#and knew I had to make it. of course then my day got offset by a huge crying fit because I got emotional over some tiny thing. again

[cuteniarose]

Making memes instead of crying because I went to Ghazan’s school of coping with depression

(Context, because apparently not everyone is aware of the intricacies of the multiverse of madness @katkastrofa and I created together:

In my main fic verse, SotRL, Bolin will end up really close friends with Midori, Mingzan’s daughter, to the point that they begin considering each other siblings. Ghazan’s rather fond of the kid, who treats him as literally the coolest man in existence and begs to learn lavabending from him, and Bolin REALLY needs a positive father figure in his life, and Midori is already his sister, so… one thing leads to another, Ghazan is Bolin’s dad now. And Ming-Hua is a lot more neutral on Bolin but she sees how much her partner and daughter like having him around, so eventually warms up too. She’s not the most maternal with him, probably calls him ‘son boy’ the way people on here do with kittens [because that is HILARIOUS to me. fucking sue me if you don’t like it], but she likes him well enough. Of course, this all raises the question of Mako, who happens to be… not on the best of terms with this family, Ming-Hua in particular, especially after Book 3…)

[nikox400x]

Kung Fu Panda 4-All the budget went to the animation (spoilers)

Hey all, its me, the guy who everyday make a tour around this site but almost never talk. How are ya?

Two days ago something arrived to the cinema's screens, something that me and everyone were waiting for since 2018, the fourth film and the begginig of the new kung fu panda triology.

You know? When I sat on that theather seat with my friends to see what Dreamworks had prepared for us, I told myself; "Maybe that post I made a while ago throwing shit at what seemed like Kfp 4 was going to be was a bit hard, I hope I can come out regretting what I said that time"

And as soon as the credits ended, it was clear to me, I dont regret a shit. Maybe it was a little exaggerated, compared to what a megamind fan would think about the terrible sequel they made, but still: the film is crappy and boring most of the time. But why?

I'm going to explain some points.

1- Po? Is that you?

I don't know you guys, but i don't think the panda we knew in the end of the third film is the same as this one. Seriously, he share more comparisons with the Po from the legend of awessonless than the one from the films, maybe its a personal thing but it feels that way. At least in the beggining of the film feel like that.

And I don't know what he was thinking about when he decided to follow a thief he doesn't know at all and who tried to steal in his own palace, and that suspiciously know who is the chameleon, whose were her plans, her past, where she lived, where exacly they had to pass through avoiding all the guard inside her home, why the others thiefs of the city hate her so much... With Po's experience with criminals this is like a chef throwing water on a pan with boiling oil, it's obvious what is going to happen.

2- Zheng- Female Nick Wilde but without charisma or half of his intelligence.

I knew it from the first moment I saw Zheng's desing, the people who know me can corroborate that; her facial expressions, her tone while she talk, her animal race, her position as thief, her final when she is part of the justice same as the protagonist... it's clearer than water I think.

Everyone could say this is forgivable if she's smart, but surprise, she's not. This character is just an absurd try of this company for """"conect with infant audience""""(I don't know in what sense, I supose for the cute design, idk). But the point is, the supposed objective of the hollywood companies is give the new generetions better things than we got at their age, but what I see is laziness for write a decent scrip only for take an advantage of a known IP and make easy money. Even the children have quality standars, this is not the dragon warrior and of course this is not kung fu panda.

And talking about the dragon warrior, having our deep and lovely Tigress with her magnific development or Tai Lung back from the spirit realm... why in the hell this character exists?! Oh yeah, for being trending topic in twitter for three days. Yay...

3- The furious five and Shifu, for us : our pretty boys, and for Dreamworks: living jokes.

What made Kung Fu Panda what it is, is not the fucking panda, it's them. They're the inspiration for Po, their allies, the royale representation of kung fu and the ones which everything started with.

Po's a comic relief, and his mission is show his development in part using his humor, but the humor in this film barely works because of the lazy script. Something that even the talented Jack Black himself can't fix, beacuse his only role there is dublin his character, unlike the rest of the residents of the Jade Palace except Dustin Hoffman.

Seth Rogen (Mantis) himself even said that he wasn't even contact by Dreamworks in the first place, only for make a scream in the credits, that's sad beacause he really wanted to see Mantis on the screen. And I know and I understand that the five are expensive, but cmon, they could just simply change the voice actors and offset it with a good script but that's not the case of course. Their role in the film is being a counter for Po's constant jokes, for not to saturate the spectator with jokes, now that's not in there anymore, thank you Dreamworks.

4-The chameleoooohhn and her "motivation".

I can't say much, basically because out of her design she's nonsense. She says that because of her size, she was reyected for being a kung fu warrior.

Yeah of course but only one little thing, what about Shifu? Viper, a warrior without tips? Mantis, literally a dawn insect? Master Oogway, a TURTLE? The masters goose? C'mon even there's a fucking master chicken! Don't talk shit chameleon!

Her importance for the plot? Its almost a lie, the others villains had links to important characters; Tai Lung (with his link to Shifu's past), Shen (with his link to Po's past) or Kai (with his link to Oogway's past), all of them related to important characters. And her? To zheng's past and present I guess? But again, anyone know this character. She's like a villain from a Disney show, you know the type of villain who say a lot of things but at the end, she don't support nothing to the lore.

And her personality is like a mix of all the previous villains, and this sounds good right? HAHAH nope. Do you remember when as a child you mixed all the plasticines of all the colors to create the final color and you ended up with a color similar to poop? well that's exacly how her personality feels like.

5- Po's dads; the only reason they're there is because they ran out of characters to make the film.

The tittle itself tell everything, they don't do anything for the script in all the film, and their objective could be done since the start.

The script of the film except for the final looks like a draft which they didn't know how to complete, everyone who watch it can see it perfecly. The animation, the music and the backgrounds are the only things notable here.

6- Tai Lung and the cheapness nostalgia.

Fan service is not necesarry bad, above all if is used in a good way, they sold us Tai Lung as a miracle but his importance for the plot feels just like a Stan Lee cameo, I like Tai Lung I can say that. But this is too weak, Shen and Kai are only characters in the background who don't do nothing except being defeated or make facial expressions (I don't even joke that Shen would show respect to Po considering what we saw in the second movie, and Kai wasn't supposed to be destroyed as a spirit, what the hell is he doing here again? *sign* I'll to stop trying to make sense of this).

By the way, anyone else think that the dragon warrior role is understimated? I mean Shifu obligated Po to transfers the role to another one just because yes, i mean he only has been the dragon warrior for less than 5 years and now they want to replace him with a random. Everything just for at the end, he choosed a thief with at least 30 crimes registred and who was a traitor during the 75% of the movie.

7- The """""""""humor"""""""", except they forgot the parts where I must to laugh.

Seeing nonsense hits only beacuse yes stopped of being funny a long time ago, and no, I don't want to talk about the bunnies of the portrait because I would get sick. I had to go to the cinema drunk to endure the filler that the movie had, no joke, it was the only way to laugh at those jokes.

So I think about applying the same method as in any movie with bad jokes, ignoring the jokes. I tried to do the same thing but with the pace that the film managed, such a thing was impossible, the pace of the movie seems to be made for Tiktoker children with attention deficit. From the chaos in the quarry until Po takes the bitc... uhg fox out of prison, only 10 fucking minutes pass, all of that for what? So that you feel like the baseless information and the nonsensical plot that they tell us is of any use? they could simply make a non-canonical short and that's it, but no, yes or they were going to tell us a story written by rotten old men who spend the entire day watching Tik Tok. It's not going to be that the child who sees this doesn't get bored, we know that much today's children don't have many neurons as they say, but even to make movies for them you have to have a certain talent.

In some point at the beguining Po make a joke about the ausence of the furious five saying that at least he had them in cardboard posters, and this would be a good joke. Only if the stupid film could be prove that the franquise can do something memorable without the furious five, but again, that's not the case.

Don't have any respect for this movie, look what it had with you. I understand that it is enjoyable because of the animation but it does not go beyond that line, it destroys important things about the canon and spoils its teaching about the need for change by treating it in a terrible way.

Coclusion: KFP 4 is just another Po's adventure as Shifu says, it won't tell nothing to you or make you feel different, it's a shame but after Megamind 2 I imagined something like this. It's a dark era for film, expecially the animated one so like Scar said; Be prepare, there're worse things waiting for us.

Do you want something with real quality? You don't even need kung fu panda 1,2 or 3, for make it easy to this film let's take this marvelous example; kung fu panda: secrets of the scroll (2016). You'll say; "An animated short, this is not like-" Shhh Just watch it, you won't regret it.

If you think I'm wrong in something, just rewatch the film. And if still you aren't agreed with me, well, I respect you and I'm happy you like it. I wish I could love it as you do, but that doesn't mean that the movie isn't bad, because if you watch it with your brain on or remembering the previous movies it's terrible.

. Me? I've to write a story, I love you all. Except you, Dreamworks, I'm mad with you, expecially when you do this at the same day as Akira Toriyama's death :(

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Fireleaf (Part Fourteen)

Heyyyy! You guys, @greeneyedivy have discussed these upcoming parts and been so excited for so long!!!! Things are really taking off now 😏

Warnings: None for this part!

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

He was golden.

Buttery morning sunlight seeped through the cracks of the crumbling stone walls, the tiled roof. Every day seemed to weave a glowing path that reached out to the softly slumbering male on the floor, offsetting an ethereal gleam from his skin.

You…you couldn’t look away.

Hadn’t been able to since the first pinpricks of dappled daylight had begun to show. 

Your eyes cracked open long before dawn broke. Your head pounded and your mouth was torturously dry, and yet…you were content. Content to just watch.

You wondered how few people got to witness Lucien in such an unguarded state. No frown furrowing his brow. No tightness in the sensuous curve of his lips. His hair lay about his face in fiery curls, and he…he was exquisite. It almost had you breathless. 

You were still staring when his eyes fluttered open, the russet shade catching the light as they immediately landed on you. He studied you, quirking an eyebrow. You didn’t want to think about how awful you must look. 

“G’morning.” He rasped, his voice thick from sleep. “How’s your head?”

You shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “I’ve never received any complaints.”

He snorted, eyes rolling. “Are you capable of giving a serious response?”

You felt the way your expression sobered, memories of the day before pelting you. You were bruised and sore from Beron, of course — hadn’t quite mustered the bravery to move an inch yet — but it was Dion at the forefront of your mind. Dion that you’d disappointed with your…inability to give a serious response.

You cleared your throat, finally forcing yourself to shift — and flinched at the pain that splintered through you. Spreading through the small of your back like wildfire, you hated that you audibly gasped as you stood. 

“What is it?” Lucien asked, sitting up quickly. 

You schooled your features into blandness, turning on the spot and folding the blanket you’d slept beneath. With your back to him, you could at least allow yourself a grimace at the gnawing ache. 

“Just slept awkwardly.” You eventually murmured. Even you knew you didn’t sound all that convincing.

There was a pause. And then Lucien was pushing to his feet, the floor creaking beneath him. “Why were you drunk last night?”

“Listening to your father talk for hours on end isn’t exactly exciting. I felt like having a drink after.”

“You drained most of the bottle. Alone. Seemed to me like you were drowning your sorrows.” 

Gods, your head hurt too much for this. You turned, stepping forward and squinting at the sunlight that hit your face directly. “I just drank too much—”

“What the fuck is that?” 

You barely had a chance to look up before Lucien was close enough to touch. Barely had a chance to think before his hand was cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the skin there. You winced at the feeling — the tenderness of the area. 

Your gaze met his — and his eyes were fierce, flaring as they seemed to study you intensely. 

“Your cheek is bruised.” He said quietly.

Right — because Beron had slapped you. You’d somehow forgotten about that part of the assault. And it had been a hard slap; hard enough that even Fae healing would take a while to rid of the mark it left behind. 

That would be annoying…covering it up. Waiting for it to disappear. Because you were far more shaken than you, perhaps, liked to admit. You didn’t want to think of Beron having the upper hand, but…

He’d stunned you. Made you realise that he was willing to make true on his threats. That perhaps it was time to start behaving yourself.

If not for your own sake, then…for Dion’s. Because he would no doubt bear the brunt of your decisions, also. 

You pulled your face away from Lucien’s gentle hold. “It’s nothing. I tripped last night. Fell flat on my face.”

You turned away; didn’t want to look at him with the lie lingering in the air. And you could damn well feel that he didn’t believe you. There was a tinge of…of disappointment, maybe. 

“I suppose the ground was wearing a ring, was it?”

You frowned. “What?”

“You have the damn imprint of a ring on your cheek, Y/N. Believe me, I’ve seen it before.”

Your body stiffened. So — clearly, Lucien knew exactly what he was looking at. And that, also, was inconvenient, but…well, he couldn’t force you to admit anything.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” you said. “I’m clumsy.”

“…we’re friends now, right?”

You swivelled back round to face him. Yes, you were, and you liked this tender, open side of him. You didn’t want it to change. Didn’t want him to think you didn’t trust him, but—

Telling the truth about Beron was more trouble than it was worth. Right now, at least. That day would come. 

“We are friends.” You swore vehemently. “And I appreciate your kindness last night. But there’s nothing for you to worry about — I promise.”

“Y/N—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. You reached out, wrapping your arms around him. Just a split second passed of Lucien stiffening — in surprise, you thought — before he relaxed into the hug. Slid his arms around you. Pressed your head to his chest. 

And gods, it hurt when his hand slid over your back, yes. But it was also so, so comforting. To just be held. To be cared for. 

You didn’t know how long you’d stood there like that when you eventually pulled away, smiling up at him. Lucien studied you, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re okay?” He asked quietly.

You dipped your chin. “I’m okay. I should…probably get out of here, though. Before everyone starts waking up.”

Russet eyes scanned your face for a moment. Searching. Wondering. And then he nodded. 

You squeezed his hand as you brushed past him, trying not to give in to the urge to limp. You knew he watched your every move. 

“Y/N?” He said, just as you reached the door. You turned. “I’m glad we’re friends. I mean—I’m here for you. For anything.”

You studied him, your hand lingering on the door handle. And it would be so tempting to march over there and kiss him, like you wanted to. So tempting to give yourself to him. 

But it would also be unfair. On him. On Dion. Maybe on yourself. 

You were friends. No more. You couldn’t be more. 

You needed to start doing right by Dion. 

So you plastered on a soft smile and said, “I’m glad we’re friends, too.” You paused. “Loosh.”

And then you turned your back on those temptations, slipping out the door and into the early golden light.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Dion was quiet at your side. But the fact that he’d agreed to come along with you, on this trip outside the estate, was a positive, at least. 

In a place of perpetual autumn, warm days were a rare commodity — but this was one of them. Perhaps the sunlight was a harbinger of necessary change, beckoning in the revelations that had struck you. That it was time to start doing better, being better. Time to be the Y/N you’d been sent here to be. 

So you’d dressed as the pretty, adoring fiancée that passers-by would expect to see; and not just to cover the bruise on your cheek. You’d filled a basket with fruits and juices — and some of Eris’s chocolate — and tracked down Dion. Asked for his time to talk. Which was what had led you to this point — strolling along a riverbank in terse silence.

“Wanna sit here?” You gestured to an area of grass that was bathed in the sun, overlooking the gentle flow of the river. A peaceful place to have a vital conversation. 

“Sure.” Dion nodded, placing the basket down. He’d insisted on carrying it, even if he wasn’t your biggest fan right now — because he was kind. Good. And that was why you needed to do the right thing. 

He spread a blanket across the grass and stepped back, allowing you to sit first. You eased yourself down, smoothing your dress around you. You tried to look natural, but…you were nervous. Nervous to bear your soul, no matter how necessary it was. 

“Thank you for this.” Dion sat, placing the basket between you. “It was a nice idea.” 

You offered him a coy smile. “I wanted us to be able to talk properly.” 

“About?” 

You chewed your lip, digging into the basket and pulling out the items you’d packed as you thought what, exactly, to say. You weren’t good with words, weren’t good with speaking – unless it was all quick wit and bravado. You weren’t used to just…talking straight. There was only one person you’d ever felt comfortable enough to do that with – without being judged – and you didn’t know if you’d ever see him again.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, handing him a bottle of fruit juice. “First of all, I wanted to apologise – for yesterday.” 

He pulled the cork from the bottle, seeming to mull over your words as he took a swig. “I need you to know, Y/N, I wasn’t angry because I disagreed with what you said. On the contrary, I thought your idea to use smaller businesses for the wedding was a brilliant one.” 

You did know that. It wasn’t your ideas that were the problem, just…you. How you went about them. You nodded. “I understand that.” 

“No…with the greatest of respect, I don’t think you do. You may think you know what my father is like, but…what you’ve seen of him is nothing. And baiting him the way that you do…it can only end one way. Nobody wins against my father. Nobody. And I was angry that you would knowingly put yourself – and me – in the firing line like that.” 

If what you’d seen of him was truly nothing, then…gods, you didn’t want to see any more. And you felt a heavy cloak of shame settle over you. It wasn’t just you that you were putting at risk, but Dion, too. The way Beron saw the world, saw females…Dion would be expected to keep you in line. And you making that difficult for him would only result in trouble for both of you. 

“I didn’t think it through.” You admitted. “I—I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Dion.” 

“I know you are.” As he nodded, he reached into the basket, pulling out a pot of strawberries. He took one for himself, handed another to you. “And I’m not angry with you. I was just…worried.” 

You nodded. Didn’t think you could quite manage a reply without choking over the lump that had risen in your throat. You nibbled at the strawberry, using it as a perfect excuse to compose yourself. 

“Just because I love WIllow, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, you know?” Dion continued. “We’re in this situation together, you and I. And I’m sorry if I’ve lost sight of that and neglected you a bit. I think we could both do better. Both make it easier for one another.” 

Yes, indeed, you could. Maybe you secretly had felt a bit neglected. Maybe feeling the bite and pinch of ire, of confrontation, had been better than the ache of loneliness. But maybe you also needed to wise the fuck up and face such feelings head-on, deal with them, instead of smothering them with others.

You bit into the strawberry, staring forward. Brooding. Knowing what you wanted, needed to say, but not knowing how— “I don’t know why I’m like this.” You blurted.

Dion’s face turned to you, pinched in a frown. “Like what?”

“Like me. The way that I am. That I’ve always been. I don’t know…why.”

The wall of silence that met you was humiliating. You couldn’t bear to face him, keeping your eyes ferociously on the languid rolling of the river. Dion was probably wondering why, too—

“What are you talking about?” He asked. 

“You think it’s a coincidence that I’m the only one of my parents’ daughters who isn’t married? Who’s never found anybody? It doesn’t just have to do with choice and freedom, Dion. Because even if it were my choice to settle down and be with someone…I’ve hardly got a long line of suitors waiting for a chance, have I? And it’s my doing. The way I am. Nobody wants a brash, confrontational, mouthy female.”

And there it was — the ugly, embarrassing truth. You could feel Dion blinking at you like the impassioned speech wasn’t at all what he expected. Probably wasn’t, in fact. But these things had been in your mind for years. 

It had been easy to run away from them when you’d had Linden. He kept you occupied, made you feel…worthy. Appreciated. Loved. And being torn away from that dredged up what lay beneath all of the good. 

Slowly, you shook your head. “I don’t know. I always used to think that I had a lot of freedom. That I was fortunate to do what I wanted, when I wanted. But I think I’ve always been a bit trapped. And I don’t allow myself to love and trust very easily because I’m scared of those things being destroyed forever.” You stopped, sucking in a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is—I’ve been shit. And I don’t want to be shit. I want to try harder and do better.”

Dion studied you for a while. Seemed to consider your words. And then his head tilted. “And what does that look like? Doing better?”

“It looks like us playing the doting couple on the outside…so that we can be true to ourselves on the inside. Which means no pushing back anymore. That way, we’ll get married, and we’ll move away from here, and we won’t have all these eyes and ears on us. The world will be ours. You’ll be able to have Willow, even if it’s behind closed doors.”

His eyes softened, and he reached out a hand to place over yours. “And you’ll have someone, too.”

You highly doubted it, but — that was something and nothing. A thought you’d had and tossed aside a million times before. It didn’t hurt to think it. It just…was what it was. 

“Let’s make a pact,” you said, “to try harder from now on. To be the best fake couple there ever was and repulse everyone with how sickeningly in love we most definitely are not. Agreed?”

Dion snorted, a grin pulling at his lips. And you were just…so relieved to see it again. So relieved that he wasn’t mad at you. You hadn’t truly appreciated how much his friendship with you meant until now. 

“Agreed.” He squeezed your hand. “The best fake couple there ever was.”

Which meant no more baiting Beron. 

No more being contrary and difficult.

No more doing things you weren’t supposed to be doing.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Time, as always, peddled on at an alarming pace. 

In a blink of an eye, three months had passed. Three months of trying harder, doing better. And you couldn’t deny that it had paid off — you’d had no more run-ins with Beron. Life had become…quiet, aside from the general bustle of the estate and the wedding plans that were ratcheting up. You and Dion played your parts, and played them damn well. To anyone who peered vaguely in your direction, you were the doting couple, excited to begin your lives together. 

It certainly made things easier, not having to worry about what trouble might wait around the corner. As did your friendship with Lucien, which had grown and blossomed into something you truly valued. It was strange to think you once hadn’t gotten along, given the rapport you now had with each other. 

Perhaps as strange as the fact that, despite your history, he hadn’t sought out the physical release you’d once given one another. 

It was as though that conversation you’d had with Dion on the riverbank had truly set the wheels of change in motion. From that day forward, sex with Lucien became a thing of the past — and he hadn’t questioned it once. Hadn’t spoken to you and asked what had changed. Hadn’t tried to instigate it. 

It was almost as if those fleeting moments of passion between you had never occurred. As though your relationship had always been purely platonic. Maybe he just…didn’t want you like that anymore. Maybe he’d gotten you out of his system.

And that was okay. That fit perfectly with the way things needed to be. The way things strictly were for the following three months. It felt nice, anyway, that he seemed to enjoy more than just your body. That he craved your mind and conversation.

Summer — or the closest thing the Autumn Court had to summer — had well and truly swept in. The days were long and beautiful, cloaked in a balmy warmth that was neither too hot or too cool. And for the most part, those days had kept you busy. If you weren’t joining Dion on his errands and meeting important people, or holed up with the Lady of Autumn and fine-tuning wedding details, you could most likely be found down at the lake that was just a few miles on foot from the estate. 

Many a blissful day had been spent there, hours running away with you. Sometimes you were alone, reading in the warmth of the sun. Other times, it was a chance for you and Dion to relax a bit and let go of your facades, if just for a few hours. On a few occasions, you’d been joined by all of the Vanserra brothers; each of whom had also seemed to slip off their strict masks in favour of days of swimming and sunbathing and just having fun. You certainly saw different sides to them; fun, boyish sides that they so rarely got to show, as they jumped from tree branches into the lake and engaged in play fights and just…enjoyed themselves, without worry of who might be watching.

And then there were the days like today — days where only Lucien joined you, and you happily savoured each other’s company. You never spoke of what had once existed between you; it was as though such things had been a mere figment of your imagination. And maybe…maybe it was better that way.

He currently sat mere inches from you, fingers idly strumming a lute as the sun kissed both of you. You watched in fascination at the ease with which he played the instrument — so beautiful and lilting. You thought you could sit there and listen to it forever. 

“I’ve always wanted to play an instrument.” You told him, your eyes closely tracking his fingers. “My sisters and I were put through piano lessons once, but…I was awful. The teacher actually gave up on me.”

Lucien snorted, a soft grin tugging his lips. “I would’ve paid to witness that.”

“Hmm, I’m sure.”

His grin widened, and the music altered as he lifted his fingers from the strings and held them out to you. “Here, give me your hand.”

You paused for a moment — just a split, fleeting moment. And then placed your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding. 

“Press your fingers here, like this.” He murmured, positioning them on the fret. His eyes flicked up to yours, a smirk playing on his mouth. “Your hands are ridiculously small.”

You rolled your eyes. “Perhaps yours are monstrously large.”

“Perhaps.”

The two of you shared a grin, and then he was letting go of your fingers. He strummed the strings once, filling the area with a melodic caress of music. You watched, close, your fingers still where he’d positioned them.

“Look at that.” He said teasingly. “You’re playing an instrument — somewhat.”

“If only my piano teacher could see me now.”

Your sarcastic tone wrangled a deep laugh from the walls of Lucien’s chest, and the sound was excellent, as breathtaking as the notes he so flawlessly strummed. You couldn’t help smiling as you retracted your hand, placing it back in your lap.

“…So…” you broached after a moment. “Are you bringing anyone to the dance?”

This past week, preparations for the estate’s upcoming dance had taken precedence above all else — some celebration of an anniversary you didn’t care to remember. The event wasn’t as big and formal as others…just a night for Beron to show off his wealth and power to his courtiers. But still, you would all be dressing up. Drinking. Dancing.

“No,” Lucien answered with a soft laugh. “I don’t usually bother to attend.”

“I thought you liked to dance.”

“Oh, I do. But the summer months are the time to relax before the weather changes again, and we’re once more at that time of year of back-to-back dances and feasts and posturing. You know what I realised the other day? In only three months' time, it’ll have been a year since Tamlin’s masquerade.”

The stark realisation wasn’t lost on you. Time was a fast worker, and you weren’t far off having spent a year at the estate already. Weren’t far off the Harvest Festival happening once again. It was strange to think about how much had occurred and changed in that time. 

“That was a good night.” You said. “I actually had fun. I think everyone did.”

Lucien dipped his chin. “Yep. But this upcoming dance will be nothing like that, So…I’ll be staying well out of the way until it’s over. Locked up in my little outbuilding.”

You smiled down at your hands. Gods, you wished that you could do that. You’d much prefer hiding away with Lucien for the evening over showing off yours and Dion’s perfect facade to busybody gossips. Even if you had perfected it down to the very last detail.

But you’d do what was expected of you. Because that was who you were now.

“I’m sure there’ll be many females disappointed with missing out on a dance with you.” You commented. Didn’t really know why you said it. “And it’s going to be way more boring without the Spring Court music.”

Lucien’s lips twitched, his fingers beginning to strum at the lute once more. “Too bad you’ll just have to put up with Dion’s uncoordinated feet. I’m sure that won’t be fun.”

You knew he was trying to make you laugh, but…the fond, jesting comment went straight over your head. Rather, your attention immediately snagged on something else. Something beautiful.

The song he’d begun to lazily play with no real effort was immediately recognisable to you. One that took you right back to the night of the masquerade, the climbing notes and the euphoric feeling of spinning and feeling so light on your feet, you thought you may never stop dancing. And here was Lucien, bringing it to life once more, filling the clearing of trees with its sweet melody like he’d just known.

“That was the song Dion and I danced to that night.” You murmured, watching the movement of his fingers in somewhat of a trance. “It was my favourite song of the whole evening. I’ve danced to it with Linden before, also.”

And you remembered every element of the music so clearly, you immediately noticed as Lucien missed a note. His eyes flicked up from the strings to meet yours. “...You danced to this song with Dion?”

You nodded, still intently watching the plucking of the strings. “Mhm. It’s so beautiful.”

He made no reply, seeming to pour his focus into getting the music back on track, righting that split second in which he’d missed a note. The song picked up its pace again, and you were transported, utterly transfixed. You kept your eyes on him right to the very last note, when the music began to fade, and you realised its pure beauty may just have pricked your eyes. Lucien noticed, too.

“Here.” He said, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I’ll show you how to play it.”

And so you scooted closer, the lump of emotion still in your throat as you allowed him to position your fingers, his body so close to yours and yet never quite touching. Because you were friends.

Friends.

The way it was. The way it needed to be.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

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[sdyuteiaok]

Started off with a promising, if underpowered RW Mouse deck, my first time drafting this style of deck, and I just could never draw anything when I needed it--either I got my valiantes but not juice, or the juice without the valiantes, or the secret third option, the wrong kind of valiante with the wrong kind of juicer, so I couldn't really make use of either. And I was only running 16 lands, but lo, and behold, even with my looter valiante operating unhindered, I still drew like 5 lands in a row! Unbelievable. Drawing absolutely nothing and just getting run over. I did have one cool attack one match where my guys just got absolutely huge on an attack thanks to the trusty bow equipment, my single-pump duo, and then my guy who pumps a target per its power every combat, and then in combat, my guy untaps another creature, so I had some three or four valiant triggers that combat and my opponent could either obliterate his board or die, and he chose option three: scoop. So the deck could have scraped together four wins if things lined up (another match I never drew red lands until turn four or five while of course having a red-packed hand), but the deck needed to start strong otherwise it just can't match up with any nonsense that gets off the ground. Speaking of which, my first of only two wins was against a bat deck that was gaining all kinds of life, but I was able to pump my first strike lifelinker while trying to draw out of my rut with my looter, and fortunately the chunks of life gain offset his army of bats and life drain triggers, but it could have easily gone the other way. Anyway, the sweet games were sweet, but far too many were frustrating in waiting for things to fall together just so. I don't know if I coulda built or even drafted the deck differently, but certainly my inexperience with this strategy was definitely a hindrance. Anyway, closed the day with watching the DNC headliners, and man, some emotional speeches. I found myself quite near tears as Joe ended his speech, too, not that I wasn't already emotionally raw when he walked out for the first time. To think we coulda had another term of him, and that all these friends and allies of him just completely turned their backs on him, for the absolutely uncertainty of someone else--nobody, nobody, knew for sure everyone would line up behind Kamala or that things would come together so seamlessly, so flawlessly, including her VP pick. So for inviting all that disloyalty and discord, I have great resentment for those who wavered. But Kamala's crushing it, and shall prevail, and ultimately good shall prevail, but still. Seriously going to miss Joe, and lament for what greatness we coulda gotten in another term, if he already attained legendary status in one term. But there's work to be done, so onward to Kamala our shared victory all the same.

[esoutherngolf]

Jamaica Open Golf Championship - Round 2

Timely birdie at the last earns Orlando's Andrew Arft a two-shot lead after second round of Jamaica Open Golf Championship American Andrew Arft was a happy man after he and his caddie accurately negotiated a 20-foot birdie putt on the 18th green to close out the second round of the 56th Jamaica Open Golf Championship with a two-shot lead on Monday. Although the wind was not as strong as it was for the opening round at Tryall Club in Hanover, just outside Montego Bay, the players were challenged by some tricky pin positions and Arft offset three birdies with three bogeys on his way to a even-par 72. That left him at 6-under 138 after 36 holes, two strokes clear of compatriots Ryan Sullivan, who fired a best-of-the-day 66, and three ahead of Josh Anderson, who carded a 72. Arft, who plays out of Casselberry near Orlando, began the day three ahead after opening with a 66 and he was content enough after fighting back from a rough start on Monday. The 27-year-old shrugged off bogeys at the first and second and went on to birdie the seventh and eighth before reaching the turn in level 37. Although he dropped another shot at the par-4 16th, where he three-putted, he finished his round in style by sinking that 20-footer at the par-4 last. "The fact that I was able to kind of steady the ship and make a nice 20-footer on the last hole for birdie really just made the day," said Arft, who arrived in Jamaica on Saturday and saw very little of the course before the opening round. "I am in a similar position I was in this morning and that's all I can ask for." Arft broke into a broad grin as he described how he rebounded from his bogey on 16 with that birdie on 18. "I just made a bad three-putt on 16 and then I didn't hit too good a wedge shot on 18," he said. "I was just walking up to the green with my caddie, Jason, and I said, 'Hey, I need the best read of the day right here, right now,' and he said, 'I need the best putt of the day right now.' And I said, 'Okay,' and we kind of put it together and made it happen!" Asked to assess course conditions on a day when the wind was down, Arft replied: "I don't think it affected it too much. The pins were a little more difficult today so it was good that the breeze was down because the scores could have been a little tougher. It's a tough test of golf here and I was not able to shoot the round that I did on the front side like I did yesterday, but even par on the back will always get you moving up the leaderboard." Sullivan, who resides in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and is affiliated to Tanglewood Country Club in Clemmons, was delighted to bounce back from a roller-coaster 74 on Sunday that included three triple-bogeys and six birdies. The 34-year-old who was born in Atlanta produced sparkling form over the front nine with four birdies in the first seven holes to reach the turn in 4-under 33. He picked up further shots at the 11th and 12th and, despite running up his only bogey of the day at the par-4 16th, he birdied 17 on the way to a 6-under round. "It's always good to finish in the sixties at Tryall Golf Club," said Sullivan. "I was a little disappointed after yesterday's finish. My form has been good coming into this week so last night I just had to tell myself we can take the golf course back and, sure enough, I was able to attack the first 12, 13 holes today. "It was a little easier because the wind was down and obviously that makes the last four or five holes a little bit more scoreable. I didn't necessarily conquer the last five holes but we did better than we did yesterday. It was nice to come up flush today because where I was going into the day, I knew I needed to move up the leaderboard to have a chance for tomorrow. So now that I have at least done that, I've got an opportunity to play well again tomorrow and see how that stacks up." Only eight players in the professional field of 32 got into red numbers for Monday's round, and among those was Jamaican Wesley Brown who returned a 71 to end the day in seventh place at even 144. Two very promising Jamaican amateurs had turned professional on the eve of the championship and they experienced contrasting fortunes on Monday. Sebert Walker Jr. carded a 1-over 73 to share 18th place at 6-over while Justin Burrowes struggled to a 78 to occupy 29th spot at 16-over. Read the full article

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

I want to ruin my life and throw myself into an arc so uhh

Can i request class 1-A but like outcast reader? Angsty yk where theyre always dismissed in training and forgotten

Oooo I like this one lmfao I want so desperately to make reader this feral little cicin mage like from genshin 😭 buts gonna be gn

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 <3

𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 1-𝐀 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜) - 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Aizawa was starting to become a little worried about you. He had been so busy with Shinsou and his problem children to focus much attention and direction to the rest of the class. Every time he would try to work on it, yet another calamity would occur and force his attention back on the main parties.

He was working on this little flaw of his, continuously checking in with and directing the others during training period. He never got to help you, though. It seemed that whenever he would look for you, you would drop from the face of the earth.

You were avoiding him.

You would sit on your lonesome in class and at lunch, with your head kept down. He's never once seen you exchange small talk. In all honesty, he's less worried about your physical capabilities, and more worried about your mental state. He has a bad feeling.

In reality, you just hated this class. Every day, someone would open their big, ugly mouth and out came nonsense that further convinced you of how undeserving they were of being at the top. You were only here because you were recommended. Your quirk isn't nearly as powerful or flashy, either. Why does everyone else get all the attention when all they do is fuck up and ruin everything?!

All of this comes to light during the next sparring period. You were towing on the edge of keeping up with one of the class' best, until you were unexpectedly knocked down. That was your last straw. How fucking dare he?

You were suffering a humiliating defeat as you sit on your knees on the floor, staring into the distance without focus, until your sight was infiltrated by the image of Midoriya. You hate that stupid brat. The hatred in your veins is only fuelled when he offers a hand to you and a pathetic smile.

Within a second, his hand is slapped away and the room goes silent.

"Get the fuck away from me. Fuck you."

The bite of your words is only dulled by the waver of your voice, and the tears in your eyes. Izuku is stunned, as is the rest of the class. Even Katsuki thinks you're overreacting. Kirishima steps in with a frown. "Hey, man... That wasn't cool-"

He's interrupted when you turn around and walk away, brimming with anger and frustration. How is he so much better than you?! You train every day and constantly home your skills, so how did he beat you faster than you could blink?

Maybe you were being a little horrible, but you've never learned how to offset your anger in healthier ways, so for now, you're happy taking it out on others.

Are you really that weak? Maybe, after everything, you're the one who doesn't deserve to be here...

How come they could always be nice to eachother, but they could never talk to you? Why were you ignored or given strange looks when you tried to open up? How come noone wanted to be your friend?

Aizawa, of course, figured you might react in such a way. Loneliness can easily turn into bitterness if you take your eye off it for too long. He needs to help you fix this.

He wants to keep everyone in this class for as long as he possibly can, and allowing you to exclude yourself any more than you have would be dangerous for everyone, including you.

It's with that, that he starts putting people in pairs for everything. He would force you to socialise if it was the last thing he did.

Every day you would argue with your pair, but it was worth it, because when you were offered kindness or compassion, no matter how reluctant you were to accept it, he could see that little spark in your eye. It was the kind of spark that made him aware of your guard dropping. You were actually starting to care about your classmates.

Obviously Toshinori immediately knew what he was doing when he saw Aizawa put you in a group of three since the class was uneven on a specific day, and he would offer up a smirk and subtle glance as if to say "wow, you finally got through to them".

He supposed that it's not your fault you don't know how to cope with your... Emotional baggage, much like Shouto or Katsuki, but he likes to make you very much aware that it's your responsibility to learn how.

When the day comes that you finally think to apologise to Izuku, the boy you've grown an annoying fondness for, he actually starts to cry. He's so proud of you for not staying emotionally constipated like Katsuki, that he actually floods the room and Aizawa has to open the window for him to violently sob out of so that the entire class doesn't drown.

Slowly, you start to grow a kinship with a few people in your class, and you grow especially close with your bubblegum haired friend Mina, and Jirou, who liked to do her part by teasing you out of your shell. Maybe, you could even learn what it's like to love and be loved back.

[fandomwritingbit]

So.. kinks, huh?

I’m kinda shy to request this, actually. However. Would you be able to write some predator/prey scenario for William Afton and female reader? Girl, the chase, the thrill… of course reader being the chased one and Will being the chaser.

Thankies

Hello! Thank you so much for your request, this was an absolute pleasure to write, please don’t feel nervous to request anything else Xxx.

I’ve had a predator William in my head for a while, title and all lol. May have gotten a tiny bit carried away as this is fairly long, but I hope that this is kinda what you were after. 

We’re all goin’ on a summer holiday: Predator William x (fem)reader

Warnings: smut. creepy/predator William. vaginal sex. oral sex. age gap. corruption. inappropriate relationship. swearing.

The holiday in Menorca had sounded like a good idea when your mum and dad pitched it to you some months ago. You, your 9-year-old brother and your parents: great. Then the news of your dad’s old Uni friend wanting to tag along with his three kids: awkward? 

They’d blown a lot of money on it, a six bedroomed villa with a pool, outside bar area, all the bells and whistles. Given the stress of your studies it sounded like pure heaven. 

You met the Afton family for the first time at the airport. Except Michael, you knew of him from your secondary school days. The two of you hadn’t exactly been friends, you’d been too nerdy for your own good, focused on smashing your GCSEs and he was a loner, the kind of lad with one or two mates who occupied the space under the main stairs. 

You met the other family at the airport, right before your flight. And were quickly introduced to the two young ones, who instantly took up with your little brother fairly well, and of course their father, Mr Afton. Far be it from you to deny that he was a bit of a silver fox. All unreasonably tall, broad shoulders; a kind of scruffy and sleazy attractiveness that led to you taking sneaky glances at him wherever possible.

You’d thought that you were in for a treat, having a good-looking older man to look at as you laid about around the pool, it wasn’t ‘til later that you’d realise that maybe you were sorely mistaken.  

Once on the plane, you and Michael had decided that as the newly founded adults (still considered kids) you’d might as well form an amiable pact, at least that way you could have someone to roll your eyes at when the parents were getting up your nose. And so you’d sat together for your flight, trying to somewhat get to know each other - though it was hard to talk like normal humans when your parents were sat on the other row cooing about how sweet the two of you looked together. Not to mention the cooling presence of Mr Afton on the row behind you. 

About halfway through the voyage, the young Elizabeth booted your seat with enough force to make you spill your water all over your shirt. And so, you turn around to ask her, as politely as you could muster, to pack-it-the-fuck-in. You didn’t have to though as her father did it for you.

“Ay, watch your bloody feet.” To which she’d giggled a high-pitched “Sorry, daddy.” followed by a heavily prompted “Sorry, y/n”. 

“I’ll keep telling her to stop.” He turned his attention to you. “But you’ll be in for the full 4D experience.” He’d leaned forward as he spoke, the crooked smirk on his face making butterflies appear in your stomach. They increased ten-fold when his eyes traced down to your wet shirt, clinging not too modestly to your tits. Near making you pass out in embarrassment when he sat back in his seat, chuckling mean-spiritedly at your expense.

The feeling didn’t subside for the remainder of the flight and despite your growing comfort talking to Michael, the feeling of eyes watching you, studying you, was more than enough to keep you quiet.

And it only got worse from there. He’d liked the look of you from the offset, such a lovely lass and how you’d looked at him - or well, tried to, hardly able to shake his hand or meet his eye, your bottom lip pinched under your teeth. So sweet and nervous. Vulnerable. Truth be told it drove him wild. 

If there’s one semi-redeemable quality to be found in William Afton, it’s that he’s a decisive man, tenacious at that and when he sees something he likes, he’ll do his damned best to get his hands on it. 

~

The weather was overly hot there and it only got hotter and hotter further into summer, meaning you never got out of your summer dresses, little shorts and bikinis. You’d hoped maybe to get an eye-full of Mr Afton lounging similarly by the pool, but for the majority of the trip he kept to the shade, the sleeves of his button-up rolled halfway, being the only allowance he made for the weather. There he’d be in the shadows, with your parents or not, drink in hand and eyeing you up whatever move you made. 

How could you not play up to it? Getting out of the water with your back to him. Taking a bit too long to put your cover-up on. Bending at the waist to pick up your drink. To be honest you’d though you were imagining it, it’s not like you’d had much luck with men before, being single and all. 

But as the days went on, it became apparent that you’d bitten off more than you could chew. The childish fantasy of having your dad’s mate’s attention becoming a bit too real. Something about how he’d brush shoulders with you when you walked past each other. How when you sat down to eat, his eyes would be on you, talking pretty much solely to you, the usual questions of “You got yourself a lad back home?” framed more dangerously, especially when followed by “Such a gorgeous girl like you? Now I find that hard to believe.” All encompassed with that smirk. A joyfully malignant expression like that of a cat batting a mouse between its paws.

You’d think about it in your room at night. Heart pounding as you went over that day’s encounter an intoxicating mixture of fear and arousal. So sure your horny brain must be exaggerating everything.

~

Regardless of it being a holiday or not, your parents didn’t get off your back. Despite being nearly 19 you were ‘one of the kids’ and that meant no drinking. Not to mention any other irresponsible behaviour like leaving the villa on your own. You felt like a chicken stuck in a coup and your parents babying only giving the fox a way in. 

Out for dinner one night, you’d decided fuck it, your mum and dad had both had a few which often made them easier to persuade, you were going order a drink. The young kids were busy watching fish in a nearby pond so you took your chance. 

“Where are you off to?” Your dad asked you almost immediately, before your chair had been pushed out a pissing inch. 

“To the bar.” 

“Why?” This was when all the adult’s attention had been earned. 

“I want a beer; they’ve got good stuff here.” You looked to your left as you spoke, catching the grin half-concealed by the glass of whiskey at William’s lips.

“We spoke about this, sweetheart.” Your mother chimed in. “The answer is no.” 

“I’ll go and pay for it. I have my ID, it’s not a problem.” You offer, a hopeful look on your face.

“Except it is, because your mum’s said no.” Your dad firmly counters. 

“Yous are all drinking. For God’s sake! I’m 18 I can drink what I want.” 

“Not when we’re paying for your holiday, young lady.” He finishes. The mood at the table had shifted negatively, so you go quiet, scoffing to yourself in disbelief. 

Sometime later, after shooting you a sympathetic look, Michael went to the toilet and your mum and dad had went off to check on the little kids. You’d hardly noticed them leave, too engrossed in bitching about them to mates on Instagram. 

When you put your phone down to reach for your lemonade you shudder at the realisation of being all alone with William. Flashing him a look of acknowledgement and you’re about to resume, but he plucks the phone from your grasp, setting it down on the table. You brace yourself for some sort of dad speech about modern technology, but surprisingly he simply leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“It must be annoying to have your mam and dad baby you.” He almost purred as he spoke, his eyes bright with mischief. “Mine were a bit like that: it’s a sure way to turn the kid into a right cunt.” Your eyes widen at his language, you hadn’t expected it from a man who you’d so far categorised as a creepy stoic.

“Yeah. I’m at the end of my rope to be honest. Might just get one after they’ve gone to bed anyway.” You feel about 5 years younger just for saying that and look down accordingly.

“Why wait?” He glances over his shoulder, that now familiar smile across his lips, as he picks up his glass, offering it to you. Part of you wanted to tell him you didn’t feel like it, but you were pissed off at your parents and the prospect of rebelling somewhat was making your blood run hot. And besides what’s the worst that could happen?

You go to take the glass from him, but he doesn’t move his hand. Guiding it to your lips himself, your hand uselessly overlaying his but too startled to move. You let him bring it to you and the whisky burns your throat as you drink, making you wince. He sniggers as he pulls away, the effect of his touch leaving you dazed. 

“Maybe that’s why they don’t let you drink.” You would have defended yourself but you were too busy trying to recover. 

He continued, “I wonder what else they don’t let you do. No boys over?” Able to answer now, you shake your head, an embarrassed smile appearing due to his patronising tone. 

“No, I uh just don’t want boys over.” 

“You want a man instead then?” His words have you reeling, the meaning of them hardly veiled. You simply stare at him chuckling away into his drink, your legs pressed tightly together under the table in some vain attempt to quell the heat gathering there. It was a remark your nana would’ve called ‘lecherous’ and it was - he was - although it creeped you out, you still found yourself reliving it later that night. 

~

From there it got worse. The illicit passing of contrabanded alcohol became a fairly regular thing, sneaky swigs of spirits you could hardly speak after when your parents weren’t looking becoming a new game for him. 

His eyes were still on you all the time, but now if you found yourself sat near him, he’d rub his foot along your calf or put a large hand on your thigh, sneering at your stunned reaction. Hands would brush against your hips as he moved past you, each time knocking all sense from you. You began trying to avoid him, but he still found ways to grab you by the crook of your arm into a corner, where he’d make you try smoking his cigarettes, only laughing when you couldn’t stand them. 

But then all this mocking, teasing, and laughing at your expense came to a head. It had been weeks in the making.

~

It was pissing it down raining like it only can in the Mediterranean, so hard it bounced off the walls, pinging loudly off the glass. You’d gone to bed early, tired from a long day of playing with the kids, missing the beginning of the rain completely. By midnight it was so bad the electrics were gone, the villa in total darkness; to William that was a chance he could hardly refuse. 

He went towards your room with a torch in hand, the perfect excuse if asked what the fuck he was doing, but of course he was too careful to be caught. 

The knocking woke you immediately, your room cast in grey but with enough natural light to find you way and answer the door. When you realised who it was, you pulled the door half shut, just your head visible. You hadn’t had a chance to put any trousers on in your rush and you were burning with shame.

He walked in regardless of your attempt at keeping it shut, placing the torch on your bedside table and noticing your bra on the floor. You were too busy keeping your shirt pulled down, preserving your modesty, to pay much attention to it. 

“Uh what do you want?” You ask him somewhat panicked when he picked up the undergarment from the floor, toying with the fabric. 

“Though I’d come check on you, what with this storm and all.” It could have been pitch black in the room and you still would have known he was smiling; it was written in every note of his voice. He continued, “And I’m glad I did. Were you expecting me, dressed like that?” He predatory eyes on your bare flesh made you tremble. Who the fuck did he think he was barging in here like that? Then making comments like he was? 

“I don’t...” You half-say, unable to think of anything else.

He hums mock pityingly, “You’ve been teasing me since we got here. With all you short skirts... thongs.” He bent down to pick up a pair you wished you’d sorted, a false expression of shock on his face as he held them on the tip of his finger. “Well, you’re all on your own now, love. I thought I’d come to collect.” 

You snatched the skimpy knickers from him flummoxed, your hands falling by your sides with the weight of embarrassment. “I have not.” You say, partially to yourself.

“No? Have I gone mental then?” He cocked his head to you, not wanting to leave his interrogation unanswered.  

“Y-You’ve been all over me for ages,” Your voice was getting loud and he stepped forwards towards you, his finger to his lips in warning. “For fuck’s sake, you’re my dad’s age. I’m not... interested.” He just laughed. 

“A lot of talk for a lass with no trousers. Not interested?” He paused to scoff. “You batt your eye lashes at everyone then?” To match your own, his voice had taken on a rather accusatory tone and he stepped even closer, your moving back amusing him.

“You... should go.” You state ignoring his goading, desperation threatening to seize hold of you. 

He put a hand to his chest in feigned heartbreak before nastily saying, “You’ve not even asked me to leave.”  

You roll your eyes, a nervous giggle caught in your throat. “Huh fine: please leave.” 

“No.” He laughs shortly, shaking his head. 

“Wha- why the Hell not?” You were panicking considerably now, the thought that your parents were down the hall and a middle-aged man was cornering you in your room becoming very apparent.

“It’s dark in here but I see you rubbing you fucking legs together, getting all hot and bothered.” He speaks slowly, clearly finding pleasure in your reaction. “Now I wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.” 

You speak without thinking, suddenly all too eager to defend yourself, walking towards him with your arms raised. “I don’t know who you think you are. You think you’re so grea- so desirable? Y-y-you disgust me.” 

Grabbing you by your arm he frog-marched you to the nearest wall, holding you there. Craning his head down, so close to your face you could feel his spit when he spoke.

“You’re full of shit. You can pretend you don’t want it if it helps your sleep, sweetheart. But you fucking do.” You closed your eyes as he spoke, not really sure of what you wanted yourself: you couldn’t decide if you wanted him closer or as far away as fucking possible. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” His voice was low now, dangerously so. And so you did - or tried to, struggling with how close to your face he was. 

That seemed to be the trigger for him, your eyes wide and trying to look everywhere at once, not quite managing to stay on his for more than a millisecond. Like a wild rabbit caught, terrified. 

He kissed you, if you could call it that, it felt harsh and dirty, his tongue pressing inside as you struggled to keep up with him. Your mind raced with how wrong this was but the thrumming of your whole body made you give in, letting him possess you.

The lack of clothes on your bottom half, made it easy for him to spread your legs and toy with the abundance of slick developing there. His fingers on your clit instantly rubbing deliberately inconsistent circles that made you whine for some kind of rhythm.

“Not enough?” He grunts before his teeth press hard into the side of your neck, sucking so brutally you had to cover your own mouth to stifle the sound burning in your throat. It was almost tortuous but your hands pulled at his head, silently begging for more: to which he obliged. Dropping to his knees to better watch your face as he inserted his long index finger into your soaking pussy. You close your eyes at the breach, you’d never felt so hot, fuck, you were practically bloody burning. 

“So impolite. Fucking. Look at me.” He spoke so close to your core that you could feel the vibrations of every syllable, all the while introducing a second finger and slowly fucking them in and out of you. It was hard to be quiet and you kept catching yourself forgetting the situation; just as you’d become lost in the devastating curl of his digits, you’d be slammed back into the reality that the man, who’s tongue was now ravaging your clit, was more than twice your age.  

You weren’t a virgin, but by God, his finger coaxed noises from you that you’d never heard before. And it didn’t take long of this mind-melting finger fucking to have you cumming. Hard. Your tight walls clenching like a vice around his fingers. The sight of you shuddering, your knees going weak with the waves of your orgasm, made him smirk against your heat. His cock was rubbing nastily against the fabric of his clothes, and he couldn’t help but rub over it as he watched you recover. 

“You nasty little thing. Driving me crazy for pissing ages.” You didn’t have the agency to respond but you could see what he was doing and you gulped at the prospect of him fucking you. He didn’t seem like the sort of man who’d play nice.

Before you could register the actions, he had you laid back on your own bed, legs spread wide while he removed his aching cock from his confines. Your legs rose almost to your chest as he moved in between, completely knowing what was about to happen but still nervous and uncertain. The tip of his cock pressed against your entrance as his hand dragged it through your slick. 

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” His words made you take your eyes off of his dick as you tried to focus on anything other than the tantalising anticipation. You nod, slowly almost in a daze. 

“That’s not good enough.” He grins, his head pushing delightfully against your clit.

You’d pretty much forgotten how to form your words. “Yes, fuck. Fuck me...” Seeing the look on his face you hastily add, “...please.” 

Your embarrassment was cut short as he pressed his cock inside, stretching your little cunt to accommodate him. Half-buried he grabbed your breast, pinching the nipple; perhaps to distract you while your walls got used to the shallow thrusting of his cock that wasn’t even fully sheathed. The moans drawn from your throat stayed in time with his movements, until you broke it. Interrupting yourself with a near-screech when he thrusted in fully, the sheer size of him making darkness appear in the corners of your vision. 

His head was brought close to yours, his weight bearing down on you whilst he found a pace that allowed him to chase his pleasure. The sound of flesh on flesh loud in the stillness of your room, only drowned by his breathing and your pathetic mewling. 

This holiday might end up better than you had thought. 

[brivetaroundtown]

Is it almost 3am on the day the collab is due? Yes. But you know better here then never right? THANK YOU SO MUCH @seita for letting me join your Corrupt A Virgin collab. Go check out the other awesome contributors! It’s very yummy if I do say so myself and I do say so

Link Here

Also I did look up if ducks could drown so that’s now a thing in my search history.

Aged Up Tsukishima Kei x Fem Reader

TW: LEMON ALL THE LEMONS. NSFW SMUT. Dub Con, Tsukki being an asshole, Corruption kink, yan vibes, my writing, virginity loss. use of lamb asa pet name. If you see anything else PLEASE let me know so I can tag it.

2,342 words

Tsukishima wondered if you had grown up in a bubble. That could be the only way someone could have been kept so pure, so innocent. So utterly unequipped to handle even the most mild of flirtations. Surely, you had to know that everyone on the Sendai Frogs has been flirting with you at some point or another. More importantly, he has been flirting with you. Sure, he isn’t the most generous when it comes to niceties, but my god woman you had to have had some sort of clue by now.

But as Tsukishima stares down at your innocent face, he realizes that you have absolutely no idea the effect you have on him. That only makes him want you more.

“Y/N” the smirk couldn’t leave his face even if he wanted it too “you want me to walk you home.”

“I don’t want you to go out of your way or anything! I-its just getting dark and I am not used to this side of town…”

“Of course not, wouldn’t want our little manager to get lost.”

Such a sweet thing you were, thinking of others. Let’s see how far he can push that… accommodating… spirit.

30 minutes later they had finally arrived at your place. Kei could have cut that time in half by taking a short cut you knew nothing about, but where would the fun be in that? Besides, as you got to your apartment door, he knew that you would feel obligated to let him in. Kei did go out of his way to help you home after all, it was the least you could do.

“Thank you for walking me home Tsukishima-san! Ah w-would you like to come in for a drink or anything? I feel bad for making you walk all this way.” Blush staining your cheeks, you unconsciously bit the corner of your lip, a nervous habit of yours. Kei doesn’t even think you know that you do it. “Of course, a water would be nice.”

Kei’s first look at your little studio apartment confirms his earlier assessment of you. Innocent. Still classy, what with the greys and blues in the modern style but the stuffed narwhals and other cutesy sea creature decorations offset the steel bookcases and matching steel appliances. What also doesn’t surprise him is how organized the place is, having seen some of your spreadsheets for the team and your current struggles to organize the equipment closet.

Kei watched you move around your little kitchen. The way you stood on your toes to grab a glass, shirt lifting enough to give him a teasing glance of your smooth skin underneath. It was enough to make a lesser man beg. Thankfully, Kei considered himself not to be a lesser man. He wouldn’t be the one begging tonight.

You felt nervous with Tsukishima’s eyes on you. It’s always hard to normal tasks when someone is watching. But it’s especially more intimidating when that someone is Tsukishima Kei. He was so smart and quick. He made you nervous, you felt clunky around him being so much shorter than he was. Rounder too.

But whenever he included you in on a joke or smirked at you, you felt the butterflies in your pulse, heat rising to your cheeks. Special. It was a little crush, one you were pretty sure was one sided. And now that crush was seated at the island bar in your kitchen. Looking ridiculously tall in such a little space.

You slide him the glass of water while rapidly trying to think of something to say, feeling like an awkward duck drowning in a pond. That’s how dumb you felt, you’re not even sure ducks can drown.

“Can ducks drown?” Wincing at the realization that you said something that stupid out loud. You go to save yourself trying to ramble about your weird thought process but were thankfully stopped short.

“I guess if they weren’t able to produce the oils to stay a-float they would. Why do you ask? Save a drowning duck recently?” The warm chuckle and smirk were comforting. In its own weird way.

‘Look at you,’ the thought comes, ‘breaking the ice and being able to maintain your awkward status. You should win a medal.’ Thankfully, this is not a thought that comes out loud.

“N-no, that would be silly, not even sure what I would do in that situation.” The giggles come unabated, a pleasant combination of flustered joy.

“It’s one of the many things I like about you,” Tsukishima continues “you always have the most interesting thoughts.”

“You have things you like about me?” Your face is hot. Butterflies turning into waves as you try to assess. The whole moment is overwhelming.

“Do you think I would have walked you home if I didn’t?”

Tsukishima doesn’t expect an answer. Enough is enough, if not now when? Taking advantage of your flustered state, Kei had rounded the little island, cornering you to a counter. Hands placed on either side you.

“You asked me to walk you home because you liked me too, didn’t you?” his voice was low in your ear, breath hot on your neck. All the sensations, the heat coming from his tall body, the smell of his cologne and him was becoming too much. Everything was just so new for you.

“I..i..i”

“Well now you have me here. Wanting you like you want me.” He quirks a brow “you do want me don’t you? Or are you just a slutty tease? How cruel of you.”

“N-no!” You weren’t a tease, you did like him, you did want to get to know him more. This was just all.. s-so so much. Too much. “I like you, I..i do! I-“

With his soft lips against yours Kei cuts you off. Its unexpectedly soft for someone re-known for their vicious tongue. Who knew that that the words of a devil hid behind the soft lips of a saint?

Easily lifting you to sit on top of your counter, Kei slips his body between your thighs as he continues to taste you, drinking your soul that comes out in whimpers. “So sweet Y/N-chan.” His lips keep softly pressing along your jaw, softly nibbling on your ear.

“Do you know what I think? I think you have been wanting me for a while. Tell me, do you think of me when you touch yourself here” long fingers teased along your inner thighs, under your skirt, to trace along your quickly dampening panties. Your head shaking no, body feeling thick with the unknown powers of lust, words not able to make it past your lips. Then he rubs your clothed clit, and it is nothing like the brief moments you have touched yourself. It’s a test that Kei has definitely studied for, your body instantly reacting, the lust building, knotting in your stomach.

Moans singing from your throat, you didn’t even realize that you had gripped onto his arms. As if they could anchor you to reality when all of your nerves were shooting off to space. Kei watched as you climbed higher, and once you were close to the precipice, so close to shattering he pulled back, kissing you soundly. “Now now, don’t want to be selfish. Don’t you want us to come together?” His grin is sharp but he still kisses you so softly. The difference makes your head spin.

“I..i have never done anything before… s’much too so-“ your whimpers are silenced by the soft lips of the devil. “I haven’t done much before either” he lies “but don’t you want me like I want you?” Of course you couldn’t, Kei thought, he wanted to own you.

“I never thought you would be so selfish Y/N” your head began to shake on your own. You weren’t selfish, you did like him. You did! Your frantically whispered “please” had the sharp grin in place.

Kei lifts you towards your bed in the corner of the room, thankful for your studio layout. Sinful tongue tracing down your neck as you are laid upon the bed. He slips skillful fingers beneath your clothes, taking his time exposing your skin. The slow burn of your innocence rising like smoke. In this moment you experience the clarity that, whatever happens tonight will change you forever. And you are powerless to stop it.

Too much too soon too much too soon too much too soon “ahhh” the shocked scream leaves your throat as Kei suckles a nipple into his mouth. The knot tightening in your stomach, winding you higher, overwhelmed by all the new textures and sensations. Nothing was as you imagined, you could have never prepared for this. “K-kei” his name spilling from your lips did something to him, grazing teeth against the sensitive nub.

As he continued to show attention to your sensitive nipples, his fingers had been tracing your bare pussy lips, gathering the wetness from between your folds. The long digits searched lower, gaining entrance into your wet heat. Stretching you open, exploring to depths that you have never dared go before. Pleasure rising within you, you begin to pant as you reach a higher peak than before, knot tightening and yet you still could not break.

“We should come together.” Kei mummers against your skin as he slowly rises up your body. You are just so small compared to him. Kissing you deeply, he moves your legs to be around his waist, letting you feel the warm hardness of his length. Looking down, nervousness began to coincide with the rising of your impending crash, he was thicker and longer than you would have ever imagined. Similar to the rest of him, the red tip angry and leaking precum as Kei rubbed it along the wetness leaking down your thighs.

“Its not going to fit” you whimper out, head tossing at the pleasure of his tip hitting your clit. “Shh shh my little lamb, don’t get selfish, you can take this like a good girl. Watch, I will show you how good you can be.” With a groan Kei grabs his length aiming at your entrance. “We will go slow, let you feel all of me”. With that he began to rock in, tip breaking through the first ring.

Head thrown back with a groan he continued to slowly rock his dick inside of you, inch by slow inch. Thumb constantly playing with your clit, rubbing against the side of the hood as he paused to let you stretch. You were so unbelievably tight, even beyond virgin expectations. Your breathing was labored, your whole world focused on the stretch between your thighs, unknowingly clenching against the intrusion. Too much too soon too much too soon.

“Easy lamb, breathe for me” Kei spoke through gritted teeth. He was capable of kindness, you were his after all. There would be plenty of time to slam into you later. You began to loosen as he cooed at you, Kei never stopping the slow rocking of his hips. After what felt like eons, he had finally broken through, balls deep inside of you, letting you adjust to his length while he caught his breath, gloating at being the one to experience your tight heat enveloping him, of being your first. And your last, if he had any say about it.

“My sweet little lamb, being such a good slut for me” Kei cooed kissing away your tears that you hadn’t even realized were on your face. “Lets cum together yea? Would you like that?” you nodded your head, ready for the fall, for the anything you just needed him to move. “Use your big girl words” Kei admonished still holding still, even his thumb had stopped moving.

“P-please Kei please move, I w-want us-s to cu-m together-r” you moaned, not even finished with your desperate pleading before Kei pulled his hips back to begin ricking his cock in. A steady yet faster pace than he had originally intended, but he was only human after all, and he needed you to cum with him. He needed you to need him.

You were overwhelmed, only capable of strangled moans of Kei, and too much, and don’t stops. His thumb continuing its assault on your clit, the pace of his hips steady and fast and deep. You could swear you could taste him, he was hitting so deep inside of you, his thick length dragging along your walls. Driving you higher and higher, to where pain was pleasure and pleasure was pain.

Kei was close. He knew you were close, could feel it as you fluttered around him. Lifting your legs to his shoulders he changed the angle, searching for the spot inside of you that would completely push you over the edge, would ruin you. With a keen cry tearing from your lips he knew that he found it. Angling his thrusts he kept up his pace knowing that it was only a matter of time.

“S’too much stop. cant cant cant” your head knocked back and forth, your body on fire, electric almost nuclear reactive. “Yes, you can. Cum for me lamb” Kei demanded. His voice hard, determined. As if his words could control sin, you shattered, body spasming as you fell back to earth, hitting every rock along the way. It was a relief filled with sharp edges, causing tears to fall and shakey breaths. Kei cooed at you, telling you what a good little slut you were for him as he fucked you through your orgasm, quickly cumming himself as you milked him dry, painting your inner walls white.

Kei pulled out, a stretched out beside you, gathering you on top of his chest. “What a sinful little lamb you are, letting me do all of that to you.” Exhaustion was overtaking your body, as you gathered your wits about you, shame starting to replace pleasure.

You tried to defend yourself, but Kei interrupted you “its ok to be a slut for me lamb. Because you want me, and now I have you.”

[nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice]

We don’t talk enough about “The Beach” in terms of Azula (long essay) 

Okay so, I have not stopped thinking about this episode and how it reveals Azula’s entire self image and how it foreshadows her breakdown. So here’s a deep dive: 

We start the episode off with this premise: for the first time in the series we get to see Azula as a normal teenager. We’ve seen her in combat, we’ve seen her as a political force to be reckoned with, and we’ve seen her within her messed-up family. But in this episode we’re seeing her on vacation. From the beginning of the episode, we think that it’s going to be Zuko on edge (”doing nothing is a waste of time, we’re being sent away on a forced vacation”) and Azula enjoying her time off (”lighten up, so dad wants to meet with his advisors alone, without anyone else around. Don’t take it so personally”). But that doesn’t exactly happen. While by no means does Zuko have an easy time on their ‘forced vacation,’ the episode reveals Azula’s weakness and hidden insecurities and foreshadows her breakdown in the series finale. 

The first thing to consider is what we already know about Azula: we know she’s dangerous, a protegee at firebending, politically charismatic, and ruthless. We know that people will side with her if she wants them to (Ty Lee chooses her over the circus, Mai chooses her over her family, the Dai Li choose her over Long Feng, and Zuko chooses her over Iroh). From her introduction, we know she’s the preferred sibling under Ozai and that she knows that. She’s confident because of that. She knows that she’s chosen over Zuko because she wasn’t banished or burned. And in season 3, she’s still winning because if the Avatar’s alive, then Zuko will be the one to suffer the consequences. She’s playing the game of Fire Nation politics and she’s winning. 

But in The Beach, all fire nation politics are cast aside from the first minute of the episode. While we think that Azula will be competent and charismatic here as she is everywhere else, that ends up not being the case and it reveals her hidden vulnerabilities. 

Another thing we know about Azula is that she’s competitive. Her whole life she was conditioned to think in these terms as her father schemed his way onto the throne and constantly compared her and Zuko (and when Zuko got banished it signified to her that she had firmly won that competition and she was worthy of her father’s ‘love’). And in previous episodes, this competitive streak has  worked in her favor. Her ‘eyes on the prize’ approach let her conquer Ba Sing Se, defeat Aang, and convince Zuko to side with her. But The Beach offers a new territory: one entirely dependent on her personality. And she still views it as a competition, but this time she’s not the clear winner. 

They arrive at the beach and for the first time in the series, people aren’t praising her as royalty or fearing her as an adversary, instead she’s treated like a normal person. We saw this with Zuko in season 2 when he was masquerading as an anonymous Earth Kingdom refugee in The Cave of Two Lovers or Zuko Alone (where people offered him their home and food when all they knew him for was his actions) and when he was masquerading as Lee/Li (where he was offered a position as a Freedom Fighter, treated as a normal tea shop worker, and went on a date with a girl all on the basis of his personality), but we’ve never seen this with Azula. In this episode, she’s relying entirely on her personality to navigate this teenage social world and she doesn’t get the results she expects. 

From her perspective, her friends and brother are succeeding in this environment way more than she is and that makes her extremely uncomfortable. From her perpsecive, Mai and Zuko are completely fine spending time with each other and Ty Lee is getting the attention of half a dozen guys at once. But Azula doesn’t fit in. She sees this whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing’ as a competition that she’s loosing.Ty Lee and Mai are invited to a party and she’s cast aside. Ty Lee attracts the attention of half a dozen guys and the guy she complimented just ignores her. People at the party leave her alone when in reality, she wanted to come in order to see what it would be like for people to treat them as normal. And in a normal setting, she’s rejected. 

Azula has her comfort zone and that comfort zone is winning. There are four instances in the episode where we see her comfortable and confident that reveal how she depends on her combat and political skills for her self image. The first is when she’s being ignore while her friends acclimate to the beach social scene. She demands that they play in a game of volleyball because one, she needs to be in charge in order to feel in control of the situation and two, she thinks that there’s a clear path from winning the volleyball game to gaining social acceptance. This is a thing she can do. She knows she’s physically capable and thinks if she can do this, then she’s succeeding at the whole ‘Being a Teenager’ thing. And she does succeed. We see the victory make her feel better about herself because she winning (”yes, we have defeated you for all time, you will never rise from the ashes of your shame and humiliation... well that was fun”).

The second time we see her comfortable is after she kisses Chan. From her perspective, part of succeeding at the whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing’ is attracting guys, like Ty Lee, and being in a relationship, like Mai and Zuko. This isn’t necessarily something she actually wants, but it’s something that she perceives as an element of winning. So she plays the part of ‘pretty girl who laughs at unfunny jokes’ and kisses the guy she wants to kiss. This is a win in her books and she has her moment of comfort: 

“Together, you and I will be the strongest couple in Fire Nation history. We will dominate the earth!” 

From the offset, this is just a joke at Azula’s expense like the previous one was, but it says a lot about how she views her self-worth. Her default comfort zone is ambitious, political, militaristic. This is her ‘normal’ and when she thinks she’s finally figured out this whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing’ by kissing this guy, she tries to branch over this false persona she’s constructed to please this guy to her actual self and when that happens, she’s rejected and it hurts her. 

The third moment of comfort is during the campfire scene where Azula sees that, no, unlike what she originally thought, her friends are actually dealing with their own issues and aren’t doing so well. What this means to her is that maybe she is winning. Maybe they’re better at the whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing,’ but they have these other issues: neglect, insecurity, and self-hatred and she tells herself ‘I don’t have those problems, so clearly I’m the one winning here.’ She drags out the issues of her friends because she wants to know that no, they aren’t doing as well as she thought they were. She slow claps and says “well, those were wonderful performances everyone” and we see that she feels better in this small group where she’s the one not screaming and crying about her problems. And this is mean, but it’s undeniably rooted in insecurity. Azula needs to feel like the most competent person in the room. She needs to feel in control because she’s grown up in an environment where being the ‘weak one’ meant getting your face burned off and banished. Azula can’t afford vulnerability. She’s never been able to afford vulnerability, so she surrounds herself by people she can control. And so long as she holds the reigns, so long as she’s perceived as the strong one, it means she’s okay. 

But the thing is she does have those problems. Because after those first two moments of comfort, she gets rejected for who she is. She’s not invited to the party because people think she’s intimidating and weird. Chan leaves after he kisses her because she reveals her true colors. There’s only one other episode where we’ve seen someone actively reject Azula’s personality and there’s a moment of vulnerability where she reveals how that rejection shaped her self-image: 

“I could sit here and complain about how our mom liked Zuko more than me, but I don’t really care. My own mother thought I was a monster. She was right of course, but it still hurt.” 

Azula hasn’t had to think of herself in terms of her personality in years because the last person who valued her as a person, not as royalty or a weapon, was her mother. And her mother saw faults in her. Her mother wondered aloud what was wrong with her. Her mother didn’t like her as much as she liked Zuko and that’s something Azula internalized, even if she was able to mask it up with apathy and cruelty. After Ursa left, she was the unequivocal favorite child. She was the talented one. She wasn’t dishonored or banished like Zuko and she held onto that victory because ‘winning’ the competition of ‘favored sibling’ was the closest thing to love that she got. It didn’t matter who she was as a person, it only mattered that she got results, so she focused all her energy there and came out victorious. Her friends stayed loyal to her out of fear for the most part and she knew it, that’s why she had the circus set Ty Lee’s net on fire and why she guilted Mai into not trading her brother for Bumi. She’s convinced herself that “fear is the only reliable way” because she’s never been shown that people can love her for herself. 

The fourth moment of comfort is when she’s commanding the destruction of Chan’s party. In this moment she said ‘screw these people, I’m superior and I know it. I’m the princess of the Fire Nation, I’m stronger, and they are nothing in comparison to me.” 

This is the mentality she’s been conditioned with for years and by the end of the episode, she defaults to it because it makes her feel strong whereas in reality, she failed at the whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing.’ People didn’t like her. She was rejected for the first time in a long time.

And her greatest fear is this rejection. We see it in the Zuko Alone flashbacks, we see it when Mai and Ty Lee betray her in The Boiling Rock, and we see it when she banishes everyone closest to her in Sozin’s Comet. She anticipates rejection and she acts to snip out the people who can reject her before it happens. 

And the tragedy is, it ends up not being enough. Mai and Ty Lee don’t choose her. Ozai decides to leave her out of the invasion. Zuko takes the throne. There’s no longer her father there to please and no more commands to give. For years she was confident and charismatic because she was in control and in the game of Fire Nation politics, she was winning. For Azula’s entire life, winning that game meant you were worth something and losing it meant that you were thrown away. While she was in control of those around her, while they feared and worshiped her, it meant she was winning. 

But the rejection she faces in The Beach foreshadowed her ultimate downfall because when all her influence and control was stripped away, she was all alone. 

[witch-hazels-musings]

i dunno if requests are still open but if they are, could i request this? if not, feel free to delete! but in case they are open here's the request: jean, beidou, and ganyu reacting to accidentally hurting their s/o? it could be anything from simple slap in the face while turning around or hurting them with their vision/weapon :]

Accidents 

(ouchie -- having them accidentally hurt the reader T.T -- they didn’t mean too!) 

Warning -> SFW, accidental injury (Character -> Reader)(face injury (Jean)), (meantions of cuts to face / arms (Ganyu)), (hit by rope (Beidou))

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Beidou, Jean, Ganyu 

Beidou

She takes pride in keeping everyone on her crew safe, no matter the danger - on sea or land, she will fight and guard each person in her charge -- you are no exception and in fact, you are probably the one she fights the hardest for. The thought of seeing you hurt doesn’t sit well with her and, if she can control it, she’d never let it happen 

How could she have known that she’d be the one to cause you discomfort -- that she’d end up allowing you to get hurt because she let something slip through her fingers … pride was a strong emotion, but guilt could send a pirate to the bottom of the ocean 

The weather had made a sudden turn for the worst. Dark clouds rolled overhead as the crew furled the sales to protect them from the downpour that was bound to arrive any second now. 

“Captain!” Beidou’s attention shifted to the crow's nest, her scout pointing violently toward a massive cumulus cloud in the distance. She knew it was bound to smash right them if they maintained this heading, so in an effort to avoid it, she ran toward the bow barking orders. 

“Tack to starboard! Finnick,” She turned to point at the several crew waiting on the foredeck, “raise the spinnaker, now.” They quickly bustled to their jobs while she found herself at the head of the boat. Her arms crossed as she oversaw the work of her crew; great pride swelling in her chest to see how organized they were even without her voice like a well-oiled machine everyone did their part.

As the creaking boat turned, heading parallel now to the storm, Beidou hoped that it would stay on its heading so the Crux wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of its onslaught. It was now a waiting game, but if she knew anything about the ocean - it would be a win for her today. 

Just then, a rope tying one of the many large sails snapped. Its reaction was like a domino effect and soon all hands were rushing to stop a potentially catastrophic outcome. Leaping over the railing, she landed hard onto the deck below, her feet finding solid ground long enough for her to push forward and, before the other crew had a chance to react, she was already climbing the mainmast as if it were a simple tree. It took her no time at all to reach the issue but the strong winds continued to whip around the ropes below her and by the time she managed to capture them - her eyes fell onto your frame. 

In terrible slow motion, she watched as you reached for the rope only to have it collide into your chest and knock you back into another crew member. Her heart sank, her arms burned, her determination steadfast as she made quick work of the problem before dropping back down to you. 

“Are you alright?” Someone called, their hands reaching to you as if to offer some assistance but Beidou knocked them away. Orders were told, tasks were assigned, and before you could object, she carried you into her quarters. 

When the door closed and she sat you on her bed, you could already tell how upset she was. “Beidou -- it was an accident, I didn’t have good footing and …” She uncrossed your arms, you didn’t even realize that you were holding onto your chest. Carefully peeling back your tunic, she noticed the welt that was starting to grow in the area below your collarbone. With a huff, she walked away before returning with a cloth. “You’re being silly, it’s not that ba-AD!” You shouted, the cold material shocking you as it came into contact with your burning injury. 

“This could have been much worse. You’re lucky it only bruised the surface.” Sitting next to you, she rested her knee near your lower back, and the warmth of her leg as she moved close to you somehow offset the ice on your chest. 

“I’m just upset I didn’t grab it, it was right there and then … ah - that’s sore.” She tested your shoulder, pushing against it with her palm and shaking her head at the notion that you were going to have a painful recovery. 

“You are a member of this crew and I have sworn an oath to protect you, but …” Her head dropped and she found it hard to continue. 'How could I let this happen' was written all over her expression. 

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. You’re an excellent captain.” 

“A captain keeps her ship on course, its belly full, and its crew happy. How can I do that when my happiness is your wellbeing?” Her fingers ran over your ear, slipping in between the locks of your hair as if to show you how much she cherished you. Carefully, she leaned toward you, her lips connecting softly onto your shoulder as they trailed a path to your injury and even in the numbness of it you were still able to feel the heat from her love. “If you are ever out of your depth, allow me to be your lifeline.” 

“Of course, as long as you trust me to know when I'm there.” 

“Within reason.” As the boat rocked on the sea and the sky rumbled far into the distance, you captured the steady heart of the captain.  

Jean 

Jean would never intentionally harm you, the thought of putting someone innocent in danger makes her sick - as the acting Grandmaster she has a sworn duty to protect everyone around her from those who would do them harm 

So when she's the one who caused your injury, she's beside herself with regret 

She stood in her office, her back to the door as she let her mind wander on all the things that needed to be done. It was never-ending, and while she was always fulfilled by the products of her work, she often pushed herself so far that her body and mind became clouded. 

Today was one of those days. The work, planning, problem-solving was weighing on her. There is never enough time, she thought to herself as she rested her head in her hand and squeezed tighter around her rib cage. She was distracted, so exhausted that her ears felt blocked, her body swayed even though she knew she wasn't moving, and her head throbbed. 

"Jean ..." What needed to be done first, she pinched her nose and through harder. "Jean?" She sighed and attempted to stop the voices in her head. 

"Jean, hey?" A hand touched her arm and in her daze, she turned suddenly. Her hand was further from her face than she expected and with a solid smack, she hit something. 

"Ah!" Your startled voice shook her back to understanding, your expression and hand now covering your face sent her heart in the pit of her stomach. 

"Y/N? I'm so sorry ..." She rested her hand on your arm and shakily reached for your face, her fingers tenderly touching the ones that hid you from her pained eyes. "I didn't -- are you badly hurt?" 

"Ouch, you got me really good." You explained, scrunching and circling your nose but allowing her to take your hand. 

"My mind was elsewhere, I am ... I'm sorry." She ran her hands over your face, the warm feeling of wind slipping from her fingers and soon your expression eased. 

"Thanks, It was an accident, don't worry." 

"An accident like this should have never occurred, it is unbecoming of me to allow myself to falter." She stepped away from you, afraid that any prolonged contact would make it worse.

"Jean, you're allowed to make mistakes, and look - I'm fine, see." You grinned proudly but she couldn't let it go. 

"I need to make amends." 

"Mmm, well then, I have an idea." 

"What is it?" She looked at you hopeful, her eyes watching you as you stepped closer. 

"I'll take a kiss as an apology." You tapped the side of your cheek and presented it to her. 

With hesitating hands, she rested her fingers on the other side of your cheek and let her lips touch the skin she hurt, "I will be more observant in the future." 

You turned your head, your face so close you could feel her breath, "I don't see how that's possible, but if it means I get to have more of your attention, I'll be okay with that." 

You kissed her and wondered if she was able to heal through her lips. 

Ganyu 

The absolute sweetest soul in all of Teyvat. She cares deeply for all things, works hard to get the job done, and is dedicated in her actions - it's one reason why her contract with Rex Lapis was drafted; she is the epitome of ____ 

She would never maliciously hurt those around her and often puts herself in harm's way to keep others safe

To her, causing harm to someone she adores, loves, cherishes would be as severe as breaking her contract 

The two of you ran through the field, your legs burning as you dashed across the landscape and away from your persistent pursuers. 

"Ganyu! Up ahead!" You shouted, pointing to the higher ground and dashing in that direction. She followed, keeping an eye out on the enemies behind. To buy some time, she laid down her tantalizing cryo flower before picking up her pace to reach you. 

"From here we can handle them more easily, just be ready." She nodded her head and pulled back her bow, ready to strike. 

The fight was far more doable in this arena, each enemy falling one after another as the two of you fought in perfect sync. Charging her shot, she saw the ideal opportunity to hit multiple targets at once, but as soon as her arrow flew so did you. 

"Y/N!" She shouted but you were too far away and, as soon as you reached them, prepping your sword for a swing, the arrow exploded hitting everything in its path. You yelled, sliding on the ground only to slam hard into the dusty surface. In an instant, everything that Ganyu was, and wasn't, aiming for fell. 

Rushing forward, she reached you and quickly assessed your condition. Her hands hovering, her eyes scanning only to find the damage she had caused. Several small cuts appeared on your face, your arms were equally damaged and the despair that filled her was so great she prostrated herself before you. Her head resting on your hips as she bowed deeply. 

"Ga-Ganyu? What are you doing?" You asked, setting your sword to the side as you looked down at her. 

"I hurt you, please forgive me." You tried to pull her up but she shook her head and dug in deeper into her display. 

"It was an accident, I wasn't looking and that was a good shot. I'm not hurt." 

"You are!" She shot up, her eyes looking at the marks that she had created on your skin. "It was my fault that you have -- if-if they leave a scar ... I ..." She shook her head, unable to finish her thought. 

"Ganyu ... they won't leave a scar, and even if they did, don't you think I'd look super cool?" You smiled but she hated it. 

"It's not acceptable ... if you'd like to d-dismantle our contract, I understa-" 

You wrapped your arms around her, squeezing tightly as you spoke. "I don't want that, I'd never want that. I need you, please don't ever think I'd be okay if you weren't at my side." After a moment, she returned the gesture and you felt the pressure of her nose dig into your neck. When she finally pulled away, you let your hands slide down her arms and rest into her delicate hands.

"I'll just have to practice harder." She nodded fiercely as she helped you stand up. 

"If you insist." You laughed, thinking to yourself when she would ever find the time to do that. 

--

tag list:

@clemmywrites @sufzku @plenilunegazes @lucacandy @marianadibenea @nonniechan @jaemjenjam @softlybeloved @excitedlysuffering

[ejzah]

Can you do a fanfic where the team meets an old female lawyer friend of Deeks during a case. Deeks and her are close making Kensi a little jealous.

A/N: As I say many times, I believe I’ve written a version of this before. I will try to make it different if I can. Takes place during seasons 2 or 3.

***

What’s Right Before Your Eyes

“Get anywhere?” Deeks asked as Callen and Sam exited the main interrogation room in the boat shed. Their current contestant was an extremely obstinate real estate broker. One of his clients had been murdered shortly after leaving his office.

“Nope. He refuses to answer any questions about Captain Peters,” he answered, shaking his head.

“And of course now he’s lawyering up,” Sam added with a look of distaste. “Hopefully we get something useful from Peters’ lawyer; she should be here soon.” He glanced back at the interrogation room door, shaking his head. “He’s definitely got something to do with Peters’ murder. Nobody is that smug and annoying for no reason.”

“What about Deeks?” Kensi joked, offering a quick grin to offset the sting of her words.

“Don’t act like you haven’t benefited from my verbal prowess before.” When Kensi didn’t say anything, he persisted. “What about that witness last week who kept trying to get you to buy his homemade sandalwood candles?”

“Ok, I’ll admit that it’s been helpful occasionally,” Kensi allowed. “Deeks asked so many questions about the process and where he sourced his ingredients from that the guy eventually walked off. Pretty sure you ruined his day.”

“And that sounds exactly like the Marty Deeks I remember,” an unfamiliar voice commented. Kensi turned around, finding a a woman of medium height with dark blonde hair standing in the doorway.

“Lyla?” Leaving her side, Deeks walked over and to Kensi’s complete surprise, gave her a hug. “I had no idea you were coming.”

“You know me, I like to surprise.” She shrugged, somehow adding innuendo to the simple statement.

“Oh, I remember,” Deeks agreed, grinning in a way Kensi rarely saw.

Callen cleared his throat pointedly, making them both turn. The woman still had one hand wrapped around Deeks’ bicep, like it belonged there.

“I take it your Captain Leonard Peters’ lawyer,” he said and she finally released Deeks.

“Yes, I’m Lyla Morgenstern of Felling and Stevenson,” she introduced herself. “I hope you don’t mind my dramatics, but the agent brought me here said it was alright for me to come in.”

“It’s fine. We’re used to dramatics here,” Sam said. His arms were crossed as he regarded Lyla Morgenstern with a raised eyebrow. “I take it you two go back a ways.”

“We do,” Lyla agreed. She glanced back at Deeks who stood directly behind her, thumbs loosely tucked into his front pockets. “We were in the same law program and shared an internship. Anyway, when I heard Marty’s name, I knew I had to come see him in person after all this time.”

“It is good to see you again,” Deeks told her, and he actually seemed to mean it.”

“You too. I was kind of shocked when I heard you quit law to pursue a career with the LAPD,” she continued. “Especially with how passionate you were about criminal law and helping the more vulnerable.”

“Well, things change.” He seemed slightly embarrassed by her comment. It annoyed Kensi for some reason she couldn’t quite rationalize. Deeks apparently hadn’t seen this woman in years yet he still cared about her opinion of him.

“Then I bet you could tell lots of stories about Deeks,” Kensi said, if only to draw Lyla’s attention away from him for a moment.

“Yes, I do,” Lyla agreed, turning to face Kensi after a few more seconds. “Mostly good. This guy was something else in law school. He could debate better than just about anyone else.”

“That part we know,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think Deeks has stopped talking since he got here.”

“That’s just Deeks messing with you. I remember Deeks being a serious, dedicated student in college. Sure, he had his lighter moments, but he always was campaigning for causes, arguing for the underdog in classes.” Lyla gave Deeks another fond smile and he dipped his head, a blush tinge his cheeks.

“Lyla,” he protested softly. Kensi could count the number of times she’d seem him truly embarrassed, even a little shy and thrown off-guard.

“No, you were. Some of the professors hated you because you challenged them or because you were better at law that they were and you were just starting out. If I recall correctly, you even got kicked out a couple times for being ‘disruptive and disrespectful’.”

“Ah, good old Frazier,” Deeks said reminiscently. “He hated my guts.”

“And with good reason,” Lyla observed, leaning into him once again. They both seemed to have forgotten that there were other people in the room. “Seriously though, I don’t see why you gave up your job as a public defender. I bet you could have been district attorney by now.”

Deeks chuckled, giving a little, self-deprecating shake of his head.

“I was not cut out for arguing criminal law. They ate me alive out there.”

“Well, I you’re forgetting that I got to see you in court when I was on opposing counsel one time, and I thought you were amazing,” Lyla disagreed.

The silence that followed felt charged to Kensi and she shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed. The last thing she’d expected was for this woman to practically fawn over Deeks.

“Ms. Morgenstern, I hate to interrupt this reunion,” Callen interceded finally. He shot Sam a quick look which Sam acknowledged with a raised eyebrow. He seemed more amused than anything. “But we’re kind of on a tight schedule.”

“Of course, my apologies.” Lyla nodded, instantly the professional. “I’ll call you once the case is over,” she added more quietly, offering Deeks yet another friendly smile before following after Callen.

“Man, she’s good,” Deeks muttered, almost to himself. Kensi absolutely hated the hot flash of jealously she felt at the appreciation in his voice and eyes as he gazed after her.

***

A/N: I hope this was alright. Thanks for the prompt!

[wing-ed-thing]

Mob Wife (Kakuzu x Reader, ft. Hidan) Part IV

Synopsis: The Akatsuki are in emergency mode. Kakuzu leads Hidan to the only place he knows for sure is safe to regroup.

Word Count: 

Warnings/Tags: Violence, Blackmail, Language, Fem!Reader, HouseWife!Reader, Moll!Reader, Attempt at Humor, Ceremonial Drinking of Sake, Traditional Wedding

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Finale

Notes: It’s back. Writing Hidan has got me feeling a certain way rn

It rained on your wedding day: weather fitting for, and not minded by, a criminal and a deserter. As you approached the temple, he tried to tell you many times that you were going to be turned away, but as you spoke to the shrine masters, you were greeted warmly and welcomed. You were young with a warm face that offset Kakuzu’s intimidating exterior. Everyone always loved you right away, a way about you that Kakuzu could never begin to consider replicating. With your open heart, you brought a foreign concept into his world: acceptance. The few priests and priestesses at the temple on the border of the Land of Stone looked upon you kindly, a kindness that you and Kakuzu continued to repay years later. The small village of a few hundred that housed that shrine would never see a shinobi attack. Now, only you continue to repay years later.

You could tell that Kakuzu didn’t like being in the temple in the slightest. He had never been one for religion or structure or ceremonies, so you tried not to laugh the first time you saw him in his montsuki haori hakama. You wondered how much grumbling went into getting Kakuzu in such formal attire with a goofy, lopsided grin. Even as he gazed upon your amused, upturned lips, his infamous temper laid unusually dormant. Kakuzu never thought that he would see his own wedding day. Being the kind of man he was, he never thought that he’d have one. He didn’t think that he deserved it, but for once as you stood in front of him in your shiromuku, all of his jaded thoughts seemed to fade. Of course with you, all doors opened.

Kakuzu knelt next to you at the shrine, ever stoic. He put his hair up before the ceremony and secured it neatly behind his head. You remembered it when it was short. As the priest announced your marriage to the gods, you couldn’t help but glance at Kakuzu out of the corner of your eye. He held himself together better than you imagined he would.

“Well, yes. I am an adult,” he would tell you later.

But at that moment, he received the first sakazuki. The priest's vessel tipped over the small cup two times before pouring. Kakuzu brought the dish up to his lips and took three sips: pointless seeing that neither of you had parents, but traditional nonetheless. You were taught to always honor your ancestors, but you doubted that Kakuzu felt the same. You received your cup and the same sake, taking the same three sips and the ceremony went on. The second sakazuki represented your vow to care for each other. You received a slightly larger cup and once again, you each touched the sake to your lips three times. The third represented fortune and fertility.

The Heavens, the Earth, and the People.

You offered Kakuzu a light smile as you moved to the next part of the ceremony, a gesture to assure him that it was almost over. He would have rolled his eyes in any other setting, but Kakuzu didn’t even have to speak for you to know exactly what he meant. You knew that more than anything, he was happy to be with you. Out of all the things that he had done as a shinobi, he could handle a stuffy ceremony.

“I thought you liked stuffy things,” you teased him later, parts of your robes slung over forearms and shoulders for better mobility as you walked through the gardens. Your hand rested in his as you balanced yourself on some raised, rock ledges. His expression could have easily been mistaken for exasperation as he scoffed, but you knew better. He looked happy. “You’re a shinobi. Now that’s stuffy!”

The priest had you stand and you received a flowering branch to offer to the gods. As you held the sprig in your hand, you glanced at Kakuzu. His eyes met your own and you quietly prayed over your offerings before presenting them together, stem first. You bowed together, the rituals vaguely familiar to you as you performed them.

With the blessings of the gods, you had received your rings. Your thumb ran over the skin of Kakuzu’s hand. They had a familiar gruffness to them and held smooth bumps from old scars. His fingernails were short. You slid the band onto his ring finger. The black suited him. He squeezed the fingers of your other hand. The space behind your eyes stung as you held back tears watching as he placed the ring on your hand.

Neither of you had family, so you thanked the shrine priests and priestesses and enjoyed their hospitality. You took a single picture. It was the same frame that you held in your hands now.

Kakuzu walked out a few hours ago, taking Hidan with him. Your kitchen was, for the most part, wrecked. Your doing. Your tears had since dried up and your trembling was beginning to fade. With a shaky breath, you brought yourself to your feet. You placed the picture face-down on the counter and reached for the broom in the corner. Your heart hurt, but the world continued on. And if the world continued on, so should you.

***

You didn’t want to eat, you didn’t feel hungry, but you stood over the sink anyway biting into whatever you could pull from your fridge. You cleaned up the kitchen to the best of your ability. Trash piled up in neat bins outside: splintered wood, broken plates, and any other particles of dust that you managed to sweep up. You could handle it later. At least the rest of the kitchen was spotless. You glanced down at the thick wedding band that sat in your hand. Twirling it between your fingers, you bit into your bell pepper like an apple. That was the kind of night you were having.

A harsh pounding came from the front door and for a split second you wondered if your husband came back. Ex-husband. You didn’t think so. You kept your eyes on the kitchen window but the pounding continued adamantly. A slight shiver went down the back of your neck. The next farm wasn’t for miles. That was definitely not Kakuzu.

You put down your pepper and rolled out your utensil drawer. Your fingers danced across the kunai strapped to the bottom as you silently hoped that your training hadn’t worn off too horribly. The banging ceased as the doorknob began to rattle. The door swung open and you launched your kunai with immense velocity and precision. It was snatched out of the air.

“Fuck! That hurts like a bitch!”

Hidan stood in the entryway with his hand still held up and wrapped around your weapon. Blood dripped onto your floors as the kunai clattered to the ground. He shook out his palm, now sporting a deep gash. All you could do was stand and blink, wondering why he was there and if Kakuzu was with him. Hidan threw his cloak onto the rack. It slid, hardly staying on as he marched over to you. The door didn’t fit into its frame the same as it did before and there was no sign of Kakuzu.

“Can you patch me up, lady?” He looked around your kitchen for somewhere to sit, but found none. He dripped more onto your floors. You quickly guided his wrist over your sink and looked up at him. Beads of water fell down his face. You didn’t even hear the rain outside.

“What happened?” you asked sternly, your voice cracking a bit with worry. Hidan groaned.

“You fucked up my hand, can you at least fix me? I’m traumatized over here.” You sighed, yanking him forward before turning the running water on over his hand. You held it there for a second as if telling him to keep it there before running off to get your medical kit.

“Hidan, you have to tell me if there is an emergency,” you said as you heaved the box onto the counter from your spare room. You cleaned his palm with soap and disinfectant before applying pressure. While you didn’t have to worry about blood loss with Hidan, you also didn’t want him passing out on your kitchen floor either. That would make one more thing to clean up. “Hidan—” You pulled the gauze extra tight. He didn’t seem to be listening to you. —“Is there an emergency?”

“No, lady, it was just cold as fuck and Kakuzu’s got a stick up his ass that’s worse than usual. But you already know what that’s like.” The atmosphere stood still at the mention of Kakuzu’s name.

You knew that you shouldn’t worry about him. As far as you were concerned, he had just divorced you a few hours ago, and even if he hadn’t, you were certain that he could take care of himself. You apparently didn’t do a great job at masking your worry.

He usually didn’t care about the effect of his words, but as you frowned to yourself, Hidan couldn’t help but consider how sad you looked. He pursed his lips, never one for comforting others. For a split second, he wondered whether or not he should have brought up his partner at all. Two fingers gently bumped the bottom of your chin and you looked up at Hidan.

“Don’t look so down. It doesn’t look good on you.” He hesitated. “He’ll come back.”

You dropped his wrapped hand, not noticing that you’ve been drawing loops around his knuckles with your finger.

“I don’t know. He’s usually pretty certain about things and I can’t dwell on that.” You shook your head, turning the water back on to wash your own hands. “You have to go. I know that you have things to do and my— and Kakuzu won’t like that you’re here.” He pouted as you moved around him. You had blood to clean up.

“But it’s raining…” he pouted, expression falling in your peripheral. “And he’s miserable right now which means I’m miserable. C’mon let me stay, I’m miserable.”

“Hidan.” You turned to him and leaned on the doorway from your kitchen to your small living area. “Your partner doesn’t live here anymore.” You flicked on the entryway light, your bucket in hand. Hidan followed behind you, now taking your spot in the doorframe.

“But that doesn’t mean that I have to leave. You know he’s being stupid, but that doesn’t mean that I need to suffer out in the rain because Kakuzu’s a crotchety, old bastard.” You sighed, resting on the handle of your mop. You shook your head.

“I’m sure by the time you get to town the two of you can find somewhere to stay.”

A silence overtook the house again, full of raging, but unspoken thoughts. You squeezed out the yarns and tended to the floors. It, at the very least, gave you something to do. Hidan’s blood already dried part way and you scrubbed harder, but not before it was snatched out of your grip. Hidan shoved you over to take your place. The backs of your knees hit the armrest of the modest couch that you almost toppled down onto. He took to scrubbing.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“Sorry?” Hidan peered at you with his bright violet irises.

“I’m trying to be nice and ask you about your problems, so you better start chatting before I lose interest.” The mop splashed back into the bucket. “Who else do you get to talk to?” You pursed your lips. You knew that he was biding his time to wait out the rain, but his words weren’t wrong. The hurt still felt fresh and perhaps you were feeling a bit desperate to get it out of your system.

“I’m not sure what happened. I asked, but, well, you know how my… how Kakuzu is.” And you found yourself retelling the entirety of what happened: the argument, the ring, Kakuzu’s misplaced comments about children. You left out the part about the wrecked kitchen. “And then he said something about ‘now letting this happen’ which had to be the last straw for me.”

“Did you want brats?” Hidan had since stopped his cleaning. Surprisingly, he listened intently to your rambling as he propped himself against the wall. You swung your feet back and forth over the side of the couch.

“I never really thought about it before and Kakuzu and I never talked about it, so I don’t know why he brought it up.”

“Because he’s a dumbass who thinks too much. I never know what’s going on in that fucked up head of his. If I had a home to come to like this with a cute little thing in an apron—” Hidan scoffed. —“Fuck the Akatsuki. I wouldn’t be hiding you out here because of some band of losers in capes.” That made you laugh.

“You’re in the Akatsuki,” you giggled and Hidan raised a slender eyebrow.

“So? I’m the best one out of all those guys.”

“The best out of some band of losers?” The corners of Hidan’s lips turned upwards into a brief smile as he rolled his pretty irises.

“Listen, I got my devilish charms going for me which is better than Ragdoll. He looks like a fucking pin cushion.” Your hand came over your mouth as you laughed. Hidan looked down at where you sat, pride swelling in his chest at the prospect of cheering you up. But your face quickly morphed into something sentimental.

“Aw, but he’s a cute pin cushion…” Your bottom lip curled into a pout, but at least you didn’t look quite as sad as before. Hidan leaned a bit forward.

“He’s a little over a hundred-eight centimeters tall and has a big-ass nose.” You let out an amused breath. “I’d hardly consider that ‘cute’.”

“But it’s a cute nose. It’s slender and has that cute little bump in the middle.” Your voice grew quieter. Another silence, the third of Hidan’s visit.

It all felt too confusing for you. Maybe Kakuzu was never that interested in you in the first place. You shook your head then and there, much to Hidan’s confusion. Despite Kakuzu’s attitude towards most everything, you knew that he cared deeply about you. Perhaps he had grown bored. Despite ninja work not being of interest to you, you knew that many found the profession very exciting. You ran many profitable operations in the surrounding area, but more money could be made elsewhere, you knew that much. Your lifespan was nothing compared to Kakuzu’s nearly a century of living. He had done everything in life that he had wanted to do and all you had little to show for your existence.

You kept replaying his words about the time that you had. That you had enough time to do more. But if you really thought about it, you were content living the way you had been. You were happy and for a split second you considered whether or not Kakuzu actually saw himself as worthy of you. You shook your head for the second time. No, if anything, you considered it the other way around. You’d imagine that you would come off as boring and childlike to an immortal.

“That’s a lot of thinking.” Hidan had taken to wandering around the room. You hadn’t noticed. “Fuck thinking. You deserve better than taking care of some place in the middle of nowhere and running numbers on boring-ass shit.” You smiled again to yourself, something else that you didn’t notice.

“I actually like it here,” you mumbled. Hidan yawned.

“Can I stay now?” You deliberated to yourself before grabbing the bucket and the mop away from him. He didn’t do a great job, but you found yourself relatively uncaring at the moment.

“Yes, you can stay,” you sighed. Hidan was already halfway down the hall by the time you finished your sentence.

“Good because I was going to crash here anyway.”

@brokennerdalert @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @krispypotato @meme-queen-1999​

Notes: Reader and Kakuzu had a Shinto wedding if anyone’s interested. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[mercy-burning]

High Time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer calls Reader to see if he can come over, but she’s already having her own fun and suggests something... out of the box. Category: Smut 18+ (oral- male receiving, unprotected penetrative sex, sex while high) Warnings: Smoking (marijuana), language, smut. (As always, if there’s anything I missed, let me know what I should include in warnings! I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!) Word Count: 4.1k

***

The prospect of seeing Spencer Reid again was something that always excited Y/N. They'd only been seeing each other for about two months, but she never really knew when she would get to see him because of his job, and that made their relationship all the more interesting. Though, she wasn't really sure if she could call it a relationship, considering they had only went on one date. And even then, it was barely considered a date because they ended up leaving the movie twenty minutes in and spent the rest of the night having sex in her car.

Recalling that night to herself, Y/N smiled and wondered about all the other things they could do together.

She daydreamed for a few more minutes, and in no time her legs had started to shift together, craving any form of friction. And since her partner wasn't there to help, Y/N figured she'd find it elsewhere.

After shuffling to her bedroom, she stripped herself of all her clothes except for a pair of thin scarlet panties and put on a hotel bathrobe she'd stolen, not bothering to tie it closed. Then she opted to reach towards something she didn't normally use, but had on hand in case the need ever presented itself.

In a small box under her nightstand was a lighter accompanied by some joints she'd gotten from a friend a few weeks ago. The only time she ever really smoked was when she was with said friend, but it wasn't something she was ever opposed to partaking in. It just rarely ever crossed her mind.

Minutes later and Y/N was on the couch again, windows shut, lights off, a few candles lit in an attempt to offset the strong scent, and her earbuds in. There was a glass of red wine and another glass of iced water on the table in front of her, and she was all set. Before she took the box out of the pocket of her robe, she took a sip of wine and leaned back against the arm of the couch, one leg hanging off and and the other pulled to her chest.

After turning on a lo-fi playlist and taking a joint and the lighter from the box, Y/N finally lit it, then set her things on the table before taking a long drag. When she pulled it from her lips and slowly exhaled, she closed her eyes and focused on the music blasting through her earbuds. It didn't take long, only a few 3-minute songs, to feel a little buzzed. She kept her breathing steady, only taking a few drags once in a while as her free hand drifted over the front of her body, tracing patterns down her stomach and occasionally her breasts.

She was completely and totally relaxed. But just as she was about to dip her hand past her panties, the music stopped and her phone rang.

Had she not been slightly buzzed, she would have been more annoyed, but instead she just sighed, more disappointed than anything that her plans would (maybe) have to wait, depending on who was calling.

So Y/N was more than happy to look at her phone and see the words 'SPENCER REID' across the screen.

Unplugging her earbuds and then taking one more drag from her joint, she answered the phone. "Hey, Doc, what's up?" she inquired, smoke falling off her lips. "I'm happy you called."

"Hi, Y/N. Sorry to call so late."

"Nah, that's alright. It's never too late to get a call from my favorite guy."

She heard him laugh a little from the other end of the line. "Good. Well, um... I just got back from work and I was wondering if... maybe I could come over? That's fine if you're too busy, but I could really use the company, and I... I've missed you."

The smile on Y/N's face was unavoidable. And maybe it was only the buzz talking, but God, if hearing his voice wasn't the best thing in the whole world. It was almost as intoxicating as the high she was slowly but surely achieving.

"Aw, I've missed you, too, Doc," she purred. "What did you have in mind?"

Would it be wrong of me to pick up where I left off, she wondered as she waited for him to answer, her hand hovering over the waistband of her underwear. She took another drag of the joint and decided against it, though it was still tempting.

"Well, we can do anything you want, really, I just... I just want to be with you, that's all."

"Hmm... Alright. Well, come on over, and I'll be waiting."

"Okay. Should I, uh, bring some overnight clothes?"

Y/N felt like that was his subtle way of asking if they were going to be sleeping together that night, and just in case it wasn't, she added extra emphasis on her answer to either confirm his inquiry or give him a hint. "Yes."

He cleared his throat on the other end of the line before saying goodbye, and it made her giddy. They hung up, and she put the joint out, sticking it back in the box before wafting away some of the smoke and tying her robe closed. Every move she made made her head swim a little, but if anything she figured the small high she's created will make the sex feel even better.

She ran to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then spritzed on some perfume, hoping to mask some of the smell in case, for some reason, Spencer had a problem with it. She was sure he wouldn't, but she never wanted to make him uncomfortable with anything. Also, she just wanted to smell like the vanilla perfume she had that he once told her he loved anyway. Running back out to the living room, Y/N noticed that it still faintly smelled like marijuana. The candles masked it enough, though, and she figured it might dissipate by the time he got there.

Eventually she found herself on the couch again, before deciding to wait by the door. The thought of seeing Spencer again sent her body into a giddy, lovesick mess. She wanted to see him as soon as possible, and if that meant waiting by the front door like a puppy then so be it.

And then there was a knock at the door.

She wanted to wait. Really, she did. But she couldn't resist, and almost as soon as he'd stopped knocking, Y/N grabbed the doorknob and twisted, opening the door to reveal him standing there. He almost looked shocked, probably at the speed and ferocity with which she used to open the door, but once he saw her face, the shock melted into pure adoration, his lips forming a shy smile as he clutched his bag in his hands.

"Hi, Y/N," he said softly as she stepped aside and let him in.

"Hey'a, Doc," she chirped happily as she shut the door behind him.

He took his shoes off and set his bag on the ground before he spoke again. "You... lit candles," he observed, then turned around to fully take her in. His eyes drifted to her robe, which hung loosely closed, her underwear just barely peeking through. "And you look..."

His soft voice turned her insides into a quivering mess, and it took all of her strength not to jump him on the spot. She waited for him to finish his sentence, but it was clear that she'd rendered him speechless.

"Yeah, I was only going to have a relaxing night in," she explained, tilting her head up and exposing her neck. "You called at just the right time."

His head also tilted upwards, but he sniffed the air a few times. "Have... you been smoking?"

Y/N was a little panicked, but she tried not to let it show. "Oh. Yeah," she laughed, twirling a piece of her hair in between her fingers. "I was smoking a joint when you called, so I'm just a little buzzed right now. I hope that's okay. I thought maybe the candles would help offset the smell, but it's pretty strong I guess."

Spencer cleared his throat before speaking. "Oh, uh, no, that's okay. You know, actually, research related to using cannabis before and during sex isn't really conclusive, but it's theorized that depending on the person it could increase pleasure during orgasm, and even just touch in general."

"Is that so?" she responded, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. She could have listened to him talk all day. He nodded, a faint blush creeping up on his cheeks. It made her want him even more. "Well... I think we should test out that theory. Don't you, Dr. Reid? Wouldn't that be fun?"

Her hands played with the tie of her robe before she slowly undid the knot and pulled the soft fabric apart, running her fingers lightly across her bare stomach as she did. She took her hands away from the robe just before it exposed her breasts and dropped her hands to her side. Spencer's eyes raked over her once more, each of his breaths getting noticeably heavier.

"Well?" she encouraged, tilting her head to the side.

He took a step towards her, clearing his throat a little. "Are, um... Are you high enough to try do you think? Or do you want more?"

She smiled. "Well, I can definitely feel a little of the effects right now, but some more wouldn't hurt. Would you prefer I smoke beforehand or during?"

"Um... Either is fine, I suppose."

One more step and he was close enough to touch, so Y/N reached for his hand and laced their fingers together, already melting at the contact.

"Would you like to share?" she finally asked. "Of course I won't make you if you're not comfortable, I just thought I'd ask."

He smiled a little, squeezing her hand. "I appreciate that. And... I'd love to share."

Pulling herself away from the door, she kept her hand locked with Spencer's before leading him a few steps away into the living room.

"Have a seat," she offered, reluctantly letting him go as he made his way to sit on the couch. Y/N turned and cleared the coffee table, setting the drinks and candles on the side table instead, and then grabbed the small box as she turned to face Spencer.

Her eyes locked onto his as she swiftly opened the box and grabbed a new joint and her lighter. Setting the box on the side table, she made sure to keep her upper body somewhat covered by the robe. It left just enough exposed that Spencer's eyes briefly left hers and glanced down at her chest, checking to see if anything had slipped. Almost as quickly as he'd looked down, he looked back up, swallowing and slightly parting his lips.

Y/N took that moment to close their distance and promptly straddle his lap. He straightened and placed his hands tentatively on her waist, over her robe as she brought her hand up to his face, lightly tracing the end of the joint across his jawline.

"Have you ever smoked before, Doc," she asked softly as she brought the joint around to trace his lips.

He exhaled a little, and she could see his tongue dance behind his lips, trying to find words it seemed, before settling on, "A few times... I don't particularly care for the smell, but I manage."

She pulled the joint away from him and placed it between her lips, simultaneously holding out the lighter for him to take. He did, and she watched his hands as he flicked it on and lit it for her. She took the lighter from him and reached to the left to toss it on the table next to the box, her hips grinding softly in his lap. She could feel Spencer's breath hitch as she came back, this time leaning backwards a little and sliding the robe over her breasts, finally exposing them as she inhaled.

The pure longing in Spencer's eyes was just as exhilarating, if not better, than the feeling Y/N got when she removed the joint from her lips and slowly let go of her breath. She blew the smoke to the side, barely missing his face, and she noticed how he slightly chased it, tilting his head to inhale some of it.

With her free hand, Y/N dragged her fingers across her breasts and sighed longingly. "You said this could increase pleasure just by touching, right, Doctor?"

He nodded, his eyes drifting down to her chest as he softly bit the corner of his lip.

"Well, I can't tell if this feels better than it would normally, but it definitely feels pretty damn good," she remarked before taking another short drag. Her fingers pinched her nipple lightly, and she moaned as she exhaled, grinding her hips against his once more.

This time he breathed a little louder, nearly a whimper, and it urged Y/N forward. "Touch me, Doctor," she breathed, grinding her hips once more and taking her hand away from her breast.

Without hesitation, Spencer's hand replaced hers, his thumb rolling softly over her nipple. She sighed, holding onto his shoulder with her free hand before taking another drag. This time, when she exhaled, Y/N tilted her head upwards, exposing her neck and, again, grinding her hips. Her eyes closed as he continued to touch her, his other hand resting firmly on her bare waist, skin burning skin.

Every second of this is pure bliss, and they both still had a good amount of clothes on. It could have been the drug taking effect, or maybe it was the fact that they hadn't seen each other in a few weeks, but it was the best Y/N had felt in a while.

As she leaned into him, enveloping herself in every sensation, Spencer leaned his head forward and took her nipple into his mouth, lightly sucking on it and swirling is tongue over it, his other hand tightening its grip on her waist. She moaned again, grinding her hips even harder and feeling her stomach flutter at every touch. He moved along to her other breast, following the same motions with his tongue as before as she continued to rock into his hips.

She took one more drag and then exhaled before pulling herself away from him and forcing him to look her in the eye.

"As much as I love how this feels, Doctor, I think you have on a few too many clothes. Here." She handed him the joint. He took it and she climbed up off of him and knelt to the ground, taking him in as he brought it to his lips and inhaled. Y/N sighed, tilting her head and softly biting her bottom lip when he pulled the joint away and breathed out, smoke pooling around his face.

God, he's so hot, she thought to herself as she took him all in. He was wearing just a white button down dress shirt with a tie, black pants, and one sock that was purple, the other white with red polkadots. The sleeves of his shirt were pulled up just below his elbows, showing off small muscles and veins.

My God, those veins...

She pulled herself out of her trance, crawling up Spencer's legs and resting her hands on his belt. "Can I take these off for you, Doc?"

"Yes," he responded breathlessly.

Y/N looked up at him as she worked at his belt, unbuckling then sliding it out and tossing it on the floor. Then she deftly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants before sliding them down, also tossing them aside.

"I'm a little more high than you right now, Doctor, so you might want to catch up if you want this little experiment to be accurate," she purred as she palmed him through his underwear. Without hesitation he took another drag from the joint and closed his eyes, leaning his head back while she continued to tease.

"That's it, Doc, just relax. I'll take good care of you."

Spencer exhaled, groaning as he did so. Y/N's hands continued to trace his dick through the fabric, and she could feel him getting harder beneath her touch. Her head leaned down to kiss his inner thigh, and she trailed her tongue lightly upwards, eventually reaching and pressing a firm kiss to the tip of his dick through the fabric when he took another drag. Her mouth then travelled upwards to his lower stomach, undoing the bottom buttons of his shirt and slowly working her way up, pressing soft kisses and little licks to his skin after undoing each one. She took her time, lightly raking her nails up and down his torso in between buttons. By the time she reached the top, undoing his tie and tossing it aside, leaving his shirt on but completely open, he was in the middle of taking another drag.

Sliding off her robe and tossing it aside, Y/N waited until he exhaled, then straddled him again and firmly pressed her lips to his. Her hands glided up to the back of his neck and through his hair, tugging lightly, as she's learned over time he very much enjoyed. As if she'd needed confirmation, Spencer moaned into her mouth, using his free hand to lightly caress her back.

Now that there were less clothes between them, Y/N ground her hips against his again, and her lower stomach practically burst into butterflies, sending her into a mess of tremors. She moaned softly as she took his bottom lip between her teeth, and then before he could lean in and kiss her again, she pulled away, taking the joint from him and taking another long drag. Her other hand played with his hair as she leaned her head back and breathed out, smoke falling around her.

Spencer's hands gripped her waist firmly as he rocked her hips into his, leaning forward and kissing down the front of her neck.

"Fuck," she breathed, grinding harder and feeling her breathing pick up. She could probably cum from just this if they kept at it, but in the weeks since she'd seen him last, she'd craved him, and so she was willing to drag this out as long as possible in case he was somehow called away in the middle of the night.

Reluctantly she peeled herself away and handed him the joint. "You want me to suck you off while you get high, Doc?" she inquired, kneeling once more and tugging on the waistband of his underwear. "Would that feel good?"

"God, yes, Y/N," he breathed, throwing his head back.

"Well, then your wish is my command," she purred, pulling his underwear down and tossing them aside with the other clothes. His dick was even more perfect than she remembered, and her stomach erupted at the sight of it. Licking a line up the length of him, Y/N's eyes fluttered up to look at him through her eyelashes. He was taking another drag of the joint as she took him completely in her mouth and started bobbing her head up and down at a torturous pace. His other hand drifted down to her hair, and he combed it back, away from her face so he could see her.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so good," he groaned, smoke exhaling from his lips as he said it.

She moaned softly around his dick in response, gradually increasing her pace. The lack of breath through her mouth mixed with the cannabis in her system made her head start to spin, but in the best way possible.

Eventually she slowed her movements again, then removed her mouth from him completely, replacing it with her hand. "Would you say the cannabis is increasing you pleasure when I touch you, Dr. Reid?"

At the smooth, seductive tone in her voice, he leaned his head back and sighed as she continued stroking him with her hand. "Yes. You feel so good. You make me feel so fucking good, Y/N."

His words made her stomach coil in desire, and she decided promptly that she needed him right then and there. She peeled her hand away from him and got up, sliding her underwear down and looking him dead in the eye.

"Mmm, I love when you use your words, Doc," she purred, straddling him once more and taking the joint from him to take a drag herself. She took her sweet time, sinking down just a little so that the tip of his cock sat firmly at the base of her pussy, barely touching. She exhaled and used her other hand to comb his hair with her fingers. "Tell me what you want, baby. I'll give you anything you want." She meant it wholeheartedly.

His hands slid up her sides and over to her breasts just lightly, enough so that he wasn't touching them completely, but enough that she shivered. He ran them back down and firmly gripped her waist. "I want you to fuck me, Y/N," he said, completely entranced and desperate. "Ride me. Please, I want to feel you."

"Happy to," she breathed before completely sinking down onto him and rocking her hips forward. He groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Fuck..."

She set a steady pace, bouncing nicely on his cock as she took another long drag of the joint. Everything was dizzying and light around her, and every part of her body lit up with pleasure. As she exhaled, she let out a moan louder than she had all night, everything so overwhelmingly blissful and, well... high.

It wouldn't take long to come undone, she was sure of it, and she didn't want this to end so soon. So she slowed her pace, rocking against him ever so slowly, soaking in every inch of him, every touch of his hands as they roamed her body.

Spencer took the joint from her fingers and took another drag, locking eyes with her as he did it. When he blew the smoke out, it enveloped the both of them, and she breathed it in through her nose, taking a deep breath and gripping his shoulders as she worked her hips against his.

"Fuck," she breathed, leaning forward to kiss him. When their lips connected, that's when everything started to build. Y/N was pulled impossibly closer to him and her speed started to involuntarily increase. His tongue swiped out to meet with hers and his free hand reached down to her clit, circling it with his thumb. The extra sensation sent her into overdrive, and her orgasm crept up into her, threatening to explode. She groaned into Spencer's mouth, signaling how close she was to coming undone. Her lips parted from his and she rested their foreheads together, his hips bucking upwards to meet hers and plunging himself even deeper into her as his thumb worked her clit.

"That's it, fuck," she breathed, and in no time at all, release found her, blinding her so brightly it was like she was wasn't even on this plane of existence. She let out a long moan, her hips stopping and staying completely still as he fucked into her relentlessly. Her eyes screwed shut, seeing stars as her bliss increased, every thrust of his hips bringing her higher and higher until she was calling out his name.

His name falling off her lips was enough to push Spencer over the edge himself. He pulled her closer as he spilled over inside of her, and Y/N felt like she was on fire. They both hung on to every second until they were both slumped against each other, completely spent and also lightheaded.

Y/N was so unbelievably unbothered and comfortable in that moment that she didn't want to get up, but reluctantly she helped herself up off his lap and placed herself next to him, still hugging close to his side. Neither of them said anything for a while. Rather, they passed the joint between the themselves until it was finished, occasionally kissing each other in between passes.

She set the end of the joint on top of the box on the table before leaning back to Spencer and resting her head on his shoulder. She was completely aware of every glide of his hand up and down her arm as they sat in comfortable silence, until he broke it.

"Gotta say, that's not exactly what I had in mind when I called. But I'm happy about it anyway. We should do that more often."

Y/N snuggled up into his side and giggled. "Anytime, Doc."

[effeminateboyninja]

I had a dream last night that I had an unrequited crush on Shikamaru since forever but he and Temari had started dating.

(In the dream I had me and Shiki we’re walking and joking then Temari came over and then they went for dinner together. As Shikamaru’s friend I was like -arm punch- go on bro, have fun. And they walked away together leaving me feeling heartbroken, inadequate and inferior.)

You can do any scenario you want. I literally have an unrequited love playlist lol 😂❤️

oh anon, i've been there 😭 let us wallow in our unrequited love for Shikamaru together

~ Almost enough ~

(Shikamaru x fem!reader) angst // 1.7k words

Ten years. An entire decade with Shikamaru by your side, getting into the carefree mischief that defined such childhood friendships and growing so close people were surprised to see one of you without the other. More than half of it spent trying to ignore the butterflies and daydreams that would force you to admit you wanted him to be more. In hindsight it seemed inevitable, the way he’d snuck into your heart before you could even notice. With his striking intelligence and those penetrating eyes, the way he so readily discarded his lazy demeanor and replaced it with hardened determination when his friends needed him — how could you not love him?

You accepted it too late though, spent too many months agonizing over how to tell your best friend that you were head over heels for him, and by the time you were finally brave enough to take the plunge and make your confession he had one of his own. That day was cemented in your mind now, a stinging reminder of your own inaction. Against your better judgement you drifted back into the memory...

It was beautiful out, the warm air offset by a gentle breeze that carried the spring blossoms through the wind as he sat across the shogi board from you, his sharp brow furrowed in concentration as he analyzed the pieces to determine his next move. One of the petals caught in his dark hair and your hand moved to brush it away, but before you could he sat back with a sigh, “Do you wanna do something else? I’m not really into the game.”

“Why? Because I’m winning?” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and cracked a small grin. “You’re only winning because I’m not giving it my all,” he objected.

“Sure, sure,” you threw a light punch at his shoulder and you both laughed. He looked so pretty when he laughed. Not the snarky chuckle he used so often in public, but this unapologetically cheerful one accompanied by a toothy smile that was so carefree and genuine it transformed his serious face into something softer, more innocent. The words never seemed easier to say than it that moment, and without your permission they slipped through your lips as the laughter died out.

“I love you.”

He didn’t even skip a beat, returning your confession with an eye roll and a gentle shove. “Shut up dude, I love you too. You’re my best friend, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Your heart sunk a bit at his misinterpretation and you parted your lips to explain that yes, he’s your best friend too but he’s also so much more, but before you could he went on, “Speaking of love, I wanted to ask for some advice... about Temari.”

His eyes darted to his hands and a soft blush crept across his cheeks. You’d have thought he punched you in the stomach, not timidly asked for your help by the way your body tensed at his words. You didn’t know disappointment could feel so tangible until that moment, the way your stomach dropped to your feet and your hands went cold. “Temari?” you questioned, clearing your throat to rid it of the lump that had formed, “you love her?”

He jolted up and the red in his cheeks deepened. “Nono of course not!” he stammered, “I just… I like her a lot and like, you’re a girl right? How do I win her over?”

For the first time in your life you regretted being so close to him. Couldn’t he have gone to literally anyone else for help with this? Why did it have to be you? To him you were the only one he could approach about such an important topic. It wasn’t just because you were a girl that he asked, but because he valued your opinion above anyone else's. It was because even if it wasn’t the way you wanted, he wasn’t lying when he said he loved you too. So you pushed it all aside — all the heartbreak and sadness that threatened to overwhelm you — you buried it deep down inside for the sake of your friend, looking so nervous and vulnerable as he sat in front of you and put on a fake smile as you did your best to be what he needed in that moment.

“Well you’re a catch so it should be easy, but if you really want to impress her you should…”

“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Shikamaru waved his hand in front of your eyes, pulling you out of your recollection and back to the present where you walked easily beside him through the streets, no real destination in mind.

You blinked a few times to reorient yourself and apologized with what you hoped was a reassuring smile, “Sorry, I’m just a little distracted today.”

He snickered, “Who has their head in the clouds now, huh?”

“You’ve been a bad influence on me,” you retorted with a smirk and he laughed.

“You’re probably right,” he conceded. “Hey, do you remember when we were kids and we would skip class to go cloud watching?”

He wore a thoughtful smile as he posed the question, his eyes lost in a content nostalgia. God, why did he have to look so damn perfect when he smiled?

You cleared your head and scoffed, “Of course. I still get grief from my mother about all the absence notes Iruka sensei sent home.”

He snorted, “You actually gave her those?! I always ripped mine up before she could see them,” his sentence trailed off into a laugh, one of those real ones that you lived for the sound of and you joined him, forgetting momentarily about your unrequited feelings.

But of course the moment ended much too soon. You noticed her at the same time he did, and you were glad the Nara man’s intense gaze was so singularly focused on the blonde woman ahead that he wouldn’t notice the way your face fell as your laughter cut off abruptly. She waved excitedly from her position a few blocks down and rushed towards you guys, her short pigtails bouncing behind her as she ran.

“Hey you guys!” she greeted the two of you excitedly as she arrived, giving Shikamaru a quick peck on the cheek, causing a small wince you hoped went unnoticed. “Ready for our date?”

“Shit! I almost forgot,” he palmed his forehead and turned to you apologetically, “we’re supposed to get dinner tonight, we have a reservation and everything. Sorry to leave you like this but we’ve gotta go.”

“No worries!” you flashed them a bright smile, one that was uncharacteristically wide in an attempt to compensate for your disappointment. “Go on and take your girl out. Have fun.”

You shoved him towards her lightly and Temari smiled, “Yeah! Listen to (y/n), she’s got the right idea.”

He looked at her the way you’d dreamed he would look at you and laced his fingers through hers, moving to lead her away in the direction of the restaurant. He looked over his shoulder and called back, “See ya tomorrow!” They both waved before turning back ahead, swaying gently as they matched each other’s steps.

“See ya…” you whispered to yourself, their shared giggles echoing off the buildings as they turned the corner and disappeared from your sight.

Nowhere else to go and not wanting to return to your empty apartment you turned to continue walking the sandy streets of the village and ponder. After a while you found yourself at a small pond, where you sat at the edge and peered into the calm water that reflected the crescent of the rising moon in it’s glossy reflection.

What was it about her? Why her and not you? Maybe it’s because she’s so beautiful, you thought forlornly as you traced the lines of your own plain features in the watery mirror below. You hit your hand over the surface to disturb the picture of yourself, water splashing back and mixing with tears that had started to fall on your cheeks.

That wasn’t it and you knew it. Shikamaru wasn’t that shallow. If he was this might be easier. He was with her and not you because she was perfect for him. Even you could admit that in spite of your own feelings she was his ideal match. He just lit up around her in a way that he never did when you were together, and as painful as that was there was an unselfish part of you that appreciated her for it.

You’d spent a lot of time trying to hate her. Trying to find a reason, any reason that they shouldn’t be together to justify telling him your truth and ruining it all — but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Underneath the hard exterior she really was kind, extremely so. She was more perceptive about matters of the heart than he was, and you suspected she knew of your true feelings for her boyfriend… but she never once made you feel bad about it or told him. Not that she needed to try to make you feel guilty, the feeling overwhelmed you everytime they were around, and even more so when it was just the two of you.

The small part that was left of you still concerned with self-preservation told you to cut them both off. To just stop answering his calls and disappear from their lives before you could slip up and lean in for the kiss you imagined millions of times. But he was addicting. No one else made you feel so at ease, made you laugh so joyfully except him. So you’d wade through the guilt and the knowledge that you were only hurting yourself just to spend a few minutes with him whenever you could, even if it meant watching him fall in love with someone else. Being his friend was enough. Almost.

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[runtedfiction]

nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”