breathless as she barreled on because she already knew.

“If-If this turns out to be true, and-and we are what we think, then I know you and I know I’m right. You want to know as much as I do.”

Scrubbing his hand down his face, Sakutaro cursed Sakura because she was right. The scientific anomaly of having two people with exact DNA was a treat too tempting to ignore; no two person’s DNA was the same, not even identical twins, so to see two people not cut from the same cloth but the cloth itself was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Sakutaro didn’t even have to say anything, she knew his response. He nearly flinched when her cold hands found his own, the soothing feel of her medical chakra coaxing his own out of his pores. Her fingers entwined with his own, palms resting against each other as the glow of their hands grew stronger. It was a peculiar sensation having someone’s chakra blend completely and seamlessly with your own; if Sakutaro could describe it, it’d feel like home.

“Will you two hurry up in there?!”

Glancing at the muffled voice coming from the other side of the door, the pair nodded at each other.

“We can explore and theorize later.” Sakura said, excitement showing through her guise of clinical detachment, “For now, feel and confirm.”

Sakutaro had a split second to utter a dumbfounded “wha?” before she grabbed his hand and placed it on her right inner thigh. His hand instantly froze, eyes glued to her flushed face, her glare making his heart beat a steady drum in his chest.

“C’mon, Sakutaro,” Sakura grunted, a very unlady-like sound for someone with a man’s hand on her thigh. And oh, did he just think that? “You know where it is, just touch it and see if it’s there.”

Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, Sakutaro’s hand eased gently up her thigh, grateful that her skirt was bunched up to her waist, it was already awkward enough that he had to crouch down to reach her, what if he’d had to hoist her into his arms?

He’d probably die from all the blood rushing to his head.

The taut, iron muscles beneath his calloused fingertips quivered as he felt around and he was awed by how silky her skin felt as juxtaposed by her monstrous strength. She was deceptively frail and delicate looking—a berserker with petal pink hair and bottle green eyes. All she’d need was Naruko’s pig tails and she’d be the emasculators of all emasculators.

Well, Sakutaro decided, if he was going to be a woman—he’d want to be her. He couldn’t quite wait for the chance to spar with her.

“Sakutaro,” Sakura whined, and oh she shouldn’t be saying his name like that, not her. He was still a man, even if they were one in the same, and his own leg twitched in response. “What are you doing? Hurry up!”

Nodding more to himself than to her nagging, Sakutaro ignored his impulsive, primal desires to run his hands over such soft, feminine skin and his fingers made a beeline towards where he knew that stupid little birthmark would be.

Spreading her legs even further apart with a nudge of his knee (yes, it was that up in there), Sakutaro ignored Sakura’s gasp in favor of probing deeper. When he reached the junction of where her thigh met her pelvis, he gently extended his long middle finger to feel around the smoothness for the slightly raised skin in the shape of a lotus flower. Finding it, Sakutaro ignored Sakura’s deep puffs of air against his neck in favor of tracing the design to confirm its shape—its petals extending slightly across her labia and surrounding thigh, and he hesitated when he accidentally brushed upon a certain wetness and heat.

Freezing when Sakura let out a low mewl, he became emboldened by her thighs clenching around his hand and he tentatively brushed his calloused fingertips against her again, boldly circling her skin with a featherlight touch.

She rocked against him, and Sakutaro shut his eyes against the heat collecting deep in his groin. What was this? Was this wrong? How did it get to this?

Just when he was about to take the literal plunge, Sakura shoved him into the shelves and bottles of window cleaner toppled onto the dusty floor.

“Okay,” She stood there panting, her unbound breasts heaving beneath her vest. Cheeks flushed, lips parted and eyes darkened by lust, Sakutaro thought her the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “You found it. My turn.”

Excuse you, Sasuka who?!

His hips jerked when she toyed with the elastic waistband of his boxers, and Sakutaro buried his face in her hair. Her hair that smelled like vanilla and passion fruit—he smiled, how fitting. Large hands trailing down her sides to rest on her unbelievably small waist, he gripped the fabric of her shirt tightly, straining against the desire to buck into her hand. He was so painfully aware of her already, and this was—this was…he didn’t have a word for it.

Sakutaro hissed when her small, soft hand plunged into his underwear—the side of her palm barely skimming the side of his hardened length as she gently, if not curiously, ran her fingers over the smooth skin of where his own thigh met his pelvis. He, like herself, preferred to be clean shaven—and wasn’t that a given for them? He liked what she liked, she liked what he liked.

His own lotus flower birthmark wasn’t as deep as hers had been, by virtue of being a man, and she found it quickly. But his foot still jerked into a collapsed bottle of detergent when her fingers lightly trailed over the raised skin that overlapped the sensitive skin of his tightened sack. He softly groaned her name into her hair, voice deepened by desire, and he felt her shudder against him.

Sakutaro had never had woman touch him like she was, doing so much by doing so little, and it figured that the one to do so would be himself. Sakura would know that he liked to be teased, just as he knew she’d like the same.

But Sakutaro hadn’t indulged himself in months, and if Sakura kept going, things would be messy and awkward, so he gently eased her away and she mutely pulled her hand from his underwear. She smiled at him sweetly before adjusting her clothing as he did the same, willing his frantically beating heart to slow down and blood pooled below to resume normal activity.

Once they were dressed adequately enough to conceal their experimental activities in the supply closet—of all locations, Inomatsu would be proud—the pair looked at each other with silent understanding and promise.

“You are me.” Sakura whispered, her fingers reaching to trail softly down his cheek.

“I am you.” Sakutaro replied, his hands tucking a strand of long, pale pink hair behind her ear.

And when they smiled at each other, it was like looking in the mirror and coming home.

[oodlyenough]

fic: return on investment (1/2)

If Atlas were a baby, Fiona realizes, she would be its luxurious, jet-setting mother, travelling the world on a whim, and Rhys would be the live-in nanny doing all the actual childrearing.

--

Atlas needs money. Thanks to Felix, Fiona has four million dollars.

Rhys will probably regret this.

3.5k in this chapter. Mostly comedy, with a bit of drama to come. Post-game. Pretty exclusively about Rhys & Fiona’s relationship, with bit parts and cameos from Sasha, Vaughn and Yvette. Kudos to @shinyopals, @firstofoctober and @valoscope on Tumblr for humouring this idea long enough for it to grow as it has. Also on AO3.

Update: Part 2 on Tumblr | Part 2 on AO3

The first million of Felix’s nine is spent getting Fiona and Rhys back to Pandora after the Vault transports them half-way across the galaxy.

It’s not how Fiona imagined spending her first million dollars. It’s also not how she imagined her first visit to another planet. Or who she imagined visiting it with.

It does put an end to Rhys’ whining when he learns she has millions of dollars cash in her back pocket, though, so at least there's that.

“I didn't think Vaults were supposed to cost you money,” Rhys points out, ever so helpfully, as Fiona parts with a larger chunk of change than she's ever previously held.

“This was a dud,” Fiona reasons. “Obviously. The next one I find’ll be better.”

“Seriously? You still wanna be a Vault Hunter? After all this? You’re not all… Vault-ed out?”

Rhys looks at her like he's pretty sure that's stupid. Truthfully Fiona is pretty sure he's got a point, but it's not like he's one to talk.

“Hey, people with glass career ambitions shouldn’t throw stones.”

Rhys smirks. “Yeah, not sure that figure of speech really held up for you.”

“Whatever, just… shut up. You're lucky I'm nice enough to pay for your ticket, too.”

“Technically that’s money you stole from me and Vaughn, so…”

Fiona flips him off, upgrades her ticket to first class for the leg home and leaves him in coach.

That leaves eight million to split with Sasha.

Sudden wealth agrees with Sasha—or at least, Sasha agrees with sudden wealth.

She spends a chunk right away, on a tricked-out caravan that makes the old one look like a clown car, a sound system powerful enough to wake the dead, and at least a dozen guns that individually cost more money than any gun has any business costing.

Fiona understands the kid-in-a-candy-store impulse (Sasha nearly buys out one of those, too), but she’s older, arguably a little wiser, and definitely more patient. Besides, she might end up teleported across the universe again.

So instead she takes her four million, buys a new hat, and waits for an opportunity to present itself.

Rhys gets them all together with such forced nonchalance that it can only mean one thing: he wants something, and he is nervous to ask for it.

Fiona knows this, but she decides to let it play out anyway. Watching him squirm is funny.

Hours later, when Sasha and Vaughn are preoccupied with Sasha’s new motorbike, Rhys finally spits it out, and even though Fiona knew there was a request coming, she nearly chokes on her beer.

“You want me to what?”

“Invest,” he repeats, like it sounds any less insane the second time around. When her eyes remain as wide as dinner plates, he raises both index fingers. “I know, I know, I know, just—hear me out—”

He launches into a well-prepared sales pitch/slideshow/shameless plea, of which Fiona absorbs about twenty per cent through her haze of surprise, confusion and bewilderment.

When he’s finished, Fiona watches him closely through narrowed eyes. Her first question is, “Did you ask Sasha the same thing?”

“No.” He shifts in his seat under her scrutiny. “It seemed like a bad idea to… mix business and pleasure.”  

“God.” Fiona just about gags. “I’ll give you the money if you promise never to call my sister ‘pleasure’ ever again.”

Rhys is disturbingly unperturbed, tilting his head with a grin. “Is that a deal?”

“I dunno…” Fiona tilts her chair onto its back legs and pushes back her hat so she can stare up in proper contemplation. “Would that mean I’d own Atlas?”

“Nah, there’s lots of different ways you can do it, you don’t have to be involved at all. Could just be a loan with interest, or—”

“I wanna own it,” Fiona decides.

“You… what?” he sputters. She can just about see the gears in his head grind to a halt—or the circuit boards, or whatever cybernetic garbage he’s got implanted in there. “No, you don’t.”

“Uh, yeah I do.”

“...Why?”

Fiona shrugs. She lets the front legs of her chair hit back against the ground with a thunk.

“Sounds cool, doesn’t it? Fiona: Vault Hunter, business owner.” She spreads both hands in the air as if she’s unfurling an imaginary banner.

Rhys stares at her, dumbfounded. After a second, he narrows his eyes. “You were that kid on the playground who had no interest in the toy truck until somebody else was playing with it, weren’t you?”

“Dunno. Didn’t grow up with a lot of toys. Or a playground.” She pouts, aiming for a guilt trip, but she must fumble the landing, because Rhys just rolls his eyes.

“You don’t want to own Atlas,” he insists.

“Sure I do.”

“Look, the interest rate I’ll give you—”

“Nope.” She leans across the table, her chin cradled in her bridged fingers, smirking. “Wanna own it.”

Rhys leans forward too, with an equally snide smirk, like he’s hoping to catch her in a bluff. Fiona realizes two things in quick succession: that this has become a game of chicken, and that she isn’t about to lose.  

“Really? That’s really what you want. You really want equity, not interest, or a portion of the profits, or—”

“Really.” She slides one hand free and extends it across the table. “So, deal?”

Rhys’ narrowed, mismatched eyes study her face and then her outstretched hand, his jaw working in wordless contemplation.

Finally, with an aggravated huff, he grabs her hand in his. “Deal.”

Fiona grins, and tries to make sure her grip is as tight as his, even if her efforts are wasted on his prosthetic.

“Don’t worry,” she tells him, “I’ll still let you do all the work.”

Rhys shakes his head as he lets go, scowling. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” She points a finger in mock offense. “I’m a rich asshole.”

Once she signs on the dotted line, Fiona owns, technically, 51% of Atlas’ outstanding shares.

Majority shareholder. It sounds like it pains Rhys to say it.

Sasha asks what that means, exactly, and Fiona sort of shrugs, and Rhys groans very loudly and hits his forehead on the table.

If Atlas were a baby, Fiona realizes, she would be its luxurious, jet-setting mother, travelling the world on a whim, and Rhys would be the live-in nanny doing all the actual childrearing.

Rhys does not appreciate this metaphor as much as Fiona does.

He also doesn’t appreciate when Fiona refers to Atlas as her “hobby”, her “side hustle”, her “pet project”, or basically anything that describes it as “hers” at all.

This, of course, only encourages her to do it more often.

For the most part, though, she doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Atlas. Vault Hunting is a pretty preoccupying gig. Rhys sends her updates, sometimes—because he thinks she might care or because he wants to make her feel guilty for her uninvolvement, she’s not really sure—and she sort of half-skims them. She hasn’t got the head for business, anyway. She’d rather get shot at than read a quarterly report. Literally.

“That’s why I’ve got loyal servants like you,” she tells him.

If looks could kill, and if those killing powers worked even through a vidlink, she’d definitely be dead by now.

Fiona leans back against the wall, one foot braced against it, and buffs her nail polish while a nervous-looking woman in a lab coat turns her back to Fiona, hand at her ear.

“Hi, yes, sorry to bother you,” the woman says, “it’s Sophie, from R&D?”

There must be a pause on the line, because Sophie shoots a skittish glance over her shoulder at Fiona.

Fiona waves.

Sophie turns away again immediately, and Fiona shakes her head. She isn’t even trying to be intimidating.

“Yes, hi,” Sophie says again, apparently transferred to another line. “I—no, no, there’s nothing on fire this time. There’s just, um, there’s a woman here? Who wants a tour of the lab?”

Fiona wonders if Sophie is one of the so-called Children of Helios, and if so, exactly how long it’s going to take for those children to stop hiding in their parents’ basement.

“I know we don’t do tours,” Sophie says, sounding a little irritated at the insinuation. It’s the most Fiona has liked her so far. “But she says she’s—well, she…” Sophie casts another helpless glance at Fiona, like she resents what Fiona’s presence is making her say. “She says she owns the place.” Sophie is still watching Fiona from the corner of her eye as she nods slowly to the voice on the other end of the line. “Right. Okay. Will do.”

Finally, Sophie turns to face Fiona properly.

“He says he’ll be down in a minute,” says Sophie.

Fiona grins, pushing herself up from the wall. “Great.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” is the first thing Rhys says to her, and Fiona snorts.

“Hi, Rhys, I’m fine, good to see you, too, it’s been so long,” she says pointedly, but he ignores her, moving straight to the door, his palm held out to interface with the control panel.

She watches him work, head tilted. They haven’t seen much of each other in recent months, each caught up in their personal whirlwinds. Fiona is finally starting to earn some respect, and Atlas is taking its first fledgling steps as an actual, functional business. Again. Vault Hunter, CEO. It’s been… busy.

The Rhys in front of her now is even starting to look the part, all expensive clothing and serious facial expressions and the perpetual vibration of someone who’s consumed way beyond the recommended daily intake of caffeine.

Fiona knows him, though, and she’s not so easily fooled.

“It’s really… not a great time for you to be here,” he admits to her as the door slides open. “I’ve got advertising proofs to approve, financials to look at, a couple big meetings that really need to go well, and shepherding you around is not exactly the prep I had planned.”

“Shepherding?” Fiona counters, following him through the doors. “Thought you’d be excited to show off.”

Rhys smiles thinly. “Yeah, well, you know, I would be! Just… kinda busy… trying not to lose all your money and torpedo my own career. Again.”

That sounds more like the Rhys she knows, always a little more awkward and uncertain than he tries to pretend. Fiona grins and claps him on the shoulder as they head into the lab.

“Tough. I want to see what my money’s paying for.”

Her money, it turns out, is paying for a number of things. The Atlas of yesteryear had a lot of irons in the fire, and in that regard, at least, Rhys’ is no different.

There’s a limited line of guns, the expensive sort that collectors pay exorbitant amounts of money to never use. Fiona asks if these were made explicitly to please Sasha, and Rhys gets a dumb look on his face and shrugs, which she takes as a yes.

They don’t keep the plantlife in the lab, he explains, which makes sense, but he assures her there’s a lot of it. Fiona remembers ten-foot carnivorous flowers and decides she’s not really missing out.

“Is it all still so… aggressive?” she asks, and Rhys sort of grins.

“Aggressive plantlife really agrees with Pandora,” he says, which she has to admit sounds true enough. “We’re working on fruit and stuff though, you can try some later.” Then something catches his eye, and he waves her forward eagerly. “Fi, come here.”

He introduces her to a frazzled woman named Hannah, standing on the outside of a tiny observation room. Through the window, a small, nondescript robot is holding what looks like a glorified button. Painted on the floor are two separate, coloured circles.

“We’ve been trying to learn more about the teleportation technology from the Vault of the Traveler,” Hannah tells her, and over Hannah’s shoulder, Rhys wiggles his eyebrows excitedly.

“Quick, easy interplanetary travel, right?” he prompts.

“Easy is one word for it.” Fiona tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. “Another is nauseating. Disorienting. Terrifying.”

Rhys dismisses it with a shrug. “I mean, it’s... probably less terrifying if you know it’s going to happen.” He sidles up next to her, full-on salesman. “Just think, though! Pandora to Dionysus in ten seconds.”

“Yeah, Dionysus will love that,” Fiona jokes, but it does sound pretty cool, now that he’s said it.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Well… we can worry about that later. It’s a work in progress.”

“I made some adjustments,” Hannah says, and then launches into a technical explanation that sounds like gibberish to Fiona. Rhys makes a good show of looking very attentive, but Fiona’s pretty sure he has no idea what any of it means, either.

By the end of it, Hannah’s holding up a remote control, and all three of them are watching the robot in the observation room curiously as Hannah holds up a remote control switch.

“It’s supposed to reappear in that blue circle, there,” Hannah explains.

The little robot dematerializes from its red circle and rematerializes almost instantly, in a bright flash of light, three feet into the air and nowhere near the blue circle. Before it can even hit the ground, it disappears again, reappears elsewhere, faster and faster, with non-stop bursts of blinding light, clattering around the room as it collides with the walls, floor and ceiling.

Finally, there’s a memorable slam against the window that sends them all flinching backwards. Hannah flips the switch the other way, and the robot falls from mid-air and lands on the floor.

Fiona cringes.

“It doesn’t, um, there’s no AI in that, or anything,” Rhys says hastily, though he looks a little horrified too. “It’s fine.”

With matching, pained thumbs up, they leave Hannah to her work.

Along with the guns and the experimental teleportation, there’s a variety of miscellaneous tech, small-ticket items that Rhys shows  to Fiona with all the enthusiasm of a teenager working part-time at an amusement park.

Every employee they run into knows Rhys, and Rhys knows all of them, well enough that she thinks he might be cheating, but she never catches his ECHO eye lighting up.

None of them know Fiona, which leaves her the great pleasure of introducing herself as Rhys’ boss, reveling in their look of confusion and Rhys’ scowl.

“I mean they really should have heard of me,” Fiona tells him.

“They don’t have reason to,” Rhys says. “It’s not like you actually do any work here.”

“You could have posters. ‘The Woman Who Made This All Possible’.” When that fails to get a response, she nudges him with her elbow. “Or a statue.”

“I’m not building you a statue,” says Rhys flatly, a disappointing underreaction.

It’s unusual for Rhys not to take Fiona’s bait, and she frowns. “I feel like your heart’s not in this.”

Rhys ignores that, too. “Last lab’s up here, let’s just finish up.”

There’s not much to look at in the last section of the lab, except for various computer displays she doesn’t understand, some whiteboards covered in indecipherable writing, and various hunks of metal in various states of completion, largely unrecognizable to Fiona. She peers at a printed list of specifications, trying to make sense of it, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Is this an… arm?” she asks finally. When there’s no answer, she prompts, “Rhys?”

Nothing. When she looks up, it’s obvious she’s lost Rhys’ attention. He’s standing in the hall, staring in deep concentration at some display projected from his palm, his golden eye flickering wildly.

“Hey. Rhys.”

No luck. Fiona rolls her eyes.

“Mr. Robot,” she tries again, and this time she reaches up to flick the port at the side of his head.

The display from his palm flickers for a second, and Rhys reacts like he’s been shot, jumping away from her with a yelp and flailing both arms uselessly.

“God, don’t do that,” he scolds, glaring, and Fiona would maybe feel a little bit bad about it if his reaction were not so funny. “What? What do you want?”

“Food,” she says, aware of the sudden rumble in her stomach. “Where’s this fruit you promised me? Lunchtime!”

“Oh. Right.” He points to the exit doors behind him. “There’s a cafeteria that way. Keep going, hang a left, can’t miss it. You’ll find something.”

He turns to go the other way, already focusing on his palm display again, and Fiona catches him by the shoulder.

“What, you’re not shepherding me?” she asks.

“Can’t. Sorry. Busy.” He doesn’t even look up as pulls out of her grip and waves her off. “I think you can manage lunch on your own, Vault Hunter.”

Fiona watches him go and shakes her head.

“Jackass,” she mutters.

“This is Atlas food, and I own Atlas, mostly, so if you think about it, this is really already my food, and I shouldn’t have to pay.”

Fiona says it all clearly and slowly, with such a winning smile that surely no one could deny her.

The man serving food at the canteen does not look convinced. “Lady, I don’t even know who you are.”

Fiona’s about to explain why that’s really not her fault, and she’ll be speaking to the CEO about that, because it seems wrong, really, that she not get her due, and—

“It’s fine, Steve,” comes a voice from behind her. “She’s with me, just put it on my tab.”

Turning to face her unlikely saviour, Fiona finds Yvette, eyebrow arched, hands on her hips, and lips pulled into a smile. Steve mumbles something about executives looking out for each other, but he hands Fiona her tray of food without further complaint.

“Thanks,” says Fiona brightly, after Yvette’s grabbed her own food and lead them to a table. “Rhys basically abandoned me,” she adds.

Not that she’s feeling resentful, or anything.

“Yeah, he’s been a ghost recently,” Yvette says, sliding into a booth. “He always gets like this when he’s busy. He’d probably sleep in his office if your sister would let him get away with it. Vaughn and I used to stage interventions at Hyperion.”

The second she’s said it, she looks like she regrets it, a shadow passing over her face at the mention of Helios. Fiona pretends not to notice, studying her plate of food intensely.  

“But anyway,” says Yvette, abruptly trying to regain control of the conversation, “I didn’t know you were visiting today!”

“It was a surprise.” Fiona takes a swig of her drink through her straw and raises her eyebrows. “You know, like a secret shopper. Gotta say, though, my tour guide gets a failing grade.”

Yvette laughs at that, and then she starts to catch Fiona up, filling her in on all the details Rhys had been too distracted to bother with. Atlas is doing a lot of work with cybernetics, Yvette explains, and at various price points. There are lots of people on Pandora who could use prosthetics like Rhys’ own, but not many who could pay for them. Trying to find the right balance of dexterity, function and affordability is the primary focus and current struggle of the R&D team.

“One of our suppliers is a real dick, too,” Yvette adds, matter-of-factly. “I know he’s trying to overcharge us. I’ve worked with him before.” She rips her piece of toast in half and points at Fiona with it. “That’s one of the meetings Rhys has been hyperventilating about.”

“He didn’t tell me any of this,” Fiona says, pulling the lid off of her soda cup to chase down the last drops of her drink with her straw.

Yvette only shrugs. “Like I said, he gets like that.” She pops the second half of her toast into her mouth. “Besides—it must be pretty boring compared to what you’re up to these days. You must have amazing stories.”

Fiona pushes the ice around in her empty cup. Vault Hunting, not unlike conning, is about ten percent the sweet thrill of victory, ninety percent guesswork and fumbling to cheat death in ways that are embarrassing to think about later.

Still, she doesn’t like to spoil the illusion.

“Oh yeah,” she says, looking up. “Totally. Great stories. The best stories.” Already she’s mentally fishing for anecdotes that lend themselves to her… more creative impulses. “This one time—”

Yvette shifts closer in anticipation, but when she glances at her watch she blanches. “Shit. Hold that thought. I should probably get back to work.” She rises easily from the booth and takes her tray with her. “Come see me before you leave, all right? I wanna hear about the Vault Hunting.”

“Will do.” Fiona leans back in her chair, one arm draped over the side of it. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Yvette winks as she drops her tray on the pile and walks backwards to the door. “Rhys pays that tab anyway.”

Part 2 on Tumblr | Part 2 on AO3

[weasley-detectives]

Brave and Merida in a Trumped up world

It's a little surprising to me that the Disney fandom went absolutely apeshit over the "Disneyfication" of Merida in their merchandise - something Brenda Chapman even spoke out against, calling it a cheap ploy to sell merchandise - yet there hasn't been any commentary on other Brave spin-offs.

Merida's a Disney/Pixar heroine who, in Chapman’s own words, was created to be a different kind of Princess. Now, I don’t think it makes me a good feminist to sit here and pit Disney Princess against Disney Princess; I think popular perception of the “Disney Princess” is a different beast altogether when compared with the actual source material, which has both positive and negative aspects. But when it comes to Merida the writers intentionally set out from the start to try something new. She has a fuller, rounded figure, a nuanced relationship with her mother, and romance plays no part in her story. You could argue there’s evidence of a romantic interest, but that’s not the same thing as a romantic subplot, and it’s not overt enough that you can say with any certainty. The writers admit the original idea was to have Merida walk off into the sunset with Young MacGuffin, the suitor who briefly catches her attention early in the film, but that epilogue thankfully only exists in the artbook and deleted scenes.

And let me be clear, there's nothing wrong with Merida having a romantic interest. In fact, I came to love that Merida is subtly shown to be a little interested in Young MacGuffin. 

I was watching Mulan the other night with a @pale-silver-comb​ (who is 100% responsible for my newfound love of Disney- well, that and the fact I need bright happy escapist animation as the rest of my time is spent neck deep in miserable politics). We were cackling over the scene where Mulan ogles a shirtless Shang and later wound up ranting over how rare it is to see women checking out guys in films. When women do make their attraction known, they tend to run the risk of being framed or labelled as shameless, or worse, sluts. On the flipside, how often do we see guys ogling girls in media? Yeah, exactly. It's a shitty myth that women don't own their sexuality in the same ways men do. That's one of the things I love about Mulan and Merida as heroines - they're not "strong female characters" (god I hate that term, can we please kill it?) just because they kick large hairy man arse. They're great characters because they are so relatable. They're funny, they're giant dorks, they stuff their gobs, they check guys out, they can be crass, proud, and make mistakes. These are all things women do, but aren't shown to do nearly as often as men are in mainstream media.

I’m glad the Brave epilogue with Merida and Young MacGuffin didn't make the final cut, because the story wasn't about Merida finding romance - it was about Merida's relationship with her mother, and the two of them confronting their pride, opening their minds to new ways of thinking, and admitting their mistakes. The epilogue had no place in Brave’s narrative. To have included it would have harmed the message of the story by adding romance for the sake of romance, rather than for any narrative purpose. But at the same time I don't want to downplay Merida showing even a subtle interest because yay women owning their own sexuality. One of the things that has driven me crazy since I was a kid myself is the patronising infantilization of girls. A crush is normal, you can pretty much get them at any age, it does not mean you’re not enjoying your childhood to the fullest. Fuck that noise. I had massive crushes from the age of 4 and still managed to climb trees, get into fights and battle Captain Hook and Shredder on my T-Rex with imaginary best friend Gollum at my side (what? fuck you we had a bond). That Merida might have had a bit of a crush on Young MacGuffin reinforces for me the fact she’s a character who doesn't want to get married because she doesn’t bloody want to, not because the suitors are conveniently horrible people she vehemently dislikes. I actually find that even more inspiring. So yes, Brave is a great film with a pretty amazing heroine.

Which is why it pisses me off when spin-off writers take something so progressive and shaft it.

This isn't a ship shaming post at all - fandom is a ship & let ship space, ship Merida with her bow for all I care, it's all good. This critique is aimed at crappy spin-offs and I’m taking Once Upon a Time as an example. Now, OUAT isn’t all bad. Sometimes it takes Disney canon and transforms it into something really interesting, progressive and original. Or, well, it used to. Recent seasons not so much. The actress who plays Merida is the only good thing about OUAT's Brave arc. The rest is unbearably lazy (HA! pun.) writing. The gravest injustice has to be King Fergus, who looks like he's wearing a wig knitted from a highland cow's pubes.

Don't get me started on his accent. I’m scottish. No Scotsman sounds like that. Not unless they’re squeedging out an enormous post-curry-hangover shit. I love Fergus, but honestly I was relieved OUAT!Fergus was bumped off before my ears could go on strike.

The suitors are also sexist pigs. Dingwall and MacGuffin don't even say anything, they just play the lazy mindless followers/minions to MacIntosh who’s probably the most unlikeable aspect of the arc. Really says something about OUAT when the original animation, aimed at a younger audience, portrays its characters as more nuanced. In Brave, Young MacIntosh is all bluff- he’s a show off, a sore loser and generally a bit of a prick, but there are also glimpses of genuine empathy. He's also the suitor Merida is openly put off by in the film. So yeah, in Brave, Young MacIntosh is a bit of a lanky fucktrumpet, but he's not anywhere close to being the scabby sexist cockwomble he is in OUAT. This would be fine if it had some sort of clever narrative purpose, but who am I kidding, it’s OUAT. OUAT!MacIntosh is a proper dickhead and there’s no reason for Merida to like any of the suitors, because unlike in Brave, they’re all fucking assholes. And yet the OUAT arc still ends with Merida giving him the smitten googley eyes. Because romance or something. cool.

Another Brave novelisation published by Disney Random House ends with Merida confirming to the reader that yes, she did eventually marry. Well thank fuck for that! My frail girlish heart couldn't possibly entertain the idea of Merida never marrying. Thank you book, you've reassured conservative parents everywhere.

In addition to that bollocks is.. probably one of the worst offenders. I recently picked up a couple of the Merida chapter books by Sudipta Bardham-Quallen, again published by Disney Random House. They're for wee kids, but I wanted to see more of @gurihiru​​ 's lovely art which I’m fully smitten with. The writing isn’t great, but the stories involve challenging enough themes for very young readers. To the author's credit there's a bit of an effort made to retain a Scottish feel to them and there’s a nice focus on female friendships as Merida encounters new characters. It’s a bit cutesy-poo BFFs!!, the kind of thing I hated as a kid, but hey, we need more female friendship stories. The new characters are even quite likeable, so thumbs up there.

Then I picked up the second book, The Fire Falls (also written by Sudipta Bardham-Quallen), and cringed. Basically bad Merida and Young MacIntosh fanfic involving some classic tropes like: 'I'm not jealous, I’m just better than all those shameless slags flirting with him' and 'arg he's such an asshole but i'm inexplicably attracted to him though there's nothing to show in the story why I should be!' and my favourite - ‘He’s a bad guy but I can change him!’

Here's my main issue: why is it when a female character shows or says she’s not interested in a guy's advances this all too often becomes a springboard for their romance? Why do these stories have such an obsession with positioning the sexist hyper-masculine asshole as the romantic lead? (I'm sure that couldn’t have any dire implications for the worl-oh fuck). And in Brave's case, when the source material and original epilogue show Merida taking an interest in the big fat guy, why don’t any of the spin-offs build on that? Young MacGuffin also happens to be the only one in the entire film to vocally stand up for Merida’s rights. That’s pretty cool! So why don’t spin-offs celebrate that? The cynic in me says we all know the answer - much like Merida had to be “sexed up” to sell Disney merchandise, the fat suitor had to be swapped out for the skinny. 

Really, in a film that revolves around Merida's frustration that people aren't listening to her, it sort of amazes me that these spin-offs don't realise they AREN'T LISTENING TO HER.

And yeah, obviously I know it seems really silly picking on kids books and OUAT, neither of which are ever going to win awards for great progressive writing, but considering America just elected a vile celebrity as President and populism is on the rise, maybe it’s time we all said screw that academic snobbery and paid more attention to popular media. This stuff is common, these tropes are common, and it’s consumed mostly by young kids who internalise these crappy messages.

I make a big deal of it because these coded messages have a profound effect on us as we grow. These messages tell us to ignore a girl's decision and choice: that when she says 'I'm not interested' what we hear is 'I am'; that the most "attractive" and most "masculine" guy will always be the “natural” choice; that being fat or shy or awkward are inherently negative qualities and will always be overlooked by the loud wanker distracting everyone by waving his tiny hands around.

I'm now a published historian and I plan on publishing children's books in the near future; I work part-time in a bookshop, so I talk to kids about the stories they read, the stories they want to read, and their frustrations with the stories they HAVE read, all the time; I studied child psychology as part of my degree in Social Anthropology: this is why it matters to me and why I know all too well how much these coded messages affect us. I know it from my own experiences as a half-Moroccan kid with a dead father, growing up in a classroom of white kids who all came from middle-class households with two parents. This was all brought back to me when I rediscovered some of my old journals and stories I had written for class where I portrayed myself as being blonde/white and talked as if my dad was still alive, because I desperately wanted to be *normal*. I never got to encounter a character like Merida growing up, and I wish to god I had.

Children's authors and publishing houses have an enormous responsibility to make their readers feel included and heard. They also have a responsibility to challenge toxic ideas - not reinforce them. We have to keep pushing boundaries, not limit them.

[talldarkloathsome-blog]

Discord RP: Dasvidaniya

@coldsteelse7en

Cailen-Today at 2:12 AM

[txt]: Well. You certainly know how to end a relationship in fireworks. Good show.

Carro-Today at 2:13 AM

[txt] That was an ending? My, why didn't anyone tell me?

Cailen-Today at 2:14 AM

[txt] Well it's certainly not warranting a continuation.

Carro-Today at 2:15 AM

[txt] Is that right? Wouldn't you say that what I did got under your skin?  Deeper than I've ever gotten before...?

Cailen-Today at 2:16 AM

[txt] Normally the aim in a Black Relationship, if I'm to understand it, is to NOT assassinate your partner while maintaining their ire.

Carro-Today at 2:17 AM

[txt] You're still alive and breathing, aren't you?  Did I put poison in your cup? A dagger in your heart?

Cailen-Today at 2:19 AM

[txt] A possible career assassination, yes. Do you really expect me to stay after this? If you had wanted me out of the picture. despite my shortcomings I have always been respectful in how I've treated this. I understand we're criminals and murderers but even this...this is just....ugh

Carro-Today at 2:25 AM

[txt] I have many things to say about this.  To begin:

My frog, what sort of kismesis have you had before? Surely a boring one, if you're so secure in your stations in life.  The point of a kismesis is to challenge one another.  You stifled me.  Shoved me in a closet and kept me a secret.

That, for starters, is not who I am as a person, but I still took you up on it.  If this was the challenge you were to present to me, then I had to create one for you that was even more core-shaking.  And what better way than to expose this, to see you bend under pressure but ultimately claw your way out from beneath it? To face adversity head-on and defy it?  That, augh, that would have been...

But instead, you are, what.  Giving up? You're acting as though what I've done is "so far out of line," and yet this is perfectly within the bounds of what one typically does with one's black rom partners.  So what makes this so different?  Aside from being more of a challenge than your roll-over-and-take-it other that you had to keep me a secret from?

And should I touch on that as well, or...?

Cailen-Today at 2:35 AM

[txt] Simply put, I am the leader of my organization. We both know that Scratch would do absolutely anything in his power to take that position back from me but I will not let him. My relationship with you was fun, it was risky, and it was WRONG. My group looks to me to lead, and now more than ever I must be strong and show that I am on their side. I have never acted against the Felt in being with you, it was purely because I LIKED being with you. I let you in and I had ONE rule to maintain trust in an otherwise VERY risky situation. That trust was broken.

Is it any of their business who I was fucking? Ultimately no, no it's not. But if I don't rise above it, as you said, then I will succumb. Scratch will have his win and everything I've worked for is destroyed. And there's one person who DOES matter more to me than our relationship and even my maintaining control over the Felt. And this relationship has hurt HER.

And I can't do that anymore. I won't. Not to her. I can let down as many moirails, past and present quadrants as I need to, but the only way I come out on top of this is if I wrestle control while I still have it, and to make sure that this...between us...stops.

So congratulations, this is my chance, as you wished, for me to see if I can meet the challenge you've set up for me. But whether I rise above it or fail, I'm sorry, Alexi. No, I'm not going to continue with you. You have my deepest apologies for how shitty of a quadmate that I had been. You deserved better than me.

Carro-Today at 2:42 AM

[txt] Alexei.  And at any rate, you've done far worse by her than fucking me.  We've all heard the whispers.  I can see it in the lecherous way you make passes at every pair of tits that come your way.

You are weak, Crowbar, and Scratch has little and less to do with this.  You have done wrong by them, commanded so little of their respect well before you ever got involved with me, so trying to pass the buck off onto me is cheap and inexcusable.  You're looking for an easy scapegoat, but I won't be it.

So sure.  You ignore my texts.  You brush me off.  You hinder me, push me into a closet, but yes, it was I who did you wrong.  Most certainly, it was I.  Your sense of moral rightness is, as always, so far above mine and all else's.  Who am I but a lowly harlot who swayed you and tempted you, was at your beck and call when you wanted a good fuck, heard nothing from you for long stretches of time on end, but then, oh, broke a single promise.  I am the villain in your history now, am I?

You are right about one thing, though.  I do deserve, and can do, so much better than you.  Cute, nice dick, okay in the sack, but weak where it counts.  No challenge at all.

Cailen-Today at 2:53 AM

[txt] Alexei, my apologies. I had to reread my previous post to see if I EVER at all hinted I was blaming you for any of my shortcomings, any of the problems in this sham of a quadrant I attempted with you. It being a sham thanks to MY negligence, by the way. You are no scapegoat, Droog. And nor would I use you as one. How EASY it would be for me to go to the Felt and call you the succubus who wooed me to your bedside, pass off the blame, but I was lying to them enough by keeping you and I a secret. I will not lie to them about this.

The only thing I can and will accuse you of is this, outing me to the public. I know full well that I have been weak. I gave you a bum deal. I couldn't meet your expectations, and I couldn't maintain my own side of the bargain. There will be no passing of the buck. I will face this head on. Let's be real here, after this hack job I've done SO far, would you really even WANT to continue being in a quadrant with me? You broke my only rule, but I broke, what, you heart? Is something that cliche applicable when it's a blackrom?

For all my talk of respecting you, I disrespected our relationship. I had hoped that our last meeting would be enough to set it back on track, and it's clear that's not the case. All I can do is apologize for wasting your time.

Carro-Today at 3:02 AM

[txt] Our last meeting was sex.  It's always sex.  And sex is good, yeah, great sometimes, but it isn't a cure-all.  It's a pretty bandaid wrapped up in red lace.

A kismesis should hate, and fear, and worship their partner in equal measure.  Anything less than that is a waste of time, you are absolutely right.  And that's why the very idea of a kismesissitude founded in secrecy doesn't work.  The very idea of any relationship founded in secrecy is sketchy, at best.  But if it were that--just a simple affair, you, me, just fucking and that being that, that wouldn't have been so bad.  I've been the Other Woman, or Other Man, before.  Plenty.  But there weren't strings attached there.  So much simpler.

Your words imply that our relationship coming out will ruin your career.  My answer to that is, why should it?  For a regrettable amount of time, that number 8 hat of your tried to pursue me in both red and black solicitations.  Her career's in tact, even after... ... And then there's Itchy, who you all but expect to do this shit.  His career's sound. That is why I call it scapegoating.  Your career is no more troubled by my interference as it is a rainy day.

Cailen-Today at 3:15 AM

[txt] Snowman has lost more footing than I think she realizes and I am doing what I can with her to regain that fear she used to command. I myself have lost most of mine and I'm fully aware of how high up on the presipice I am. And Itchy, well. Everyone KNOWS he's going to betray their trust. None of them RUN the Felt. I do.

I like sex. It seems I like it too much. I lost sight of the purpose I was to fill. Again, I'm rully admitting how utterly awful I've been at being the quadmate I should have been. And are you insinuating that you STILL hold any semblance of desire to keep this up? This was the ultimate OUT for both of us, Droog. You come out of it with a win, and I come out of it with a major loss in front of my peers. Honestly, I am shocked you'd put faith in me.

Look, as touching as that is....Ultimately, I choose Handy. Handy would not approve of us. Look at how she's handled this already. I lied through omission. I hid this from her, the ONE person who has stuck by my side despite how awful I've been. This is my chance to do right by her for once, to end this and try and save what I have with her.

Carro-Today at 3:20 AM

[txt] Pardon me for not having such easily disposed of feelings as you, Crowbar.  It was a win, but it was supposed to be one of a series of wins and losses, not just.  An end.  I am as shocked as you, that you would attempt to make a kismesis keep a promise and get upset when it doesn't happen.  I am at a loss ... ...

And that's just it.  She isn't even your other kismesis--why would you hide this from her? Surprise to say, she doesn't hate me--or she didn't, before today, I suppose.  But you are allowed to have other quadrants, and you should have been open with her from the start.  And what of your other? Have you thought about them, in all this?

Or are you so consumed with one that your other quadrants mean nothing to you? Because if so, you should see to breaking up with the rest of them post-haste.  You clearly cannot handle having more than one partner.

Cailen-Today at 3:29 AM

[txt] Damara Megido will more than likely kill me. I've resigned myself to that. I have no excuses for her. She is a shameless slut who would sleep with anyone given the chance but it does not change that I hid this from her and maintained a separate black quadrant behind her back. Her fury will be swift and I will probably be smeared across several timelines before I am revived and allowed to live.

And yes, Handy is not my black quadrant. She is more than that. She is more than ANY quadrant. I cannot explain it. And perhaps I SHOULD only have one partner. But even then, it WOLD be her, so I should do absolutely everything in my power to make that right.

I am not enjoying doing this, Alexei. This was not easy. NONE of this was easy. The only easy thing was the sex, GOD I was just weak for the sex, the sensation of someone else touching me, BEING touched. It was a rush I cannot describe. You do not know who I am, the things I have done to be where I am. I cannot accurately explain to you how INTOXICATING the feeling of....FEELING is to me. I shut all of that off for a third of my life and in letting it back in I LOST myself.

I lost my purpose, I lost my quadrants, I lost my damn mind. I should have kept it all under wraps, and I see that now. Not because of you, but in many ways FOR your sake. You are a man worth admiring and I TOYED with you. I need to stop. And this is my chance. This is the perfect opportunity

Carro-Today at 3:35 AM

[txt] Well, at least that much is assuring.

Nor am I deriving pleasure in this, or trying to stop you.  I am, after all, a big boy.  This is nothing a bit of whiskey and a rebound won't scab over.  I won't allow anyone the satisfaction or illusion of thinking they've broken the heart of Diamonds Droog.

What's dead is dead, and rest in pieces.  You'll be missing this touch before this conversation is done.  And in that, I derive the ultimate satisfaction.

Cailen-Today at 3:39 AM

[txt] You absolutely have it. There's no way someone who was as utterly useless in his black pursuits as I could break your heart, and I would never have wanted it as such in the first place. Again, I admire you, Droog. I've lost plenty of face with you and I will just have to live with that. This is a checkmate in your favor, sir. I back out of this knowing full well my ultimate cowardice and how completely weak and defunct I was when courting you. You can take that to bank and cash it, but I must stick to my guns on this one and call this off

Carro-Today at 3:50 AM

[txt] Тогда вам, я говорю: До свидания, мистер Seven. Позвоните мне как-нибудь. Я буду уверен не отвечать.

Cailen-Today at 3:52 AM

[txt] Goodbye Alexei. May the next time we meet still be over drinks and a laugh. Give my regards, though I know you won't, to Grigory. I'm sure he'll be elated to hear of our relationship's passing. The old man deserves a chuckle

Carro-Today at 3:54 AM

[txt] I'm sure he will.  Someone deserves it, at any rate.

[theliterateape]

Debate is Dead; Long Live Debate

By David Himmel

This might sound like shameless self-promotion here, but it’s not. It’s promotion through opportunity. But we’ll get to that at the end of this thing. Let’s dive into the meaty opportunity…

Last week, Do You Want Nazis? Because That’s How You Get Nazis by Kari Castor sparked an at times entertaining, humorous, mean, and irrational discussion on my Facebook page under the story’s post. What began as a mundane Facebook commentary quickly escalated into rage bombs being lobbed at one reader who didn’t agree completely with Castor’s point of view. And that’s fine. At Literate Ape, we don’t expect or even want everyone to fall in line and read along nodding in agreement with every sentence. Hell, I don’t agree 100 percent with Castor’s point of view, and I’m the co-editor. Literate Ape does not want to be Huffington Post or Breitbart — two extremes of both sides of the debate. Literate Ape exists to be a forum for intelligent, unique voices of varying opinions from writers of varying experiences and backgrounds. As long as the work is well-written, not libelous or hateful, we’ll run it.

In my and co-editor Don Hall’s perfect world, Literate Ape is a place for all readers on the political and social spectrum to visit to discover new thoughts, and yes, even thoughts that may be nod-worthy with every sentence. We continue working toward that by always looking for new contributors with a voice that has yet to be heard. We don’t want the pieces we publish to incite online or street fights, but we are thrilled when they spark healthy debate.

The problem is that healthy debate appears to be dead. Or, at best, on life support in a hospice bed providing infected bed sores rather than rational thought.

I don’t want to waste your time, or mine, typing out yet another explanation of how Facebook and Twitter, and comment sections have allowed self-aggrandizing and singular thought and vitriol to run rampant. We know it exists. The internet has allowed us to wallow and thrive in this kind of shouting match. And that’s all it is. Rare is it that you’ll find a good debate of any kind of quality in a Facebook thread.

A few years back, I got into it with a pastor from Las Vegas about breast implants on a mutual friend’s page. His point of view was that women who undergo breast augmentation do so because they have low self-esteem, and they have low self-esteem because they have not fully accepted Jesus. Of course, that’s complete nonsense. And he and I debated the various points, of which there were many. Throughout the debate, we remained respectful to each other, and he did recognize my points and admitted that he ought to approach the actions of others with less absolution based on his experiences and thoughts. It wasn’t a full concession, and that was fine. I didn’t want to be right, I just wanted him to see that there were other sides to the coin he hadn’t considered.

He and I ended up becoming Facebook friends and engaged in liking each other’s posts with the occasional friendly debate on issues that really weren’t all that important in the long run. I liked that pastor. And when he died of a heart attack a few years later, I was a little bummed out. I’d never met him in person, but it was clear to me that the world lost a man of passion and purpose and reason. We need more people like Pastor Jimmy Mac. (The Christian faith needs more pastors like Pastor Jimmy Mac.)

Debate is hard. That’s why only the real nerdy kids did it in high school. Debating issues one is passionate about is even harder. And debating issues one is passionate about while remaining respectful to your opponent is even harder than that.

Castor’s piece, in short — and I don’t want to undersell it — states that politeness won’t help the Left defeat the extremism of the Right and the Trump Administration. If we focus on the word “politeness,” she’s right. I don’t think “politeness” is the right word to use. “Respect” is the word both the lefties and the righties need to remember. Even in war, there is respect for the enemy. If you don’t have respect for your opponent, you’ll lose. Because without respect, you cannot understand your enemy. As evidenced by Vietnam, Iraq and just about every online argument, if you don’t understand your enemy by way of respect, peace with honor and progress from the wreckage is impossible.

We the People must be respectful of our opponents.

That said, fuck Nazis. Fuck racists. Fuck sexists. Fuck Trump and fuck anyone who still apologizes or defends his administration’s attempt to ass rape democracy to death while instigating totalitarianism. But you can say “fuck them” without saying “fuck them.” You can knock your opponent down a peg or two without the insulting or name calling. Make them look stupid and prove them wrong by revealing the stupidity and fallacies in their argument.

Joe Pesci’s Vincent Gambini in My Cousin Vinny didn’t win his case because he called the small southern town witnesses rednecks, hicks, or stupid. He was respectful of their situation and what they believed, and used his knowledge and understanding of the situation and those witnesses to prove them wrong with facts. We need more cousins like Vinny. Let life imitate art.

Debate is the most important tool in democracy’s toolbox. Once that goes out the window, so, too, does the democratic process.

Going back to Castor’s piece, which sparked the intense thread on my Facebook page, she does not want to chill. And she shouldn’t have to. We need rage. But we also need calm. Now stick with me here because I’m going to use an analogy that the NRA folks might cum all over… Rage is our weapon. It’s the rifle, it’s the bullet. Calm is needed to aim the rifle and gently squeeze the trigger so we hit our intended target. Without calm, we’re just a rage monster firing off rounds, which is how innocents get hurt. Dare I say we need more Lee Harvey Oswalds. He was full of rage but was calm enough to (allegedly) shoot the brains out of Ted Kennedy’s older brother.

Now here’s the shameless self-promotion I promised.

Being that Literate Ape exists as a way to inform and encourage discussion, we host a monthly event called BUGHOUSE! on the first Monday of each month at Haymarket Pub & Brewery. BUGHOUSE! is 75-minute show designed to interrogate concepts, proselytize truth, and dissect popular thought through a lens of skeptical artistry. Three bouts, six warriors, three decisions. BUGHOUSE! aims to definitively answer the most (and least) important questions of the day. This month’s event is Monday, July 7. (Yeah, I know that’s not the first Monday of the month but we wanted to be mindful of the holiday week.) This month’s topics:

Online Vitriol: Self Regulate or Throttle Access? The Faraway Future: Star Wars or Star Trek? Climate Disaster: Nostradamus or Chicken Little?

In the 10 month’s we’ve done this event, Don and I have always had spectators and performers alike say to us that it was not only fun but educational, too. We don’t take it too seriously, but we recognize how important it is to engage in respectful debate on all topics both important (Climate Disaster) and not at all (The Faraway Future). And if Pastor Jimmy Mac were alive, I’d invite him out to debate me on the reason women get boob jobs. Because who better to debate that topic than two men?

Join us at BUGHOUSE! this Monday and in subsequent months. You won’t regret it. For those of you not in Chicago, each one is a podcast, too. (Listen here.) And join in on the need for respectfully debating even the vilest people making the vilest arguments. Don’t pull your punches but take the time to understand them so you can beat them. One must know thine enemy. The moment you start name calling and screaming out of turn, everyone loses. Everyone except the bad guys.