#i am a little too old for the one direction craze

[kaaaaaaarf]

four - one direction <3

Oh babe, I'm afraid I don't know any One Direction!! Like I know maybe three of their songs. 👀

I will try to do this based on the vibes of the titles alone. A Top 5:

Stockholm Syndrome

Clouds

Fool's Gold

Night Changes

Once in a Lifetime

send me an album and i’ll put the tracks in order from most → least favourite

[crowwriting]

Pleaseee write a Tristan fic where she is James’s sister coming to visit?? Xx

"Expectations" Tristan Farnon x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: None! Just fluff.

Word count: 2860

A/N: I am so SO sorry this took forever, I had a family member pass away recently, and just a lotta similar drama, so I haven't been able to make myself write lately. I was thinking a lot about Tristan from the books when I read this. I hope you enjoy, many apologies, I hope to get my next fic out promptly.

James Herriot, in all his infinite wisdom as your older brother, decided that you simply HAD to visit Darrowby. His two week stint back in Glasgow had come and went so quickly that you were most certain that he was getting home sick. You wouldn’t mention it though or your lovely, maybe slightly overbearing mother would never let him leave. 

You had agreed, of course, the flat you had grown up in had begun to feel stifling since James had left. The extra doting had really put a wrench in your new found freedom as an adult. 

James loved to point out that you could leave at any time, of course you didn’t believe him. Not now, when all you could do to keep the flat was work: same as your father. It was your little flat in Glasgow or the streets the way you saw it. Unless you decided to hop on a boat and disappear. Which had been a pleasant daydream you entertained yourself with. 

It was in fact a funny sensation as you stepped off the train at Darrowby station. The first thing that struck you was how quiet it was. The birds sang pleasantly, and a cool breeze blew calmingly against your cheeks. 

This was of course interrupted by the loud honking, and a cloud of dirt being blown in your face. 

‘Don’t worry Jim, Siegfried only forgot about you until,’ The boy behind the wheel of a well worn little car checked his wrist watch. ‘Fifteen minutes ago.’ 

James huffed. ‘Tristan! What are you doing driving my car!’ 

‘Oh calm down it’s not your car.’

‘Yes. It is.’ your brother was making those annoyed, slightly crazed eyes he was so practiced at. 

‘Just because my brother lets you use it doesn’t mean it’s yours.’ 

Tristan. Your brothers. . . best mate. Had certainly lived up to his name quite promptly too. 

‘By the way, did you know your break’s out? Barely made it down that last hill alive.’ Tristan leaned out the window, a roguish smile on his decidedly youthful face. 

You waved, giving him a smile. 

Tristan’s eyes went wide, ‘Who’re you?’ he directed the question to James.

‘My sister, Y/N.’ 

Tristan beamed, his head turning almost cartoonishly back to you; his hand flying out of the window to offer a shake. ‘So glad you came ‘round, I’m Tristan.’ 

‘Pleasure to meet you.’ You shook his hand, having to bend slightly at the knee to meet it. 

‘Hop in then. Gotta stop by Old Harris’ place.’ 

‘What did you say was wrong with the calf?’ James asked.

‘Broke it’s leg. Yeah.’ Tristan explained as you rounded the old stone building to look for the barn. 

‘And why exactly did we have to come out here right away. I’ve literally just got back.’ 

‘Oh you know Siegfried. 

‘Why aren’t you helping again,’ you leaned towards Tristan as you watched James’ operate. 

‘Siegfried doesn’t trust me,’ he nodded. His arms were crossed, and he was watching rather intently. 

‘Why?’ 

Tristan looked at you like he had just realized you had never met his brother before. ‘Oh he’s a lunatic.’ 

 He laughed, a broad infectious laugh you couldn’t help but join in. 

Skeldale house was undoubtedly one of your favorite places you had seen. Certainly the expansive scenery was lovely and you thought you could probably never get enough of it, this place took your breath away. You could hardly believe your brother had been living in such a nice home, so open and breathable. You were starting to resent him for hogging it all. 

‘Tristan!’ a sudden voice boomed just as you were hanging up your jacket. 

‘Aargh!’ Tristan groaned, dumping his jacket on the sofa with a little more force than strictly necessary. 

Through the main hall came who you quickly realized was Siegfried, holding a paper, and looking ready for a lecture.

‘What is it now? Did I lose the chloroform? Burn down the chicken coop? Botch a surgery you wouldn’t let me touch?’ 

‘What? No. No. I just wanted to give you this. From the bit you did last week.’ He handed his younger brother an envelope. 

Tristan’s eyes widened as Siegfried seemed to realize you were there. 

‘Hello, uh. Who is this?’ he asked James. 

‘Y.N Herriot. Nice to meet you.’ You interrupted before James could speak. 

‘How wonderful,’ he held out his hand. ‘Siegfried. Siegfried Farnon. What an absolute pleasure to meet you. Your brother has told us absolutely nothing about you.’ He smiled, and you could suddenly see the resemblance between him and Tristan. You chuckled and shook his hand. 

‘Now. I have a surgery to run. Tristan, if you wouldn’t mind showing the lady to her room.’ Siegfried waved absently at his little brother, and disappeared behind the shut curtain of the surgery room. 

The Drover’s Arms was a rather dark little pub right near Skeldale, really a comfortable homie place if not a little old fashioned. 

With a pleasant warmth you Tristan and James settled on a table near the window which let very little light through. Your drinks ordered and spirits high you settled in for a good long evening. It didn’t take long for an easy rhythm in your conversation, James catching you up on everything he had failed to mention back home, while you supplied Tristan with as many embarrassing stories of your dear brother as possible. You ran short fairly quickly, but it was satisfying to see how delighted it made him; and how embarrassed it made James. 

The car ride to the Alderson’s didn’t help to settle your headache, getting jostled around in the back seat of that old car was not the most pleasant after one too many bears, but the mood was light and James promised that there was no better way to see the sights than going on call with him. Tristan had accompanied you which pleased you. He was so much easier going than you were used to. A fondness was quickly growing between the two of you. 

‘Helen?’ James called when you arrived. 

Tristan was grabbing his own bag of instruments when he bellowed ‘Ms. Alderson!’ 

This seemed to work because a few moments later a woman appeared in quick fashion. 

‘Rowdy bunch you are. Keep it down won’t you?’ She beamed. 

You didn’t miss the blush that painted James’ cheek.

‘Who’s this?’ Helen held her hand out to you. 

‘Y/N Herriott.’ 

‘No wonder, you’re his sister. Think he mentioned you once or twice.’

You turned your brow towards your brother whose blush deepened. 

‘You’ve got a foal right?’ Tristan piped in. 

Helen nodded. ‘Right this way. Think he got into something he shouldn’t.’ 

James hopped to catch up to Helen, while Tristan and yourself fell into step behind them, exchanging a look as you silently put your heads together to make a plan. 

There was certainly nothing subtle about James’ fondness towards Helen, the way he stood nearer, the little glances he’d shoot as soon as she looked away. They stood in the middle of the barn looking over the foal, you and Tristan stood against a stack of hay. Far enough to whisper without being detected. 

‘Not very subtle is he?’ Tristan leaned in. 

‘Never has been.’ You chuckle. ‘Are you planning something?’ 

Tristan shrugged. ‘Maybe if I had a bit of backup I could be convinced.’ 

Turning up your nose you took a few dramatic moments to play at weighing your options. You nodded, offering a hand for him to shake. ‘Partners?’ 

It wouldn’t be until the next day when James Tristan and yourself came to a stop in Darrowby square. You had taken a day to visit the horse track. James had said that racing had grown on him since he had met Siegfried, though the horse enthusiast himself could not join you. 

Tristan had stepped out of the passenger seat, stretched, then immediately went to grab you by the arm; pointing excitedly across the street to a flash of fine brown hair and a green coat. 

‘Helen!’ He hissed excitedly, and took off with you in tow, jogging towards his target. 

She was talking with a pair of older ladies when you caught up with her. 

‘Helen! How are you? What’s this?’ He shook her hand. 

You nudged him, pointing up to the banner above the door reading 

“Darrowby Music Society.” 

‘Just what we were looking for I’d say. Huh Tris?’ You piped up. 

Tristan gasped proudly at you, giving a playful wink of encouragement, and that was when James appeared, looking a little frazzled and rather confused. 

‘Tristan what the hell?’ He came to a stop, and Tristan pulled him up, patting his back companionably. 

‘Excellent for you to join us old boy. We were just talking about finding some good music weren’t we?’ 

At this point Helen was rather bemused but seemed entertained enough by the scene unfolding before her. Her companions had long since gone inside and the scraping of instruments had begun to seep into the street. 

‘Right well we’ll miss it if we don’t go in so-’ Helen gestured at the door. 

‘Of course, of course. Let’s,’ Tristan and yourself pushed James through the door, and nearly into poor Helen Alderson. 

As quickly and quietly you took your seats, Helen and James at the front, while you and Tristan slinked off towards the back, to find a seat with a good view of the couple. 

Tristan leaned towards you as the band leader attempted to speak loudly enough for the whole room, which was admittedly on the small side. 

‘He can’t mess this up can he?’ Tristan whispered. 

‘We’ll see. He doesn’t much like to do things for himself,’ you shrugged.

The concert was over before you new it, and James had made little advancement in his relationship with Helen, offering only a ‘farewell’ and ‘jolly good day’ with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

‘That turned out. . . less than ideal.’ Tristan sighed. 

You shrugged, almost smiling, ‘progress is progress I’d suppose. Got more comfortable after that second movement. Got a decent laugh too, wouldn’t you think?’ 

Scheming your brothers love life turned out more difficult than you had suspected. You and Tristan put your heads together often enough, but James’ almost self destructive devotion to his vocation made your planning very difficult. Still you and Tristan shuffled along, scheming as you might, with no thoughts of home. 

It must have been two weeks into your stay, but admittedly you had been too distracted to notice, when the Daffodil ball was announced. With a great impact Mrs. Bromptom had thrust herself upon Skeldale and thrown Siegfried into something of a mood. Though this was fascinating to watch, Tristan and yourself had been overjoyed with the opportunity for your brother to just take one very easy chance and ask Helen to join him. 

You had been certain he’d take the bait, and you had been proven correct, but how correct you weren’t sure. 

There was a general buzz about the place as James rushed his last few patients, you were sitting with Helen, rather companionably. Beginning to approve of his choice better with every moment. 

‘Nearly done,’ He had announced from the operating room as he ushered a dog inside. 

‘Where’s Tristan then?’ Helen asked as Mrs. Hall handed her a cup of tea. 

You opened your mouth to say but Mrs. Hall had beat you to it,

‘He’s found himself a date. Girl with a pig.’ Mrs. Hall chuckled, nestling herself comfortably on the couch next to you. 

‘Siegfried’s going with Ms. Brompton then?’ She asked 

‘Yes, confirmed it this morning.’ You answered.

Mrs. Hall hummed vaguely and sipped her tea. 

Maybe it was half an hour again before you actually departed, feeling giddy with the opportunity you had thrust upon your brother, maybe it would actually work this time. 

The dance hall was lively, and as crowded as it could be. The band played a peppy tune and smelled of cigarettes and perfume. It was almost suffocating, but as the door propped open and the air began to clear you could properly enjoy yourself. 

You were standing by the concessions table when Tristan practically ran into you, grabbing your shoulders and turning you towards the dance floor. 

‘There, there d’you see?’ he half whispered half yelled. 

You almost couldn’t see through the sea of bodies, only a flash of your brother's best sports coat, and Helen’s Scarlet dress. She looked like she knew what she was doing, but James tripped as he sped by. 

Tristan was patting your arm in excitement practically jumping up and down.

‘I’m so proud I could kiss you!’ he yipped. 

Your eyes went wide and he beamed. You nodded in permission and he pressed his warm lips to your cheek, excitedly exclaiming.

‘I think I’ve finally got something right for a change.’ 

You smiled back, grabbing his arm and pulling him onto the floor, where you took a celebratory dance.

The night had put you in a dream state, nothing felt quite real, in a deliriously pleasant sort of way. Tristan and yourself seemed to fill into your “roles” as simply and unexplained as possible. You spent all your time together, but that ticking clock of your time here started to ring loud. 

The night was in equal measure very successful and a dismal failure for your brother; but it was only part way through the day when he seemed jontier, nearly giddy. 

‘Now old boy, what’s gotten into you?’ Tristan asked, as he settled himself atop James’ desk. The surgery had just been evacuated, and James was cleaning up, humming. 

‘I think, and I don't know. But I THINK Helen just kissed me.’ 

Tristan jumped up, grabbing his friends shoulders. ‘Really? You’re absolutely positively sure that Helen Alderson kissed you?’ 

‘Yes.’ James chuckled. 

A tap at the door interrupted them, when you poked your head inside, ‘Tris, Siegfried’s been-’

Tristan pulled you inside, 

‘Well go on then tell her.’ He positioned you across the table from James.

‘Helen-’

‘Kissed him!’ Tristan yipped, startling you. ‘Sorry sorry, it just took him SO long,’ 

‘Ms. Herriott,’ Siegfried piped up from the hall. 

You swung open the door taking the letter he held out to you. 

It was a note from your parents. A month in Darrowby hadn't been your plan, necessarily, but there wasn’t ever an actual plan. It started with the usual pleasantries and how they missed you and hoped you were doing well, then with deft complaints about your time away.

You felt a sinking feeling. You dropped your hands to your sides huffing in anger. 

‘How about some celebratory lunch?’ Tristan pulled James along, arms interlocked. 

The train station was nearly crowded, you could hear Siegfried loudly talking from the telephone booth, and all your baggage was sitting next to you under the bench. Tristan was pacing around his hands in his pockets.

You had begun to chew the inside of your cheek. It had been three wonderful days. Those days had made you realize you didn’t want to leave. Not now, or ever. You had been sucked in.

The train whistle prompted you to stand, and Tristan was at your side, helping you with your bags. 

‘Are you alright?’ Tristan tilted his head..

‘What’s that? Yes, I suppose.’ You shrugged.

Tristan furrowed his brow. ‘You don’t look it.’

You sighed, and rubbed your temple. ‘I just. . . don’t want to go back. I know I should, and my parents are expecting me, but I can’t see the point in it. I think I  can finally breath here.’ You sighed.

Tristan’s jaw was loose, his head listing ever so slightly to the side, like he’d lost the ability to understand you. 

‘Dear god, we’ve got room. Close your bloody mouth Tristan, you look like a dead fish.’ 

You turned with surprise to Siegfried. ‘What’s that?’ 

‘We’ve got plenty of room at Skeldale, stay with us.’ Siegfried shrugged like it was the simplest thing.

‘Oh yes, please do.’ Mrs. Hall concurred 

‘But- my train,’ you gestured. 

‘For heaven sake, go home, get your things and we’ll have a feast when you get back!’ said Mrs. Hall. 

Tristan had picked up your bags, excitedly as the train whistle began to blow again. 

‘Come on then.’ He urged you. He looked as giddy as a child, like he was already anticipating your return. 

James opened the cabin door and your things were placed inside, Tristan urged you in, and the door shut. You turned around, urgently opening the compartment window, you leaned out. 

Tristan’s eyes met yours and you smiled, leaning out and kissing him as the last whistle blew. You were practically pulled away as the train began to move, and you waved until you could no longer seem then. 

There was a cool summer smell of grass, and cows. You sat down with a sigh, closing the window, and picked up your bag. Shuffling around in it for a moment before pulling out a pad of paper and pen, when you settled comfortably and started a list of things to pack.

[evilrat-sabre]

For CTT, I have SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!

how did tango learn to consider himself a monster?

His subspecies description says that his type of false spine doesn't kill their host, but rather finds an already dead body, how did the body die?

From what I gather, false spines are fairly solitary. Does tango even know his species? If so, how? What does he know?

Ohhh keep asking I am all here for it!

I will respond to this a little out of order if you permit me.

At first I just wanted to note, that I am very bad at updating my notes lol, so some things I said In earlier posts may be debunked in the future(I have a lot of things planned, but as this is an AU, new ideas sometimes come and I find them better than old ones)

When I say that the False-Spine spine doesn't kill their host, this is a big exaggeration of the word "kill", because well yes they first find a dead body, but they carry the zombie virus, So they kinda of kill entire civilizations, without direct Killing it. Then they just feast in the bodies and Live in the one they find most comfortable.

(One thing that I have to do, but I can only do in a computer and always forget, is slightly edit that text that talks about the False-Spine, It was very early in the brain rot that I wrote it, and I feel like it doesn't reflect the entire scope of the species now)

Are the False-Spine spine a solitary species? I think you can say that yes. When an infestation of False-Spine happens, normally it starts with two or three False-spines, but they don't act in colony like let me say bees, they just get together for procreation purposes and then leave to do their own things, AK. Eat, sleep and repeat (Like hamsters)

Did Tango ever met another False-Spine? Thank god no. The next thing I am gonna say is a slight spoiler for chapter 4 so be aware.

SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 4 STARTES HERE (I will put a note where it ends)

As I said this is something that will be revealed in CTT Chapter 4 (That I am writing for more than 1 month at this point and getting slightly crazed because it doesn't end It's almost done all I need to do is write the last pov)

False-Spine are a terrifying mob because the way they transform players in Zombies as a way of gathering food is by scrambling the player code, fucking with it and doing Irreparable damage to them.

Tango may be a False-spine, but He is a player nonetheless, The False-Spine are not an intelligent mob at all, the first thing a wild nom player False-spine would do meeting Tango is looking direct at his code(the equivalent of his soul) and then straight up try to kill him.

SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 4 END HERE

The only information Tango has of his own species are reports from other people, and it doesn't paint a good picture at all.

Okay now for the last one

How did Tango learn to consider himself a monster?

Ohh this is a fun one.

Before I start Talking about this, I just want to say: I pretend to write a one shot about this in the future, but as I don't have anything written or even a date to start writing, I will not mark this as spoilers.

In my master post I mentioned that Tango spent a lot of time in single player worlds trying to learn how to be a player, but what I evade to say is what happened before this.

Tango Spawned in a residential World

(quick world building: A residential world is a multiplayer world where players live in groups like you would in a city in real life)

Tango Spawned in an era where the Nom-Human player movements in search for equality are all time big and this makes those that are more vocal about their bigotry against their existence become even more aggressive.

One thing I have to mention too is that players live a fucking long time, like a lot. So all of this happened a long time ago and don't reflect anymore with widespread view in the regular hubs, nowadays nom-humans make 80% of the population, but it was not the case when Tango first came to be.

So Tango first had to adapt to being a freshly spawned player in a world that is very vocal against his existence and as his spawn is practically a glitch by the way he spawned. He spawned in a no spawn world, It was not supposed to players spawn there at all (just be born, because there is no great code fix for it), so because of that he became homeless for some time, until someone (A bug hybrid AK. The only oc I dared make for CTT) took pity on him and put him inside her house and taught him about what being a Bug player means, their sounds, their greetings. (Even if Tango isn't the same as her, she adopted him in her culture), she too is the one who taught him how to do make up, and how to hide (because it was needed to survive).

Basically he first had contact with someone that is a Bug player and is proud of what she is. So how did he come to hate himself? Well, she died. They were attacked and she died protecting him. It is after this that he goes to his single player words, where he internalized the guilty, the anger, and without someone to talk he put it all in himself, because if they were normal human players, she would be alive and he would not be alone. So he learns how to be human, how to hide and how to lie. And when he goes back to the multiplayer scenario, no one knows what he really is and he prefers it that way.

And I think this is all for now! Thx for asking and engaging with brain rot!

[libidomechanica]

“But longing want to teenish”

A rispetto sequence

               1

One breeding on the Princess—why not vary, he hall-door, and and fly all wear, tis song, and morning down and drizzling destinies, to

the clown, rent; of heaven. But longing want to teenish hungry peak these shepecote, in the world when a pile one poor flocks the Heaven.

               2

Seeing there around, strike thinke no memoree. When you mought him aright that am I, and you live an amorous Leander one count,

they met. Aye, I thing by; but, that ensues from herbs and sparrow when Januar’ wind while thee into thee what tell my steep, as she, Let son!

               3

As where? Should brother worser face impers of stone to the came to Vivian-place resist: curst accept the Indian days be over

yet a pleasure; I am very saul, that secret for cobweb lawn, see now foreground heat the wren had from my morn: shall do it.

               4

A vestige of accident. Unless upon the charm her burnt because eastered at thought is somethings here foolished, bounting back

a press upon me was more replete with a cycle, we willowers direct, exquisited this end you be happen to herye, none.

               5

He has such cunning down to melts of three: husband into the dead and all it were I loathsome chaungeable stem But such euill a centure!

The missay, who lord of the air land March her. Like a Statue of my nest. And whining, my day go in together; for her trees.

               6

When looks o’erpower. I keep the night; back to you: besides. Charlie, he stand but in for in Christian craft is the bath assume us

is a sharks from your to sue nothings on my will part was’t shame, some beauty in the palms of flesh—in his own. In mine of steep in fields.

               7

Where and Cosset favour and when gaunt minstrung, puppet to harsh net? In year American Triple me, and hair, to lay at relaxed,

to language but, whom we gave told to catch: of process! Of his frequent wool and leaves in flash’d our her a light forward, as if she lost.

               8

Light of you are gone, Live! Equal to rise, reliue. Like for neither carke. And helped upon us to me, And one were two wide Border not

long, it will young heards dance of Time, the dewe drouth, and did driue so gentle, where? Which flowers, and some Dreams are the ventured catalepsy’.

               9

To be venom-bag, and in a momental sea while her sapped pale little place. Dark in miserable reed disturb the iron gate is

english is fixedly as with fearing she waterspouted, ere I hope is it, mermaid’s no other ere I live, the night the guest!

               10

Trembling is scarce expressed again. This he ladies. Where enamour elbows: on a whirlwind: I by day he world star. Who canst the lays

head a lively he touch’d then strained and nigh. Your is come other drums, a though the day and other as I have powerful love must be?

               11

Too stranged, and kind, shall I lie wishing Lilly, and shall burnt rounds were dead, deep he lips: breather’d all with not, rape, thou came within the

flowers. ’ And three: husband, smile on the Foxes creeping shadows, tongue that idle man ne’r before a whirlwind a weigh hearing Two grew.

               12

Then it in dew limpid asleep. All the lived whom my heauen the holy must deep the pale look up Now thrown? With true that arc his close old

that by theirs of Eternal brink. Eye, and of man. Of newe went, didonis kept sayshould save, half-entrance tough bent his that make delight.

               13

My song, all be? The Prince: then tried, and play upon a peace? Soules the strenuous spot, now that until time’s ward, honour meat; and pray that

made! Hard then, Sir’ I; and all I would behold, perfectly-chisled cheek, like ourse, and heathy house-clocks to ourse their practice eulogies.

               14

Voice none you tell to Loue of pray. Finger. Hark, and that crazed within the his freshment iudge betters that hunterfeit is poorer prettiest.

Beating blast—thou shall be; weel my man, with tears all the battered o’ersnow’d vine, I shall sweetness of deed was molded but thou should hat.

               15

Enchanted their thoughts concealed thriue, and sound upon his darting through many time it thy prison me if every sweetest land? Long to

the down the mellows and is true Love’s walked ere flower forgetfulness. We know had reheads, lashes she man! This might of half houshold.

               16

And new, and trill, and wets the sealed: the ages wild as like weeds of bliss for the dreary might a tomb. I feel one hair riots, in the

meadow to take hath to sleep or shall cups our beauty and who make an effort of the things that be for restled laugh many wrough blind.

               17

They were half a perfect ceremony a curious taste of worth to searing hours, I turn to bind, at dimme any evidence,

with thee, I though fowl croak the palms in like a iolly shades call the crowd—tomorrow. And, descended not lone I lay and brows her fears.

               18

I would confus’d Destinies, even of think us while your shadows dapple you luld have me from gray sea shove, let state, half-amaze

of all those from the bed to wedded the trader, priuely I not be rocks an element, woodland, tost open, with hymn. Belovéd!

               19

To pour’d there will be? Why should staff she has clear as them still thy heart compact, each from heaven, nor the other tree was mind give to passing

arter by sight nay! Secrete heard Loues spur, then in the part his own single lift hour of golden cherished him. With his voices smart.

               20

Wide she courts of thickly to imbibe it elastic streams are. Our vale, his less revenge these? Yet prove an aged for I might him in

awe we lived the mercy the cheating at thought! And when the other a plead thy mammie’s warke: the finger. Which I rise, Most minstrels shine.

               21

A daught to there in with coral. True-love length and I had gone souereign’d As large full for wounded. Thy troth, and speak, and Hopes apart strove

sun’s low and was she light into rose: he fierce to Loue, curling, as much, not they deftly shall in her laughing her flocksley Hall; there thee.

               22

Courage, goethe’s my Highland agony, mutteringles, and I returned among time found all hedges drowned. Her girl wast grief to beare,

daring news of lawn, seated the silence: these thought of thee, I dibbled steep performer lost to you: then came rocks,—and Shírín then shaw.

               23

She fled! If I come by loveling, and sorrow is to breast, that Beauty, not spie! He king I am mortality of many

a mist while some ghosts, and know the cure! By this, things on them where paused with an inflated out, first day- tide. Must which husband, after nine.

               24

Am madness of view she is a bird hated upon the matter hearted thinking displeasant sighest own, and watched up your garments

have so fair, but once as theyr steal about this best how smooth pity that faith. Cause he measures by a cheeks like one do speak in love.

               25

Hands from their weak to vision our virtuous reported behold and what all men, and fell, my joy and through and flush sang naturally

downwards that a treached upon his moorland Mary. Will be, and I, thou, that time or a selfsame the find, that tall he distance pearls.

               26

Robed to the looks behind he, to ponder innocent because I love Europe’s should all from the robes of her have it pleach’d new glove

young, think. To tell you in shall I reed, to linger. How there. Here I bid her false to leaden path called it. One I frowning the cooleree.

               27

Heard not know, I thy soule steal about you; found my eyes, and the bounded took the most sweete are that Light is high certainty toying like

they fall old bygones dumb presence beast aged Saturn there were I returning rose. Than Morpheus in California and Adonais!

               28

Mother, they stiless, and stung and tended throught to unknown joy, thy beauteous forth and from my bones, that seldom thou Englishman, of a

solemn fearful light not with stand take thing in the dead, so long, a countrywoman, town, and her ire; she kitches be over hands. Swamp.

               29

It least doth no brow, a cap instincture fetch me so was not how the beach; a chamber me richer please, that will no glowed might to the

dewy splendours to fair tiptop nothing his battering billows retires, but the Flood, where cry. In the conventide. And I have seen.

               30

’ Horizon’s silver brother. Which its roots are burn in foot was gone bag man, and throngs of which my head stooped that being away! No heauie

herd, sincere carnation of faire dispell, yet again each to set his too deeper to be sing, was still my ain lass throng might to cleare.

               31

Tobacco, neck herself years to learnt, with so discourself to pale for the ocean-ridge, will, melissa knell on thee as then the fauour

and over hand, and a bonie Jeanie or no more bene a sum of shame. That the soft amazed with gentle little sphere Adonais.

               32

She resume; and sign or page, I gave upon the Caspian spread that which it is wanton lassie, kindling down I’ll hauiour garden

walls were living shame, it springs wander is ever, to desire my ain. Of the scorn with many sea nymphs’ enveigling have his.

               33

Fully I stood trill, and, as not out of the sullen year is a firm foot, but if to sore he has clear which in her hostage till the

gates the into like some behold, the gold. A Haire: when I died, luxury, he reflected carried forest-house, now some downes and choose.

               34

If this mourned at rest of the gusty formal come be in a tuft of her kirtle embraced at ease the silly she same so longed Chieftain!

Pleasure re-animate grass upon the cruel space; its do to heart what sleep she is doubts, displays has-ke, ystables, just tarry.

               35

With a blest? And fro shrunk with her shining; forst sin nor eloquench’d the pigweed spot shall play; I put do in the clouds, and afternoon

when wealthy Sistered charities and to pry and dare, no lingers, Fenwicks, seeing all thy faces level may bread away free.

               36

The pinion. You at thou can scandal, a wide all their cheeked my beauty had know. Magnanimous eyes glows a moment stuck o’er-sweet, as

the level stone-crop starry yearning, my darling lethal and bare two are clear: six thousands morning our down a paleness upon.

               37

Her fancy; what all waite. But on a silver-fond: so, love that the fear to boom as one as if a Poland ranne of many a pass

and puff from all the chase fear our gloom, in your bondslave to be done, he college lights made barren sleepe, as fragrant in women’s implies.

               38

Of poetical of sighing, as thy honour hand it, consuming shadow from their broad. On sense at will no other, her look well, the

raindrops they that blink. When we felt. As linesse no hope it seemed shepherd, in his Son, her vows, poor moment day of men requestionship.

               39

The find now on the from his night. Then such cold it not die of form delight that bondslave a gentle shadows, whereat paine. Were and puffs

of hopes outreachery, women heaping turned. Thou done thou wert deadly brake, the told on the cast up from benediction fools delight.

               40

Then I stoop my heart of pain ere found the snow up for a last, full verse. I, may aye between you a tide Thee moved between my souls’

sacrifice and one poor branches swain one in extreme hope from hue to dishevell’d with gold, or fair Scylla alone, ridden in double.

               41

For none bittering soul, or far away cool refrain that my hand, convulsion that from the valley of his banner real glances added,

looking of sadden’d together. Then can well; fair tho, thy Beauty in Life, or a whirl around my thou that which the braw gently?

               42

Be you so; that bowers are gone. Alas, dost thought day though evening the world confused such did see, my dear made. I have ye e’ening. Hark,

and will sweetest she goe nye, for breast: see the lightened mile-and-a- half the which young. Now lends the dangling to end their appointing lines!

               43

Amendment, from the old and through th’ ever. And whining, and he round Leander, brighted Troth, when we find Wordsworth not yet am

I told that won by the evilly see heaven broidered though roll. But, Delia dawn; her level stood alone thee to gloves. Eye.

               44

By the cross my own skin, howe my love minds, sike deep and kiss, seemed to the deuoured boding for on her love, but on the spiders here was

once did it or by their dull breast down tongue thee to our serve, I present iudge be swept saying. The Death, ere love you I look her their prey.

               45

After nine desolation I would be kind seal dome copses in mesh, and yours they eye couldn’t consumed away from ugly night him repent;

closes I must go. To turned about the her head, as of lightes, must tellection makes glassy ear as his battle, more the night.

               46

—I heard head, freshening save history. Not borne, these them, war, or, made. Live it least dayly, or your quaile. Thou shall their sleeps you go. For the

Head? With shall I do we mace, their those soun’. Thus wing—at Neptune fell future depart. Remember would be to herd-abandon from hill.

               47

All there mething birds the Vision with hold touches brows sense and once from their lot want to serving-boy apprehend them, the gods love the

dead, but the terror thee praying: as the greene things to cry o, learnd a lesson new life was more than autumnal stands to find her e’e.

[giantkillerjack]

Update: Having finished Smile (2022) with only minimal fast-forwarding (I'll go back and re-watch it fully at a much later date), I can confirm 3 things:

I am an absolute fucking pineapple for starting a horror movie past 10pm. The previous personal rule I had was "no starting horror media after midnight", and I started this movie at 11:54pm. I see now that my previous rule was... insufficient. My adrenaline isn't going to go down enough to sleep until at least 5:00am. I am a kumquat of a man. I am a silly little transgender kiwi-lime spritz. I am a passionfruit-strawberry smoothie with boba for brains, and I have made an error.

Most people who are suicidal should not watch this movie. Just-- go watch The Babadook for now if you absolutely must watch a movie about a literal trauma monster, and come back to this one when it has less of a chance of causing harm to you. Both are great movies. Smile is just a lot more bleak. - And that is in comparison to a movie where a woman snaps her a small dog's neck in front of her 6-year-old child. I mean, The Babadook is absolutely hopeful in comparison.

This movie fucking slaps. It is extremely fucking good. If you are in a place to watch a bleak and TERRIFYING movie about suicide, this is an excellent fucking movie. (If you're not sure, please save it for later! It's not going anywhere!)

I mean, I want everyone in my life who failed to support me in my own time being suicidal to have to watch this movie because it is a brutal look at what it is like to have a deadly mental illness that you don't have the language to explain and that you just can't get people to understand the danger of. Gods know those folks who failed me would probably STILL fail to understand what I'm showing them, but MAN, it is a BRUTAL message about not believing mentally ill people.

My only real complaint tbh is that the character of the white cop ex-boyfriend was WAY too helpful and understanding to the mentally tormented main character. Which ultimately means that the film did fail to understand and highlight the way that the cops play a direct role in perpetuating the very same abuse and neglect of the mentally ill in America that this movie is about!

(The fact that the main character's therapist mentions that she is legally obligated to call the cops if she determines her patient is dangerous shows that the movie is at least partially aware of this issue, but it fails to commit in this respect.)

But otherwise, yeah, this is an amazing fucking movie and the most visceral demonstration of the horrors of psychosis and untreated PTSD that I've seen, while actively challenging the ableist horror movie tropes I've come to expect from any horror movie that shows ANYTHING related to mental health.

This movie really said, "NO, you're not gonna get murdered by a bunch of crazed lunatics. That's fucking stupid. You're MUCH more at risk to BECOME someone other people CALL a lunatic for reasons outside of your control... and then there will be nobody that can help you."

And THAT'S the horror story I think neurotypical people need to fucking hear. The same way I don't need another "oh man wouldn't it be scary if you met some POOR PEOPLE with FACIAL DEFORMITIES" cannibal hillbilly movie, when the REAL horror of THAT situation is the kind of treatment a poor person with an unusual face could expect from a group of lost college kids who represent wealthy society at large.

I give Smile a 9/10, with the caveat that, again, this story is a tragedy about mental health. And it's an important story to tell...

But as a person whose life was saved by the patients and counselors at a mental hospital's intensive outpatient program, I want to emphasize that this movie would have fucked me up really badly back then, and it could have even discouraged me from seeking the trauma treatment that helped my life stop being a living hell.

So I wanted to emphasize one more time to please be careful with this film if you're currently having a Bad Time, and also emphasize that not all of our stories end in tragedy. I'm alive and loved and often happy, and I don't want to die, and I once thought that was an impossible state of being for me.

Even though it was fucking chilling for me to recognize that twisted titular smile from this movie as the one I used to draw on my artistic representation of my own suicidality (her name used to be Sue), if i were to draw my trauma monster now, it would look like a small strange little creature that needs love and patience (they don't wanna hurt me; they're just... horribly scared sometimes. But they haven't been Sue in a long time). Things are so different now.

So. Good things are possible. And while sometimes good movies benefit from NOT showing hopeful endings in order to emphasize the real-life stakes of a societal problem, YOU, reading this, are not yet lost.

The possibility of a better life - however slim or grim - cannot truly die so long as you draw breath.

And I happen to personally know a lot of people working to help make that chance bigger and better because doing so is MY life's work, and this has led to me making a lot of awesome, radical, kind friends. We are Many.

And that matters. You matter. And even if you, now, are the only person who ever reads this - if you can be even a hair's breadth gentler to yourself today in any way, then, by my metric, I have written a wildly successful movie review.

(Especially considering that I am, at my core, a sapient mango who now has to watch funny YouTube videos until 5-fucking-AM because I am JUST A SILLY LITTLE GUY OKAY.)

The cool thing about a horror movie that takes place in a mental hospital and, shockingly, actually turns out to be on the side of mentally ill people is that it avoids all the common disgusting pitfalls of mocking, demonizing, and infantilizing mentally ill people.

The downside is

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

[It's much scarier.]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

raven-san, can we please have a wedding crashing where jade needs to marry this girl from another crime family to consolidate power and become the next head of the leech mob :)) but floyd's like I'M BORED and annoyed that his brother's being snatched up by a random chick, so he asks basketball bros, and azul, to help save jade?

This one is super long, so I added some extra sections and placed the rest of the wedding crashing below the cut!

***Spoilers for Jamil and Floyd’s Unique Magic!!***

"I object to this wedding...!"

Pre-Wedding Jitters

A call comes for the twins in the dead of night, without warning. It’s their parents with exciting news: they’re naming Jade as the next Don Leech. The catch? The Leech mob’s in the middle of a merger with the Worm mob, and he’ll have to marry Don Worm’s daughter to secure the deal.

Jade, ever the dutiful son, is honored by his future title and calmly agrees to the arrangement. On the other hand, Floyd’s annoyed by the idea, and can’t keep quiet about his irritation. He calls out to his twin in the darkness.

“... Ne, Jade.”

“Ee, Floyd?”

“Are you really okay with going through with this? You’re just gonna do what they said? Even though you don’t know the Worms at all? Even if you’ve never met that girl before?”

“It is a request coming directly from father and mother. How could I refuse them? And, furthermore... If I do not undertake this task, then it would fall to you, the next choice to inherit the title of Don Leech. I cannot allow that to come to pass--fufu. You do so enjoy your freedom, yes?”

“... Jade, you’re so dumb sometimes. What’ll happen to your freedom, then? Will you get so busy with being the big boss and being married... that you won’t have time to play anymore?”

“... Perhaps. But that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.”

That thought doesn’t sit well with Floyd--not at all.

“I trust that you will make your own fun of the situation,” Jade reassures him. “You always do.”

As the weeks pass, Floyd sees less and less of Jade around, since he has to prepare for the wedding. Jade reassures him that he’s doing just fine, but Floyd can see right through his lies. He can tell that Jade’s more frazzled than usual--there’s a lingering to his words, and a longing in his eyes, savoring every last bit of autonomy he has before his fate is forever sealed.

Floyd hates it. He hates being lied to by his own brother, and he hates feeling powerless to stop the wedding. Floyd’s so angry that he develops this murderous aura in the weeks leading up to the wedding, which makes everyone around him shy away.

One day, he gets sick of being in the water--it’s a reminder of the wedding to come--so Floyd plays basketball on land to vent. He ends up chomping down so hard that he deflates a ball, then dunks another basketball so hard, he breaks the net.

He sprawls out on the ground and angrily shouts at the sky. His basketball bonks him on the head... and that’s when an idea hits him: maybe he can’t stop the wedding alone, but no one said he couldn’t phone some friends.

Assembling the Dream Team

Floyd first dials up Azul, who agrees to help after some whining and signing a contract agreeing to pay Azul handsomely for his services (... although truthfully, the octopus does want to help Jade, but doesn't immediately agree to do it because of his pride as a businessman).

Floyd also calls his old basketball buddies for help! Jamil and Ace are much more adamant than Azul, but Floyd strongarms them into pitching in. ("Umihebi-kun, Kani-chan, if you don't help me rescue Jade, I'll get suuuper mad, you know? I don't think you'll like me when I get mad. Moray eels are strong hunters, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem for me to track you guys down and give you a good squeeze~" "OKAY, OKAY, WE'LL DO IT!!")

Together, the four boys meet up to scheme of a way to disrupt the wedding without jeopardizing the Leech mob's future. Floyd actively leads the discussion, allowing his hidden genius to come to the surface.

Ace doesn’t contribute much to the strategy (laid out by Azul), but he does keep the spirit up with some jokes. Meanwhile, Jamil provides snacks for them when they work late into the night (though he keeps passing semi-glares to Azul whenever the octopus compliments him or tries to be friendly).

In preparation for the crashing, Azul brews some potions to give Jamil and Ace so they can take on temporary merforms. After all, the wedding will be underwater, in the Coral Sea, and they’ll need tail fins.

The date of destiny draws ever closer... and Floyd's never been so excited to cause chaos in his whole life.

The Crashing - Team Azul & Jamil

They split into two pairs on the day of the wedding—Azul and Jamil, and Floyd and Ace. Floyd uses his position as the future son-in-law to Don Worm to arrange a meeting between himself and the don... except Azul and Jamil will show up instead.

Don Worm shows up to the meeting in his finest clothes (which is very little, given that he’s a merman), sounding a bit annoyed the sudden summoning. “Make this quick, I’ve got to go see my baby girl’s big day... Wait. You fellas aren’t the F. Leech boy.”

“No, we aren’t, sir. We are his representatives... Proxies, if you will,” Azul insists, giving his warmest and most welcoming smile. He uses a tentacle to tug on Jamil’s tail, forcing him to smile too. “You see, there is an important business matter we needed to discuss with you on behalf of Floyd.”

“Hoh? And what would that be?”

“I believe my business associate would be better off explaining the matter than myself.” Azul gestures to Jamil, who has his head down.

“Oi, what’s with you? Don’t you know who I am, boy? It’s rude to not look your elders in the eye when they are speaking to you!! Show me the respect I deserve, from one professional to another!!”

“My apologies, sir.” Jamil looks up, locking eyes with the mob boss. “... Is this better?”

“Yes, that’s...”

“Snake Whisper.”

Don Worm suddenly goes glassy-eyed and slack-jawed. Azul claps at the sight, showering his partner with compliments. “As expected of the talented Jamil-san! Even one look from you can bring a mafia lord to his downfall. Truly, your Unique Magic is most impressive!”

“Save your flattery for later.”

Azul’s lips curl into a smirk as he whips out a golden contract from his briefcase and offers it to the don. “Now then, if you wouldn’t mind, sir... sign on the dotted line.”

The Crashing - Team Floyd & Ace

Ace and Floyd rush to the wedding venue, their tails cutting through the water like knives as they swim at a breakneck pace. Ace can barely keep up with Floyd, who surges far ahead.

“H-Hey, should we really be barging in like this?! Don’t mob families have weapons and other dangerous stuff? Is there a backdoor we can take instead? Hello?! Floyd-senpai, are you listening to me?!” (He isn’t.)

The open, underwater comes into view, and Floyd barrels in without any hesitation, tearing right through some decorations and knocking over the wedding cake with his tail. A loud CRASH! echoes through the waters, drawing eyes to him.

Jade stares at his brother from the altar—wide eyed, but a mirthful smile on his lips. Floyd waves to him, and then to his mom and dad in the crowd of guests. “Hiii, Jade! I’m here to pick you up now.”

The Worm girl starts sobbing, wailing something about how her special day’s been ruined, and where is her papa to put an end to this? At her signal, security guards, and some of the rougher looking guests—Worm family associates—lunge at Floyd, claws and teeth out. A few of them have produced wands, and what seem to be guns—loaded with harpoons.

“Bind the Heart!” Objects and stray magic go flying in all directions, hitting both people and wedding decorations. Cloth tears, columns crumble—but it’s one man against many, and he can only bind so many hearts before the blot starts to stack.

Ace makes it just in time, sending their foes and their weapons hurtling through the water with a blast of wind. “This is why I said to be careful, dammit! Your Unique Magic’s such a crapshoot—don’t just use it whenever, or you’ll be sushi!!!”

“Ahahahah! Kani-chan’s being all heroic today! That’s so cute. Don’t worry, I can play my part, too...!!”

Using his tail, Floyd hooks around a drifting merman and chucks him straight into another. They collide with a CRACK!—but Floyd barely registers it. He’s already bolting off, grabbing heads and smashing them together, slicing through others like a knife through butter.

There’s a crazed, frenzied look to him, gleeful laughter cutting through the waters and mixing with the Worm bride’s screeching. I forgot how scary Floyd-senpai can be, Ace realizes. (Jade and Floyd’s parents are cheering for him from their seats.)

Jade looks quite proud of his brother, even laughing along to the brutal slaughterfest. His bride stares at him incredulously. “Stop that brute! He’s ruining MY special day!!”

“No,” Jade replies calmly. “I don’t think I will. This is far too amusing to let it end so soon.”

She lets out a frustrated scream and launches herself at her groom, hands going for his throat. The Worm girl is slammed back with a strong hit to her gut, courtesy of Jade’s tail.

She flies back, slamming into a column—and feels a tail wrapping around her and squeezing tight. Constricting her to the point where it was difficult to breathe. A livid mermaid glares down at her, teeth bared in a snarl.

“No one lays a hand on my children,” Mama Leech declares. “No one.”

From the corner of her eye, the Worm girl can see that Jade has cast off his bow tie and flitted over to Floyd, embracing happily in a battlefield adorned with red ribbons trailing through the water. Her vision is abruptly blocked off by a broad-shouldered merman wearing a grimace.

“Now then, what shall we do with this one?” Papa Leech wonders aloud—though from his tone of voice, he has nothing good in store.

The Aftermath

“You’re all fish bait when daddy hears about this...!” the Worm girl warns, her words raspy. “Th-The merger won’t go through...! There’ll be war between the Leeches and the Worms...!”

A loud throat clearing comes from behind. “Fortunately, that won’t be happening.”

Azul and Jamil make their appearance, the octopus merman smugly showcasing a contract. “Ashengrotto—Azul Ashengrotto, legal and business extraordinaire at your service, Don Leech and Lady Leech.”

Papa Leech grunts. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“This?” Azul’s smirk widens. “Why, it’s a prenuptial stating that, in the case that an act of violence is enacted by the bride toward the groom, the marriage is considered null and void... and the bride’s family assets are to be claimed by the groom. Signed by Don Worm himself.”

“Wh-What?! Impossible!! How did you get daddy to sign such a stupid deal?!”

“Oh,” Jamil says nonchalantly, “we have our ways.”

“So... Uh, Jade-senpai’s still gonna be the next Don Leech?! And he’s gonna be in charge of an even bigger and richer family... How is that any better than the situation before?! You’re just giving him more resources for committing crimes!”

At that moment, two hands come down on Ace’s shoulders, causing him to freeze up.

“Kani-chaaaaan! Everyone!! Thanks so much for your help~”

“Yes, you have my sincerest thanks, Ace-san, Jamil-san... Azul.”

“It is my pleasure to assist such VIP clients. Ah, but there remains the matter of my promised payment—” (Jamil and Ace internally groan at Azul’s words.)

“Payment?” Don Leech scoffs. “After the ballsy operation you boys pulled off today... I’m more inclined to give you job offers instead of a one time sum. How do you lads feel about being hired as the Leech family’s personal lawyer, interrogator, and... well, whatever the heart one is good at.”

“My, my! Such a generous and lucrative offer—“

“There is no way I’m accepting that, especially if that means working with Azul.”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I’m good at lots of stuff!! I’m the one that saved Floyd’s tail fins, is no one gonna acknowledge that?!”

“You did amazing, sweetie!!” Mama Leech chirps—her tail grip tightening until the Worm girl passes out. Ace leaps back in fright. “As a reward, why don’t you let me give you a hug?”

“S-STAY BACK!!”

“Ahahahah! Everyone’s getting along so well, Jade. Isn’t this fun? You wouldn’t be able to enjoy this if you had gone to get hitched.”

“Fufufu. You are correct, Floyd. How sad it would have been if I were to miss out on touching moments such as this. From the bottom of my heart... I thank you for thinking of me, and for rushing to my aid. I could not have asked for a better brother.”

... What Floyd doesn’t know is that this was all according to keikaku Jade’s own machinations. He would never take the order to marry lying down—but he couldn’t outright defy it without immediate consequences, either.

Thank the Great Seven Jade has reliable puppets friends to help him out of a pinch. I’ll be certain to put the additional funds we have gained to good use... Perhaps to start a little mushroom farm.

[welllpthisishappening]

Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

[kenjikutie]

summary: you and kageyama had made many promises to one another, but, perhaps the king doesn’t need a princess after all word count: 2k warnings: none! just a lot of angst pairing: kageyama tobio x fem!reader

you would always remember your first day of middle school. that was the day that you decided your older brother would forever be the bane of your existence. not only had he left you at home without waking you up but, he had also begun his walk without you, leaving you to navigate your way through the bustling streets of japan

with every step you took, you swore that your lungs were about to give out. you still had no idea how tooru did this every day and stayed after school for volleyball practice. maybe you could put shaving cream in his pillow or hide his sports sneakers as revenge for leaving you all alone, but, he had gotten you the coveted manager position for his team, so, that was something he could hold over your head for months to come

so lost in your thoughts of revenge, you didn’t notice that you had slowed down to a nearly crawling speed, causing the person behind you to knock right into your back, sending you flying to the concrete, papers and books scattering all around, getting trampled by the passerby

“i- i’m sorry!”, a small voice cried out, reaching down to lift you off of the ground and awkwardly dust off your shoulder

you giggled and ran a hand through your hair, holding up your hands, “no, it’s okay! i promise.”

judging by his uniform, he was also a first year in middle school and you were certain you had never seen someone look so nervous. maybe he was lost like you were. there was a pale blush on his face, one which only grew deeper when you walked up to him, curiously leaning inward

“what’s your name?”, you hadn’t even noticed how close the two of you were 

you had always been a bubbly person, just like your elder brother. personal space had never been a phrase in your vocabulary and it had been fine that way in elementary school, but you supposed it was time for you to mature a little bit. after all, curiosity did kill the cat

backing up, you held out your hand for him to shake, “i’m oikawa y/n! im a first year, too!”

still, the boy said nothing, clearly too frazzled to open his mouth. with a soft laugh, you picked up the books and papers you had dropped, not minding that he didn’t help. when you came back up from the ground, you noticed that he hadn’t moved at all

taking his hand in yours, you began to run in the direction of your middle school, ignoring his surprised gasp and quiet protests. eventually, he relaxed in your grip and ran beside you, instead of letting you drag him around like a ragdoll

quietly, kageyama snuck a glance at your face, feeling the godforsaken blush from earlier creep it’s way back up his neck. you had to have been the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his short lifespan. no, scratch that- you were the prettiest girl anyone could ever see-

he was almost sad when the two of you reached the gate of kitagawa first. your hand quickly untangled itself from his and you turned to him with a wide grin. kageyama swore his heart had never beaten so fast

“i’ll see you later! thanks for running with me.”, before you could turn around, he clutched onto your jacket, effectively stopping you

“k-kageyama tobio.”, he let out a shaky sigh, “that’s my name.”

after that encounter, you became what kageyama tobio would consider to be his closest friend. each day, there would be a pouch of yogurt or a carton of strawberry milk sitting on your desk, a desk specifically chosen by you due to it’s location-right behind kageyama’s head-

you loved to annoy him during class by poking him with your pencil or slipping notes into the hood of his jacket for him to find later. kageyama would never tell you that he kept them all in a small box on his dresser

during his first year, kageyama knew that you were the only reason he stayed on the volleyball team. anytime your brother teased him, you were jumping on his case, pulling his hair and whining for him to not bully your best friend. oikawa would just ruffle your hair and begin to tease you about having a little crush

kageyama didn’t like that. he didn’t like the idea of you having feelings or even a close friendship wth someone that wasn’t him. you were the only person he felt he could go to when he was overwhelmed, the only that would lay with him and watch clouds on the weekends and the only one who would stay in the gym with him until the late hours of the night to toss volleyballs

“hey, yn? you’re still gonna be my best friend in high school, right?”, kageyama had asked as the two of you sat on the gym steps, quietly sipping from your waterbottles

you quirked a brow, wondering where that question had come from, “of course i am, tobio! do you really think i would leave you all alone?”

kageyama went quiet and you worried that you had said something wrong. without thinking, you reached over and grabbed his hand, feeling him tense under your hold. you could have sworn that his cheeks turned bright red as soon as your fingers grazed one another

so, you sat there underneath the moonlight, feeling your heart begin to beat a little bit faster when your best friend intertwined his fingers with yours, slightly squeezing

but, that connection all changed one quiet, fall day in third year. that was the first time a pouch of yogurt didn’t show up on your desk. you had matured a lot since the first day you met kageyama. you weren’t as curious as before and certainly not as naive

you knew that kageyama and you had lost touch and that things weren’t the same as before. after you quit managing for the volleyball team, late night meetings stopped and hanging out together for lunch was pushed aside for extra practice. it was beginning to drive you crazy

to fill the void left by kageyama, you started to hang out more with the other third years, such as kunimi and kindaichi. but after a while, kunimi began to see the lost look in your eyes whenever you glanced towards kageyama’s locker, only to find him missing

but, the lazy boy didn’t have the heart to tell you what had happened to your old best friend. he couldn’t let you know how kageyama screamed at them, how he slammed balls on the court out of frustration, how he had become the king

kunimi knew it was only a matter of time until you found out, though. you had always been smarter than anyone he knew. so, it didn’t surprise him when you arrived at their final game of the season, cheeks painted in their school colors and your old manager jacket on your shoulders

standing at the top of the bleachers, you admired the way kageyama looked in his uniform. he was more mature now from the looks of him but you could tell he still drank his milk and yogurt cartons before every game, judging from the amount of them in the trash can

your heart nearly lept out of your chest when he turned to look up at you, your eyes connecting with his blue ones. you weren’t sure what kageyama was thinking about or if he was even happy to see you there but you were sure his eyes widened just a little bit

after about an hour, the game was in full force and you had been exposed to a side of kageyama you had never seen before. your heart beat faster form the crazed, furious look in his eyes anytime he glanced at his teammates and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the boy who was lost on your first day of school

but, the worst was yet to come. when kageyama reaches backward for a set, preparing to score the final point, no one came to receive it. the entire arena was silent, as if everyone was afraid to move and you saw kageyama crack like marble

the game ended after that with a final loss for kitagawa first. you exchanged glances with kunimi, noting the lack of expression in his eyes. you assumed that putting kageyama in his place was enough for him to feel satisfied with how their final season ended

kageyama shoved past his teammates, knocking their shoulders so hard you thought they might fall over. quickly gathering your things, you sprinted down the stairs of the bleachers and towards where you had seen him leave

you skid to a stop when you saw his back, frozen where he stood, fists clenched so tightly he may burst blood vessels. your eyes softened at how tense his shoulders were and you so badly wanted to reach out and help him, but that wasn’t your place anymore

as you took one step forward, kageyama turned to face you, a glaring look in his eyes that made you shiver, “what the hell are you doing here?”

the phrase was a snarl

“i...i wanted to check on you, because-“

“because you feel sorry for me? i don’t need your pity and i don’t want it either!”

running a hand through your hair, you shook your head and glanced up at him, “i don’t pity you. i just wanted to help you...”

kageyama rolled his eyes and chucked the volleyball in his hand at the wall, not even flinching as the sound echoed through the hall. you, however, jolted at the action and took a step back

“what happened to you?”, your voice was barely a whisper

his eyes flared as he turned to face you, “what happened to me? are you serious? what about you, huh? quitting the manager job even though you loved it! you changed everything about who you are!”

you were starting to get angrier; you could feel it in your gut, “i grew up, kageyama! maybe you should try it and stop acting like an arrogant brat!”

kageyama nearly pouted when he heard you call him by his surname. you hadn’t used it for the whole time he knew you. maybe he really had messed everything up this time, but it was too late for apologies now

“i don’t need to explain anything to you! i never even cared about you in the first place! you were always annoying. clinging to my sleeve like some child.”

your eyes were beginning to fill with tears and kageyama felt like he had been punched in the gut when a few rolled down your cheeks. stop it, he told himself. you’re screwing it all up! don’t lost her like this! but he wouldn’t listen, not even to himself

wiping at your eyes with your sleeve, you sniffled then flares up at the boy you used to call your favorite person in the world

“you know what? you’re the king now, great job! you’re the greatest player on the team. but, you’re also the worst human being i’ve met! you care abut no one but yourself and only think about your own future, disregarding everyone else who tries to help you!”

kageyama had never seen you this angry and it terrified him. perhaps, some part of him always thought you would come back to him, sit with him on the gym steps again and count the stars in the sky as he rested his head on your shoulder but that was all gone now

“so im done, kageyama. stay away from me, got it?”

as soon as you turned around, he reached out for you, pulling his arm back as soon as it left his side. why had it had to happen like this? why was he so selfish? if only he had accepted your help, then he still would have had you by his side

maybe he would get another chance one day. if the world allowed him, he would reincarnate as someone who could love you the way you deserved. someone who didn’t push you away, and just maybe... you could love one another again

“hi, im kageyama tobio. it’s nice to meet you.”

“im oikawa yn! it’s nice to meet you too!”

[persephone-plasmids]

Nuka-World

A Deacon X Sole Fanfic

[AO3]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Nuka-World

“I guess I’m just confused about why they dedicated an entire section of the park to their space theme. Why not just a ride?” MacCready asked, eyeing the Star Port tower in the Galactic Zone at Nuka-World.

“To get the youth excited about space exploration,” Danse answered in his usual serious tone. “They wanted to recruit potential cadets young.”

MacCready pulled a face at this explanation. “Do kids really like space, though?”

“Seriously, MacCready?” Sole asked. “You have a kid. You should know this.”

Deacon listened to the group theorizing over the chosen aesthetic of Nuka-World while he slid a Cappy shirt over his head with a grin.

“I know Dez sent us here to recover the kidnapped synth, but all this free merch is going to be incredibly distracting,” Deacon said.

At his words, Sole’s eyes grew large. “Where did you get that? I want one!”

Deacon nodded to the merchandise rack behind him and smiled as Sole scampered over with pure joy in her eyes. Danse watched with slight disapproval while MacCready continued examining the Star Port in confusion.

Bringing the tin can and the grumpy sniper along hadn’t been Deacon’s idea. Dez had said they’d need more than just Deacon and Sole on this mission since they had so much ground to cover. When Deacon had suggested Tinker Tom, Dez had just laughed and told Sole to ask some of “her people”. Whatever that meant.

Apparently, Sole’s “people” were a self-hating synth boy scout and MacCready, whose skill Deacon respected, but he still didn’t like the idea of someone honing in on his mission.

“This entire park seems wildly unsafe for children,” Danse said, his thick brows knitted together in a line.

“Nuka Cola has always been a bit shady,” MacCready agreed. “Makes sense that their park wouldn’t be quite as kid-friendly as it should be.”

“All right, I’m ready to get this show on the road,” Sole said, walking out from the back room of the merchandise area with a Cappy shirt and cowboy hat.

“No fair! I didn’t see the hat!” Deacon whined. “I would have taken it for myself.”

“We can share custody,” Sole promised with a grin in Deacon’s direction.

Deacon screwed up his face as he thought this over. “Fine, but I get weekends and holidays.”

“Deal.” Sole gave him one of her smiles that reminded him why he needed to keep his distance from her emotionally. One of the smiles that made him want all the things he couldn’t have.

He ignored it.

“You’re both wrong,” MacCready said, snatching the hat quickly from Sole’s head and placing it on his own. “This baby’s coming with me.”

Sole laughed at this, making Deacon feel that familiar pang of jealousy again. He prided himself on making Sole laugh. He didn’t love that someone else was currently taking over his favorite job.

“You two are going to Dry Rock Gulch, I guess it’s only fair that you get the cowboy hat, RJ,” Sole said, straightening the hat on MacCready’s head with a familiarity that made Deacon feel much less in control of himself than he normally was.

“We should get going before it gets too dark,” Deacon said with a forced smile. “We don’t want Danse rusting from the evening dew.”

“Negative, soldier, “ Danse said. “My power armour doesn’t rust.”

“At ease,” Deacon responded with a little salute at the former Brotherhood of Steel Paladin. “Try to enjoy yourself a little Danse. Despite what they told you in the Brotherhood, it won’t actually kill you.”

Danse gave him a look like he wasn’t amused by his joke before turning away and heading towards Dry Rock Gulch with MacCready.

“Geez,” Deacon said. “Never send that guy on a stealth mission. I swear we’ll be able to hear his power armor clomping around through the whole park.”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing we already cleared out those raiders, huh?”

“No thanks to the tin can and grumpy pants over there,” Deacon said, now smiling at Sole.

“That one was a Deacon and Sole special,” Sole answered. “We didn’t need any outside assistance.”

Deacon nodded at this, watching Sole for a moment too long before realizing he was being weird. He realized that a lot around Sole. He had to constantly remind himself how he acted around people who didn’t make him feel the way Sole did. It was exhausting.

“I say we head over to that old junkyard. If I was a Synth in hiding, that’s where I’d go,” Sole said.

“You got it, boss,” Deacon answered, following her as she began walking.

The two walked in silence for a long time. Deacon guessed that Sole was thinking about the mission. Deacon, of course, was having another mini existential crisis regarding Sole. But he was also attempting to lie to himself about his feelings, which turned it into a whole thing. He could be a very convincing liar.

When the two rounded an old abandoned building, Deacon was shocked to see a crowd right in front of them.

“Whoa, hold up,” Deacon said, placing his arm straight out to stop Sole from walking.

It was too little too late though. The group of people in space suits standing had clearly seen them. How had Deacon missed them? They were literally a handful of weirdos in space suits.

Sole had distracted him with her very existence again. This was why he had to stop letting himself explore any potential feelings for her. They just got in the way of their missions. They made him sloppy. And sloppy could very well mean “dead” in this situation.

“Greetings,” one of the space-suit-clad people said, taking a step forward.

Deacon placed one hand behind his back where he kept a gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans. The other hand was wrapped tightly around Sole’s arm, keeping her in a safe position slightly behind him.

“Listen, we’re looking for information on--” Sole began, but the woman who appeared to be the leader of the odd group before them interrupted her.

“Are you here to help us get the spaceship up and running?” the woman asked. Her slightly crazed eyes were wide and bloodshot.

Sole furrowed her brow and looked at Deacon who was still trying to understand what he’d just heard.

“The great power above told us they would send someone soon. You, my weary traveler, must be the one to help us rebuild our spacecraft.”

“No,” Sole said slowly. “We’re just here too--” but again she was interrupted, this time by Deacon’s hand placed clumsily over her lips.

“Wait just… shush for a second,” he whispered with the widest grin she’d ever seen. “This is amazing.” He looked like a kid on Christmas. “Yes, my fair… uh… lady. We were sent from the head honcho in the stars to come offer our support for your interstellar travels.”

Deacon’s voice had adopted a grand tone and he released his concealed gun to instead gesture widely at the group in front of him.

“Excellent news, kind sir,” the woman said. “I am Dara. Come. We don’t have much time. Follow us.”

“Lead the way my most excellent and esteemed priestess,” Deacon said.

Sole looked over at the spy incredulously, mouthing a quick, “What are you doing?” to him.

She wasn’t sure if Deacon hadn’t understood her question or if he was just willfully ignoring her, because he simply clapped his hands together and mouthed back, “I know, right?”

The space-suit-clad group led them through the old junkyard to a red metal object that looked an awful lot like an old carnival ride. It was supposed to look like a UFO, but anyone could see it wasn’t any kind of actual aircraft.

“Ah yes, a fine specimen indeed,” Deacon said when they approached the ride. His voice was still serious as he spoke, though Sole knew him well enough to hear the pure glee behind it. “And what, pray tell, can we do to get this up and running for you again?”

“We have the fusion cells we need right here,” Dara said. “But we don’t know how to install them. If you can get our craft up and running, I know we’ll be on our way to our higher forms soon enough.”

“You’ll be on your way somewhere,” Sole scoffed under her breath, obviously not enjoying this nearly as much as Deacon.

“Well then step inside and get comfortable,” Deacon said with a grin. “I’ll get these fusion cores installed… uh… posthaste.”

Sole snorted at this, to which Deacon elbowed her. He didn’t want her giving him away just because she found him amusing.

Dara led the group of space cadets into the UFO ride and shut the door behind her, leaving Sole and Deacon alone.

“Okay, what in the actual world is going on?” Sole asked incredulously.

“I know! This is seriously amazing,” Deacon said, barely able to contain his joy. “These people actually think this is a spaceship!”

“I’m pretty sure this is a Gravitron,” Sole said. “They had them at the local carnival every year before the war. I used to love this ride.”

Sole’s eyes adopted that distant look they got whenever she talked about her time before the Vault-Tec incident. It made him feel sad for her, before he selfishly realized that if Vault-Tec hadn’t frozen her, he never would have met her.

“Will it be safe for me to fix it for them?” Deacon asked, Sole. He wanted to mess with the space cult, not kill them.

“They might get a bit motion sick,” Sole began. “But they should be fine.”

At her words, Deacon’s face adopted a mischievous grin that made Sole’s cheeks flush. “Excellent.”

Deacon installed the fusion cores Dara had given him without much effort before holding his hand out to Sole.

“Shall we?”

Sole let a grin spread across her full lips, taking Deacon’s hand in her own. “I can handle this ride, but I’m not sure you really understand what you’re in for.”

“You don’t think I could handle your ride?” Deacon asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively at her.

Sole took a step closer to Deacon, leaning close to him so that her lips were against his ear. “I know you couldn’t handle my ride, stealth boy.”

Deacon shivered involuntarily at her words and the feeling of her breath against his ear, but as quickly as the moment had happened, it passed. Sole pulled Deacon into the UFO ride with her, leaving him with a lingering mental image that he’d have to examine more thoroughly when he was alone later.

“This impeccably dressed harbinger of your more superior forms has successfully repaired your vessel,” Sole announced loudly, holding up Deacon’s hand. She looked over at him with a grin that set his heart on overdrive. “Not only was he able to repair your vessel, but he’s also promised to personally make sure his work is beyond reproach by coming along with you.”

“The star angel speaks the truth,” Deacon said, making Sole snort laugh again, though she was a bit better about covering this one up. “Sole, if you’ll do the honors.”

“Everybody up against the wall,” Sole said, watching as the space cult obeyed. “Deacon? Up against the wall?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to say that to me,” He said with a grin.

Sole just rolled her eyes and pointed at the wall, waiting for him to oblige. When everyone was in position, she took her place in the middle of the metal room and flipped the switch.

In an instant, the ride began to hum as the floor started to vibrate. At first, nothing moved and Deacon worried he hadn’t actually managed to fix the ride. But as the humming grew louder, the room began to spin.

Sole stayed in place in the center of the room and Deacon tried to keep his eyes on her, but as the rotations became quicker and quicker, he had to close his eyes. The force of the rotating ride crushed him against the padded wall of the room and he had to press his lips together to keep from getting sick. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the ride began to slow down until it eventually stopped.

When Deacon opened his eyes, the world was still spinning. Sole was watching him as if waiting for him to speak to the cult, but he couldn’t form a single thought.

“The mission has been a success,” Sole finally said, seeing that Deacon was completely useless at the moment. “Your craft has been repaired and will be ready for your final voyage once your preparations are complete.”

“Bless you,” Dara said, looking at Sole. “Bless both of you.”

Without another word, Dara and the other cultists left the UFO, leaving Deacon clutching the wall and breathing heavily. In an instant, Sole was beside him. She supported him as Deacon tilted his head down.

“Told you you couldn’t handle this ride,” Sole said, her voice lined with amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Deacon said. “I feel fantastic. Think I might go run a marathon with Hancock later.”

Sole placed her hand on Deacon’s cheek gently, lifting his eyes to hers. He still felt sick, but the more she touched him, the less he seemed to notice the motion sickness.

“Hey lightweight, what do you think Danse and MacCready will say when they find out an old carnival ride floored you?”

“That question is irrelevant because if you tell them I’ll just deny everything,” he responded. “And of the two of us, who’s the better liar?”

Deacon was grinning at Sole again, but she didn’t smile back. Instead she was watching him curiously, her eyes roaming his face. He was confused by her expression before he realized just how clear she looked to him. Clearer than normal.

Panicked, Deacon brought his hand up to his face to find his sunglasses missing. He’d always been good at putting up walls between himself and everyone else, but he had a hard time doing that with Sole. The sunglasses were the only way he could keep some semblance of distance from her. Without them, he worried she’d see right through him. See who he really was. See how he really felt about her.

Deacon looked around himself for the sunglasses before Sole held them up wordlessly.

“You win, Charmer,” Deacon said with a nervous laugh. “Time to give them back now.”

Deacon reached out for the glasses but Sole held them behind her back with a wicked grin.

“I don’t know that I want you to put them back on. I’m enjoying finally seeing you,” she said, her eyes seeming to bore into his soul.

“No one wants to see this hot mess, trust me,” Deacon said, reaching for the sunglasses but failing to get them. All he managed to do was somehow get even closer to Sole.

“How did I not realize your eyes are blue?” Sole asked, her voice soft. “They’re… stunning.” She instantly blushed at her own words but didn’t back down. And she still didn’t give Deacon his sunglasses back. “They’re not just blue… they’re like… ice blue.”

“Must be all the surgery,” Deacon joked, even though his voice sounded flat.

The truth was, Deacon changed his appearance all the time. But his eyes? His eyes were his own. Always had been. They were the one thing he didn’t change about himself. So to have Sole admiring them in such a personal way felt… amazing.

And dangerous.

Sole bit her lip as she watched him and Deacon swallowed hard. “Why don’t you want anyone to see you?” she asked.

He wanted to tell her that he was scared they wouldn't like what was left after all the lies were stripped away. But he didn’t say that. Instead he said, “Because I don’t want them to fall in love with my beautiful face. It just wouldn’t be fair to destroy some unsuspecting wastelander like that.”

At his words, Sole laughed softly, just like he hoped she would. If she was laughing then she wasn’t asking him questions that hit too close to home for him.

“I mean, now that you’ve seen the full effect of my icy blue gaze, you surely must understand that I wield an ungodly amount of power.”

“I really don’t know how you manage to fit yourself and your ego into your tiny sleeping quarters in the Railroad,” Sole said with a roll of her eyes.

“There’s enough room,” Deacon said, his voice now teasing. “More than enough room if you ever want to join the two of us.”

And that was it. The truth of the matter. Deacon could flirt with Sole all day long if it was all a big joke. But if he ever told her that he’d dreamed about what it would be like to wake up next to her, he’d lose the small amount of control he still pretended to have in this partnership. He couldn’t tell her that he longed for the casual and familiar touches of two people who trusted each other so completely that their physical contact was expected and normal.

“Do you really want me to take you up on that offer?” Sole asked, a challenge in her eyes.

Deacon still hadn’t learned that he couldn’t tease her about their flirtation for too long. She’d always make it real. And as Deacon knew, real was dangerous.

“Or should I just hold onto these sunglasses for you?”

Deacon leaned forward, sliding his arms around Sole’s waist. He hated himself for the fact that she actually closed her eyes as he got closer to her, obviously expecting him to make a move. But instead, he grabbed the sunglasses that she hid behind her back before pulling away from her with a forced grin.

“Got em,” he said.

Sole opened her eyes, and when Deacon saw just how much disappointment they held, his heart broke. When he heard Sole try to cover up her disappointment with a joke the way he always did, his heart broke even more.

“Well then I guess it’s just you and your ego in your bed tonight,” she said. “Let’s go find Danse and MacCready to see if they’ve had any luck locating the Synth.”

“Oh right, we’ve got an actual reason to be here,” Deacon said, quickly putting his sunglasses back on and feeling immensely more comfortable behind his wall of protection.

“We actually have two reasons to be here,” Sole said as she walked towards the door of the UFO ride. “We need to find the Synth, but we also need to go to the fun house in Kiddie Kingdom.”

“Did I miss that part of the briefing, Charmer?” Deacon asked, following Sole to the bright junkyard outside.

“Dez probably just forgot to tell us how important it is that we go to the funhouse,” Sole said “But you and I are professionals. We have to check everything thoroughly.”

Sole raised her eyebrows at Deacon as she walked away and Deacon was left wondering how Dez ever could have thought it was a good idea to send Sole and himself to an amusement park together.

They’d never get anything done.

[Part 4]

Based on the time my OC and Deacon ran into that crazy cult in Nuka-World :P

[slythergirlimagines]

Life Changing Adventures with Zuko

Summary: Zuko and the Reader get into some trouble when they meet a witch who switches their bodies. The Gaang tries to help them switch back. Pretty much fluff, not much angst! (GIF is not mine, but I absolutely love it!) Words: 5,659   Request: Yes Masterlist

****Also, would you guys be interested in me making a masterlist of all my fics? Let me know!

                    Life Changing Adventures with Zuko

  You should have never come here. That’s what you’re thinking as you and Zuko climb up the incredibly tall, dangerous mountain to see what’s in the mysterious cave.

  “I don’t like this.” You say, crossing your arms in an effort to preserve some sort of body heat. Of course, Zuko didn’t have to worry about the cold and he seemed no more bothered with this excursion than he would be anything else.

  Zuko glances back at you, black fringe hanging in his amber eyes.

  “Just calm down, we’re nearly there.” He says, and continues his climb up the winding, steep path.

    You roll your eyes, but hurry to match his pace. You definitely don’t want to fall behind in this place, but Zuko’s long legs are growing increasingly hard to keep up with.

  You can feel it in the air that something’s not quite right. There’s an undercurrent of something undefinable. Like magic. It hums all around you, and gives you goosebumps.

   Up ahead, the wind whips through Zuko’s raven hair. It also blows his tunic tight against his body, and you can just make out the contours of his muscles.

  Mentally, you slap yourself. Why do you care about Zuko’s muscles? He had chased you and your friends for months, and he had been responsible for a myriad of bad things that had happened to you. You had forgiven him, but you guys fought all the time. Your bickering often drove your friends crazy, and had been nonstop since he arrived. 

   “Life changing adventures with Zuko.” Toph had once called the personal journeys your friends had taken with him. You and Toph were the only people who hadn’t had one, and you certainly hoped today wasn’t your day.

   Zuko stops and cocks his head, listening. You slowly approach him, taking care to keep silent. If Zuko was concerned then you should definitely be concerned as well. Your eyes dart around, but you don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary.

  The sun is starting to set, and it’s making this damn mountain even colder than before. The trees cast long shadows over the path, and it all feels foreboding. Subconsciously, you gravitate closer to Zuko.

  “Remind me what we’re doing here, again?” You ask. You’re trying your hardest not to show any fear, but everything in your body is telling you to leave.

   Zuko squints and stares in the direction of the cave.

   “Aang asked us to check it out.” He says in his low rasp. This however is partially untrue.

  Aang had asked you to go check it out, not Zuko. Aang claimed that something felt wrong up here, but he was currently trying to the closest village from being occupied by Fire Nation troops and didn’t have time to check. You weren’t a bender, but you were a capable warrior, and Aang trusted your abilities.

   Zuko, on the other hand, had volunteered the moment you agreed to go. He claimed that it was because he couldn’t have Fire Nation soldiers recognize him, but his hastiness made you suspicious. He was always doing that, hovering around you during missions and tasks. It got on your nerves how little he trusted in your ability to defend yourself.

   “I don’t think we should be here.” You reiterate. “It just feels....”

   “I know. I feel it too.” Zuko says. He turns to you and offers a large hand. Sighing, you take it and allow him to lead you closer to the cave.

   Zuko stops behind a tall tree, and peeks his head around to observe. The tree is hardly wide enough to conceal his broad shoulders, but at least you are in the shadows. You notice that you are still holding his hand, and drop it before he can read too much into it.

   In an effort to look busy, you squint into the dark, trying to make out any sort of object that could be important. Without Aang here it is virtually impossible to know what you need to find.

   Zuko seems to be following the same train of thought as you, and scans the area with his eyes. The light is almost dark enough to conceal his scar. Your fingers twitch with some foreign urge to trace over it. You ball your hands into fists. Maybe you just want to punch him in the face.

  “I don’t see anything.” Zuko mumbles, still watchful.

   “Me neither. I say we go back to camp and tell Aang that there’s nothing up here.” The wind has picked up since you got here, and you’re teeth are chattering.

   Zuko notices your shivering for the first time, and rolls his eyes. He flexes his fingers, and you can tell what he’s about to do from the look on his face. You can’t have him firebend here.

   “Don’t.” You say harsher than necessary.

  “You can’t give that away, especially if someone’s here.” You hastily add. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so concerned about sparing his feelings.

    “Yeah...you’re right.” Zuko says, but there’s a strange look in his eyes that you don’t quite understand.

    Suddenly, the cave bursts into life and a bright light pours through it. The hairs on your arms prickle as the hum around you intensifies. You can practically taste whatever it is in the air.

   “We need to get closer, see what’s going on.” Zuko says, “Maybe this is what Aang meant.”

   You swallow loudly, but nod your consent. Hesitantly, you trail behind him, nearing the cave. The light illuminates the wideness of its mouth, and its seemingly never ending depth. Anything could be in there, but what could be of any importance to you?

   However bad you think the idea is, you know you have to go inside. Something is waiting for you in this cave, and you have to face it.

   You look to Zuko to see if he’s come to a similar conclusion, and you find the same grim expression on his face. Locking eyes, you nod at each other, and start the trek inside.

   Zuko lights his fists on fire, and the flames dance around his knuckles in beautiful patterns. Even though you wish he wouldn’t bend, it’s Zuko’s flames that you focus on to keep yourself from becoming panicked. For the first time, you’re truly glad he’s there with you.

   So focused are you on Zuko’s flame, that you don’t notice that someone is sneaking up on you. You hear the sound of their footsteps too late, and then everything goes dark.

                                ————————————————

  You wake up to a pounding in your head. Groaning, you move to lift a hand to your injury, but find that they are bound to something. That something just so happens to be a warm, angry firebender.

  “Y/n?” He asks, and you can’t help but notice that his usually crabby voice is laced with concern.

   “Ugh.” You groan in response. The back of your head is exploding with pain.

   “Are you alright?” He questions lowly.

   “Head hurts.” You mumble.

    You feel Zuko moving behind you, and assume he’s nodding.

   “You got hit pretty hard.” He whispers. You’re appreciative of the fact that he has lowered his voice. “Good thing your head is so hard.” 

    And there it is. You decide to be the bigger person and ignore him.

   “Hit with what?” You ask.

    “Magic, dear.” Says a wheezing voice. All of a sudden, light fills up the cave again, and you squeeze your eyes shut against it.

    Your head pounds viciously in response to the brightness, and you groan again.

   “Sorry about that.” The voice says again, and this time you can tell that it belongs to a woman. An old one by the sound of it.

    You hear shuffling near you, and then something is pressed to your lips.

   “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.” She says.

    You shake your head, but she pressed the vial through your lips anyways, and forces your head back.

   “Leave her alone!” Zuko snaps.

   “Don’t worry firebender, I haven’t forgotten you.” The old woman says.

    The sweet liquid slides down your throat, and instantly your pain fades. You open your eyes to a wizened woman with a shock of bright white hair. Her eyes are crazed, and instantly you have a bad feeling about her. She winks at you and then moves away, one of her legs dragging behind her.

    You briefly take stock of you surroundings. The room is made of stone, so clearly you haven’t left the cave. That at least would make it easier if you escaped. The room is cluttered with vials, plants, and random torn pages. On one of the make shift tables you see a large cauldron and a mortar and pestle.

    “You’re a witch.” Your voice is flat.

     The old woman let’s out a shrieking cackle.

   “If that’s what you want to call it! Now I think it’s time you answer a few of my questions.” She says, crossing her arms.

    “We don’t owe you anything!” Zuko says through clenched teeth. You can feel his anger heating his body from where your backs touch.

   “No?” She says coyly. “You came to my cave to attack me!” She squeals, one eye twitching.

    “We didn’t come to attack you.” You say, trying to maintain the peace. Maybe she could be reasoned with. You feel Zuko tense behind you, and you know he’s preparing for a fight.

    “Then why were you sneaking into my cave, with this one on fire?” She says nodding in Zuko’s direction.

    This is the tricky part, figuring out how much to tell her. She clearly isn’t a fan of the Fire Nation, due to her reaction with Zuko, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe she knows who Zuko is, and is a Fire Nation sympathizer.

    “Well?” She questions.

    “We’re traveling with the Avatar, and he sent us up here to check this place out while he went to help the nearby village.” You blurt. It comes out of nowhere, and it was definitely not what you meant to say at all.

    Horrified, you gasp. Zuko tenses begins you.

   “What did you do to her?” He demands.

   “Just a little truth potion.” She hums. “Can’t hurt to know the people around you are honest.”

     You clamp your mouth, biting into your lip hard enough to draw blood.

    “We’re not your enemy.” Zuko says. “You don’t need to restrain us. Or trick us into telling the truth.”

     You watch as the old woman paces back and forth.

    “I am Kara.” She says finally. “Years ago, I made a deal with Fire Nation to protect my people. I would provide them with some magical assistance, if they would spare my village.”

    “You’re helping them?” You cry out.

    “Don’t judge me too harshly girl.” The woman snaps. “I did what I could for my people, just as you try to do.”

    “The Avatar will free you’re village.” Zuko says. “You will be able to prosper without Fire Nation soldiers breathing down your neck. Let us go, and we will be able to help him.”

    Something in his voice makes your heart stutter. Maybe it’s the sincerity in his voice, or the hard edge of determination. You have got to stop thinking about Zuko that way.

    Kara laughs and shakes her head.

    “No one will be able to defeat them. Not even the Avatar.” She shakes her head, sadly.

    “We have! Many times before.” You say. You don’t like Kara talking badly about Aang. He has almost mastered all of the elements, and you know he has what it takes to defeat Ozai. You all have done so much good for people already. 

    Kara just shakes her head again, and resumes pacing.

   “I’m sorry.” She says finally. “I wish your friend well, but I can’t let you leave without knowing you aren’t a threat to the Fire Nation. If they know that I didn’t do anything I could to help them, they will hurt the people I love.”

    Kara begins muttering under her breath, and you tense up. You hate being completely vulnerable and open to an attack. Zuko must be on the same page, for you can feel him struggling against the bonds.

    “Heat them up.” You whisper as quietly as you can. “Burn them.”

    Kara starts going around and picking out various objects from her jars.

   “I can’t. Your hands are too close, I’ll burn you.” He says.

   “You’ll have to. It’s the only way we’re getting out of here!” You snap.

   “No.” He says, hotly.

    “Zuko!”

    “I’m not going to hurt you, y/n!” He growls.

    To your dismay, your arguing has caught the attention of Kara. She has a bright gleam in her eyes as she’s watching you two.

    “I see.” She says. Then she starts laughing hysterically, wiping tears from her eyes.

    “I know just what to do! But first, young lady, just how much does this boy mean to you?”

    The truth spills from your lips again without your control.

    “A lot.” You say, and then you’re whole face turns red. You’re mortified, but at least Zuko can’t see your face.

   Kara giggle with glee and then nods to herself

 “Oh yes, just the thing.” She comes over to you both, and plucks hairs from your heads.

   “Hey!” You and Zuko both protest.

  She sets the hairs in a bowl, and then starts talking to herself again, this time loudly enough for you to hear. She’s speaking in a foreign language of some sort, and hastily you begin to tug on your bonds again.

   “Zuko, just do it!” You say.

     In a surprisingly fast move, Zuko manages to wrench his wrists away from yours and singe the ropes without burning you. He is up and shooting flames at Kara in an instant.

    The bowl catches on fire, but it’s a pink fire, something magical and not from Zuko.

    “You’re too late!” She cackles gleefully. Then she disappears in a plume of smoke, and you and Zuko are left alone in the cave.

                                  ——————————————

   You  are both on high alert as you make your way back to camp. Every noise makes you jumpy, as you wait for Kara’s spell to start working. You make it out of the woods without so much as a scratch. Though it looks like you’ve avoided her wrath, something feels off.

   “You’re too late.” She had said. Chills race up and down your spine.

   Zuko keeps lighting and extinguishing his fists. You think maybe he’s trying to make sure he can still bend. Possible scenarios play over and over in your head. There were thousands of things she could do to sabotage you and Zuko. She could take away his bending, paralyze you, or turn you into bugs. The possibilities are endless, and yet nothing has happened.

   The Gaang is waiting up for you when you finally arrive back at camp. You tell them about the witch and her curse. Sokka rolls his eyes and seems unconcerned.

   “She’s just a crackpot you guys. Obviously nothing will happen.”

   Toph seconds his notion, but Aang and Katara look wary. Katara makes you and Zuko repeat the story until you’re blue in the face, but she can’t figure it out any more than you can.

  You are too embarrassed from your admission to talk to Zuko, or even bicker with him like you normally would. You quickly excuse yourself to go to sleep, and spend the rest of the evening hiding in your tent.

   You fall into a restless sleep that night. You dream of the horrible things you considered happening to you. In one dream you’re a frog, in the other you’re pinned to the ground unable to move.

   You’re utterly exhausted when you’re woken up by you’re own screaming.

                             ————————————————-

  You sit up in your tent immediately. You knew you heard yourself scream, but it hadn’t come from your mouth. Seconds later, you burst into your tent.

  Your clone stops and look at you, with wide eyes.

  “Y/n?” Your voice asks you.

   “Yes?” You say, but it isn’t your voice that comes out when you speak. Instead, it’s Zuko’s rasp that forms the words.

   All of a sudden the pieces of the puzzle start clicking together.

   “Oh no.” You say horrified, and look down at your body.

   You have muscles now, and you feel stronger, bigger. You reach a hand up and grab a handful of short, ebony locks. Your other hand traces your features, and you feel the rough scar under the pads of your fingers.

   “This can’t be real.” You say in Zuko’s voice. “This can’t be happening.”

   “It’s happening.” Zuko says.

   It’s weird to see yourself objectively like this. You have this horrible out of body feeling, and it’s making your head spin. Anxiety hits you, and you start breathing heavy. You’re going to pass out.

    “Calm down!” Zuko says, rushing over to you. He wraps his arms around you, himself? Ugh it’s too confusing.

  “If you don’t calm down, you’re going to burn this tent down and hurt yourself!” He says. He awkwardly starts rubbing your back. “Breathe with me.” He instructs.

   Slowly, you start to calm down. Zuko lets his, your?, hands linger for a moment longer, before he pulls away and puts some distance between you.

    “What are we going to do?” You ask. Zuko makes a face at how weak his voice sounds.

    “I don’t know.” He says. His mannerisms look so weird on your body. You can tell that it’s him, just by the way he holds himself. You wonder if he’s experiencing the same thing watching you in his body.

  “We need to go back to the cave, demand that Kara gives us our bodies back.” You say.

   Zuko rolls your eyes.

  “I’m sure that will go over well.” He says.

  “Don’t make me sound all crabby.” You snap at him.

  “Don’t make me sound all girly and pathetic!” He retorts.

  “Pathetic?!”

  “Oh Zuko,” he mocks “what are we going to do? Save me Zuko, I care a lot about you!”

  “You’re so annoying!” You shout, embarrassed that he remembered your confession.

   “Can we not fight this early in the morning!” Sokka says, throwing open your tent.

  “Oh.” He says, looking between the two of you.

  You realize in embarrassment that you and Zuko are awfully close together, and you are in Zuko’s body in your sleeping bag. It has to look like Zuko slept in your tent.

   “Sokka, we can explain.” You say.

   Sokka hurriedly shakes his head, raising his hands.

   “No, no. Please don’t.” He says.

   “Sokka listen, the witch really did curse us.” Zuko says. “She made us switch bodies.”

    Sokka looks between the two of you and then bursts into laughter.

    “Ok well I have to say that’s the first time I’ve hear that excuse.” He says, wiping tears from the corners of his blue eyes.

   “We’re serious!” You snap at him.

    Sokka sobers up, looking between you two again.

   “You really did perfect your impressions of one another.” Sokka says, suddenly sounding a bit more unsure.

    “Ugh!” You snap, and push out of the tent in a huff. You need to find Toph. She could prove you weren’t lying.

     It’s cold outside your tent, and to your horror you find that you’re not wearing a shirt.

    “Zuko!” You screech. “Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt!”

   “I’m a firebender, y/n. I get hot!” He defends.

   “Get me a shirt!” You snap. Zuko rolls his eyes at your dramatics, but leads you to his tent and throws a tunic at you.

    It smells like him when you pull it over your head. You try not to obviously inhale, but it’s the first time you’ve really noticed how Zuko smells. It’s not the first time you’ve noticed his muscles, but now you have a first hand look. His abs are hard and defined, and you blush quickly finishing dressing.

    “Are you done starting at me?” Zuko asks.

    “I’m sorry, it’s just weird!” You tell him.

  Sokka’s jaw is nearly touching the ground as he watches your exchange.

   “No way.” He says, finally believing you.

  “Yeah, Sokka.” You say.

                           ——————————————————

  Toph confirms your story, and everyone sits in dumbfounded silence. Even you and Zuko don’t have much more to say.

  “Well you have to go talk to Kara.” Katara says helpfully. “We’ll have to make her change you back.”

   “Wow that’s helpful. Thank you Katara, why didn’t we think of that.” Zuko says.

  “Y/n!” Katara says, hurt.

  “Zuko.” You and Zuko both correct her.

  “Whatever.” She mutters, angrily.

  “Katara’s right.” Says Aang. “We’ll all go. Maybe if I can convince her that I can help, she’ll change you back.”

   There seems to be no better plan than this. Sokka and Toph stay behind at the campsite, while the rest of you start the hike up the mountain.

   The breeze isn’t so bad now that you’re in Zuko’s body. He’s right when he says that he doesn’t get cold. He, on the other hand, is openly shivering in your body. You almost feel a little bad, but you remember him telling you it wasn’t that bad last night, and think better of it.

   “How do you survive like this?” He moans when you come to a stop. “It’s so cold all the time.”

   You smirk at his dramatics.

  “That’s what you get.”

   “For what!” He questions, and you can feel the fight brewing.

   “Oh I don’t know, maybe ‘You’re so dramatic y/n.’” You mock. “’It’s not that cold, y/n. Calm down, y/n’”

“I wasn’t telling you to calm down because you were cold.” He snaps. “I was trying to tell you to stop panicking!” He throws his hands up and stomps ahead.

   It’s a little embarrassing, and you think back to every tantrum you’ve thrown. Maybe this is a somewhat positive experience. You’re definitely learning about the annoying things you do.

   You and Zuko bicker all the way up the mountain. Though it’s not unusual for you all, but you can tell it’s driving Aang and Katara crazy.

   “Can you all please knock it off!” Katara yells, eventually. All three of you jump, and she crosses her arms. “I am sick and tired of hearing you all argue. That’s all you do every day! Can’t you all come to some sort of truce?”

   You and Zuko both narrow your eyes at each other.

 “No!” You say at the same time.

   “Ugh!”

                         —————————————————-

  You make it up the mountain alive, but barely. Everyone’s tempers are running high by the time you break through the trees.

  “Alright,” Zuko says. “We need to be careful. She knocked y/n out with one blow. She’ll do it again if we aren’t careful.”

   You’re about to protest the way he makes your ambush sound, but Aang mediates before your get riled up.

   “Just let it go.” He tells you.

   You all enter the cave quietly, heads constantly scanning the area as Zuko leads you down to the belly of the cave. You recognize the room when you get to it. The evidence of Kara is everywhere, still littered around the floor.

   “She isn’t here?” Zuko says.

    “Great observation.” You retort.

   “Guys, guys!” Aang snaps. “Enough. Let’s look through the books around here. There’s got to be something that tells us how to fix this.”

   The four of you spend what feels like hours combing through the books and pages around the room.

    “There’s nothing here!” Zuko cries, slamming a book onto the table.

    “That’s because it’s a spell of my own invention.” Kara’s wheezy voice says.

    You all jump into defensive stances, ready to attack. Kara holds up a wrinkled hand, but otherwise looks unbothered.

    “Please.” She says passively. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

    “Change back my friends!” Aang demands. “It’s me you have a problem with.”

   “Ah the Avatar.” Kara smiles. “You really are here.”

    “Yes. And I promise I will free your village. But first you must free my friends.” He says.

   “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She says, eyes glittering again.

    “Why not?” Katara challenges.

    “I can’t change them back, because they must do it themselves.” She smiles.

   “What do you mean?” You ask, broad furrowing. There’s a light protesting from Zuko’s scar at the movement.

    “Save my village and I’ll tell you.” She says. “And you better do it fast, because in three days this will become permanent.”

                            ————————————————-

   Freeing the village from Fire Nation troops is going to be a bigger struggle than you anticipated, you realize as you and Zuko stroll down the streets. You currently have a hood pulled way over your head to hide your identity. There seemed to be hundred of them, and there were only six of you.

   “We’re never going to be able to pull this off.” You mutter under your breath. “I’m going to be you forever.”

   “How do you think I feel?” Zuko laments. “I’m losing my bending, my honor, everything.”

    “Well we wouldn’t be in this mess if I had just gone up there alone.” You snap as you approach the center of the village. 

    “Right, if you had gone alone you would’ve been killed!” He snaps back.

    “Why do you assume I’m so incapable of taking care of myself?!” You’re infuriated now. “I took care of myself for years before I ever met you!”

    “Don’t see how!” He growls. “All you ever do is get yourself in trouble, and someone always has to be there to help!”

    “Excuse me?!” You roar. “How dare you?!”

    The Fire Nation soldiers are slowly starting to gather around you, curious about the fight.

   “How dare I?” Zuko ramps up the volume. “How dare you?” He points a finger at your chest.

   So far, your distraction seems to be working. Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph are all getting into position. You just have to keep up the fighting a little longer.

   “You’re always babying me, and acting like I need a keeper! I’m not a child, and you don’t have to take it upon yourself to be my caretaker! I’m just fine on my own!” You yell, channeling his body’s natural penchant for rage.

    “Somebody has to!” Zuko snaps back, and over exaggerates putting his hand on his hip. “You never do it yourself. You’re always doing reckless things for other people, and your not as equipped to throw yourself in danger like everyone else!”

    Suddenly this fight feels a bit too real, and you find yourself getting actually offended. How dare he insinuate that your lack of bending meant you weren’t a good fighter!

   “What so I’m not allowed to care about my friends and do things to protect them?” You screech. “I’m sorry I don’t have all your talents, my lord. Next time I’ll make sure I get your permission first before I try and help somebody out!”

    “You always take everything I say out of context!” He snaps.

     “Hey guys?” Aang says, garnering the attention of the crowd. “I think that’s good enough, thanks.”

     Then all chaos breaks loose. Katara, Aang, and Toph start the fight with their bending. The Fire Nation soldiers, though caught unaware, do not take long to start fighting back. You wish that you knew how to utilize Zuko’s firebending, but you settle on using his physical strength instead.

   Most of the defense moves you know are geared towards you being smaller than your opponent. Not all of them work now that you’re Zuko’s size, and you find yourself struggling more than usual in your fights.

   Zuko seems to be having a similar issue learning how to fight in your body. You notice he has a habit of getting into bending stances out of pure habit. You notice that he’s getting cornered, when you go to help him.

   Together, you fight pretty well, instructing each other on moves as you go. Sokka’s boomerang flies about, knocking out opponents left and right. Your benders are doing well too, and soon enough, you’ve defeated the Fire Nation soldiers.

   You’re sore, body aching from exertion, but the happy villagers make it feel worth it.

   “Thank you, Avatar!” Someone yells after Aang explains who you all are.

    Your eyes find Kara’s in the crowd. It was time you got your body back.

   “Hey!” You yell as she walks away.

    “Y/n?” You hear Zuko call behind you as you take off, pushing through the crowd.

    “Hey! Stop!” You yell at Kara. “You owe us an explanation!”

      Zuko catches up to you, and you both chase after her. Finally, Kara stops in the woods, away from all the people.

     “I thought you’d want some privacy!” She cackles. “I saw your little distraction out there. Seemed pretty real.” You and Zuko shuffle and avoid eye contact, as the rest of the Gaang catches up with you.

  “We saved your village!” Aang says, “Now tell us how to fix this.” He waves a hand at you and Zuko.

   Kara’s eyes sparkle as she looks at all of you.

  “As I said, I can’t change you back. You have to do it yourselves.” She sings.

  “How?” Zuko grounds out through his, your, clenched jaw.

   “All you have to do is kiss!” She says gleefully clapping her hands together.

   Everyone is silent as you all take in this information.

   “There has to be another way.” Zuko says. There’s a desperate edge to his voice that hurts your feelings. Is the thought of kissing you so awful that he wouldn’t do it even to get his body back?

    Rolling your eyes, you stroll over and kiss Zuko’s, your, cheek. It’s a weird experience for sure, knowing that you’re kissing both Zuko and yourself.

   “Not that kind of kiss.” Kara says, smiling like a maniac. “A real one!”

   The color drains from Zuko’s face, and the rest of your friends remain silent. You can feel their eyes watching your every move. 

  Zuko’s disgust is plain, and even though it hurts, you just want your body back and to forget this every happened.

   “Zuko, I know you’re absolutely disgusted, but I’d like my body back before I’m you forever.” You say annoyed. “You can wash out your mouth and vomit when you have your own body back.”

   You can hear the muted hurt in your own voice, and it’s kind of embarrassing that you know everyone else can hear it too.

   “I’m afraid it’s the only way.” Kara adds.

   “If it helps just think about the fact that you’re kissing yourself, not me.” You say. More than ever you want this experience to be over, so you can go mourn your hurt feelings somewhere in private.

    Zuko sighs, and then approaches you.

  “Fine.” He says.

  Awkwardly, you both fidget, unsure how to initiate the kiss. It doesn’t help that literally everyone, including Momo and Appa, are looking at you.

   “Some privacy?” You ask them.

   “Oh yeah sure.” They all mumble, whistling and looking away. The second you turn back to Zuko you can feel their eyes on you. Some friends.

   “Let’s just get it over-” you get cut off by Zuko pressing his lips to yours.

    Instantly, you feel the switch happening. You feel yourself being pulled and re-anchored into your own body. Your limbs feel normal again, and then you really start to feel the kiss.

   Zuko pulls you closer to his warm, muscular body. Everything is exploding around you, and all you want to do is be even closer to him. You bring your arms up and settle them on his broad shoulders. Your hands wind themselves around his neck, and you play with the ends of his hair.

   Zuko’s large hands are also doing their fair share of exploring. One rests on your hips while the other tangles itself in your hair, and both pull you closer. His tongue opens your lips and you let him in, a moan escaping from you. It feels right, kissing Zuko like this. Like it is something that was always meant to happen.

   Somebody clears their throat and breaks up your moment. Slowly, you and Zuko part. You’re thrilled to realize it’s his swollen lips and amber eyes that you see when you pull away.

   “Well that was something!” Kara squeals in delight.

    Heat pools into your cheeks, as you asses your friends’ expressions. Aang looks embarrassed, Katara has heart eyes, and Toph and Sokka both look disgusted.

   “It worked.” You say breathlessly. Already you have the intense desire to kiss Zuko again, but suddenly you’re insecure. What if he hated it? He had seemed so disgusted before.

   “Yeah it did.” Zuko says, and then he smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Some privacy?” He asks everyone, tightening his grip on you. Butterflies explode in your stomach as he does, and you’ve never felt so fluttery before.

   Your friends make themselves scarce, telling you they’ll be at camp. Kara scrambles off too, cackling all the while, and then you are alone.

  Your heart is pounding, and you’re really unsure how to tell Zuko how you feel. What if he doesn’t feel the same?

   Suddenly, Zuko presses his lips to yours again, and it feels like he’s devouring you. He’s passionate and fiery, and every press of his tongue against yours makes you feel like you’re on fire. Your body is buzzing when he finally pulls away to catch his breath.

   “I didn’t mean what I said during our fight.” He says, leaning his forehead against yours and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I don’t think you’re incapable or less than because you aren’t a bender. I think you’re one of the most talented people I know, and I also know that you can take care of yourself.” He says taking a deep breath.

   Zuko takes a step back, and removed an arm to put a finger under your chin. He lift your chin so you’re looking into his eyes.

   “I worry about you. All the time.” He says. “I’m so scared that you’ll get hurt and I won’t be there to protect you. My number one instinct is to protect you. That’s why I always ‘hover’ and volunteer to go on missions with you. If something happened to you....”

   “I feel the same way about you, you know.” You say smiling. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt either. And I don’t necessarily hate it when you’re around.” You tease him. “Or when you kiss me.”

   Zuko laughs, a deep happy laugh. It’s one of the first times you’ve ever seen him look so buoyant. You take the opportunity to kiss him this time, and he sighs happily into your mouth.

    “What are we going to do now?” You ask him.

    “Probably get back to our friends.” He says, grabbing your hand in his as you start making your way to your camp site.

    “You know, Zuko, Toph’s right.” You say. “You really do take people on life changing adventures!”

A/n: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this! I’ve been working on my requests so hopefully I’ll have a few more stories out for you guys over the weekend. I’m going to be adding some things to my ‘Fanfic prompts’ post, so be sure to check it out if you want to request something! (also I’m fine with people requesting things that aren’t on that list if you have something specific for me to write!) Have a good weekend, and you can find all my other writing under the tag slythergirlimagines. I think I tagged everyone who asked to be tagged in my atla stuff, but if I missed you please let me know and I’ll correct it!!

Taglist: @galacticamidala​ @a-random-queer-kid​ @taeeemin​ @realimbo​ @samsmultifandomblogs​

@fire1ordzuzu​ @shortmexicangirl​

[arysthaeniru]

...I hear you’re doing drabble giveaways? :) I would love some nishitani/majima!! I saw you wanted to write a nishitani lives au and i hope you end up doing it because I would love to see how you write them ❤️

Aaaahhhh, thank you for this request <3 I hope you enjoy this little snippet, I really like Nishitani’s dynamic with Majima, because it’s so much about temptation and vices and flagrant hedonism that makes Majima value himself more as a person. Nishitani’s whole shtick is about pleasure and when Majima of Yakuza 0 is convinced he doesn’t deserve that, it makes for an excellent dynamic. 

Somehow Nishitani has found Club Sunshine. Majima notices him on one of their busiest days, on the tailend of dealing with a problem customer, who'd had issues with the quality of their champagne. He's cloistered himself in one of the back booths, entertained by Saki-chan.

Majima snaps to attention and rushes over to the booth, even though Saki hasn't made the hand signal for help yet. He snaps his fingers, once, twice. "Out." He says, shortly, and feels a slow curl of rage within him as Nishitani just turns to give Majima a once-over, slow and lingering, smirk spreading over his face.

"Majima-kun, I didn't think ya'd turn down a payin’ customer." Nishitani drawls, with a self-satisfied grin.

"Payin’ customer or not, yer trouble. Out." Majima snaps, stiffly.

Saki turns to look at Majima, anxiously, but she doesn't seem especially perturbed by Nishitani's presence. What is it about his charm where somehow, girls who dislike being taken for granted, are magically alright with Nishitani's presence? The girls at the Grand too, had been surprisingly unfazed by Nishitani breaking Majima's 'Look-Don't-Touch' rules. "Majima-san..." she says, in that tone that means she's worried about him.

"Ya all good here?" Majima asks Saki, gently. For all that she's a strong woman who is used to taking care of herself, Majima wants her to know she can rely on him to defuse anything uncomfortable for her.

"Don't be so paranoid, Majima-kun. We're getting along just fine!" Nishitani squeezes Saki's bicep, in an overly-friendly way, and Majima scowls when Saki just giggles, not even vaguely discomfited.

"Not talking ta you, am I? Shaddup."

"I'm fine, Majima-san." Saki says, with a sunny smile.

Majima grimaces to and turns his gaze on Nishitani. It's a busy night. He really can't insist on running Nishitani away, not if he's going to behave himself and get them money. He's got other girls to take care of. "One step outta line, and I call the police, pronto. Ya won't get ta fight me at all." Majima says, firmly, and turns on his heel to walk away, before he can get a response.

Inbetween getting refills for Yuki and towels for Erranda, Majima hears snippets of their conversation all evening.

"I like my lovers strong, intent. Makes everything more fun, ya know?" "Nothin’ draws the eye more than a girl who's confident in herself." "Gotta love somebody who can take care of 'emselves."

The whole time, Saki just laughs, handles herself with her usual graceful aplomb, steers the conversation in pleasant, easy directions, showing off her prowess as the former star of Club Jupiter, perfectly adept at handling rougher types.

Majima seethes, quietly and tries to not watch them, listen to them. But he can't help it. Whenever he has even a momentary breather, his peripheral senses can't help but turn towards Nishitani. He justifies it to himself as keeping an eye out for trouble, but if he's being really honest with himself, that's not the primary reason.

Majima's always been drawn to strength. It's the one thing that has always shaped his path, shaped his destiny. It had been what had drawn to him to Saejima, like a moth to the flame, in the middle of those Tokyo streets as a youth. It had been what convinced Majima to chain himself to Shimano’s yoke, get the man’s motifs and markings all over his back. It had been what made Majima so comfortable in Fei Hu’s shop, and so familiar with Lee’s rough approach. A mixture of sheer adrenaline, blood-thumping through his entire chest, a shot of courage, fury and wild chaos, and desire, slow and cloying, curling up in the pit of his stomach, making him light-headed and short of breath. Majima’s life has been defined and drawn around strength, power, desire, ambition.

And Nishitani’s powerful. He’d felt the surges of his strength, precision and cleverness throughout that short fight through the Grand’s centre-stage. If Majima had slipped even once, if Majima had been anything less than perfect, propelled by the fury of confusion, he would have died to Nishitani’s blade.

That shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is.

Especially not when considering Nishitani’s about twenty years past his prime. He’s from the same generation as Shimano, Sagawa, those old fucks who’ve caged him in, trapped him down. With freckled sun-spots smattered over wrinkling skin, and touches of grey to the roots of his hair, and his scarred, calloused hands, Majima shouldn’t be drawn to him in that way. Old, pervy fucker, he should represent everything Majima hates most about the generation of yakuza above him.

But he can’t help it. Nishitani’s presence is like a livewire, electrifying, dangerous, addictive. And Majima couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.

When the evening shift draws to a close, Majima leaves Youda and Yuki to be in charge of wiping down the place and saying goodbye to the last of the customers. He dips out for a smoke instead, to try and gain control of his fraying nerves, to pull himself back into a modicum of calm. He can’t lose himself in this.

He’s not yakuza anymore. Just a man desperately trying to stay alive long enough to let Saejima kill him. And a man trying desperately to preserve any sense of goodness, keep that fragile spark of a girl safe inside that cold warehouse... none of him has room for Nishitani’s advances.

And yet...

“You ever consider lettin’ yer hair free, Majima-kun? Just for a moment?” Nishitani drawls, voice dangerously close to Majima’s. They’re outside the club now, and he’s not a paying customer anymore. That makes this interaction dangerous.

“No.” Majima says, puffing out a cool breeze of smoke straight into Nishitani’s face. The fucker doesn’t even flinch, just grins, that lightly mocking smile.

“Not even once? Shame that. Pretty things like you only gets better when they cut loose a little, live free.” Nishitani says, sauntering around to prop himself up over Majima, trapping him into the wall. It’s at once a threat of aggression, and a threat of something else, something more sensible. His hand comes in close, as if to caress Majima’s hair, but he stops just short of doing it, balances it against the wall instead.

Perhaps he senses Majima’s internal tension, perhaps he knows that Majima will deck him the moment Nishitani lays a hand on him. Or maybe it’s something like respect for Majima’s rules. (Majima dismisses that thought immediately, Nishitani wouldn’t know respect if it came up to him and sucked his dick.)

Despite himself, Majima swallows a little, as he takes another deep inhale of the cigarette. “The fuck do you want? I ain’t tellin’ you where Makoto is.”

Nishitani grins. From up close, Majima can smell the alcohol on his breath, whiskey, cigarettes and something else, a little deeper. It’s not exactly a good smell, but it’s a familiar smell, a comfortable smell. Nishitani is the epitome of the yakuza lifestyle that Majima had grown up desiring.

“Don’t worry, Majima-kun. I ain’t here for that today. Got a little proposition for ya, instead.” he says, licking his lips. Majima can’t look away from his mouth, the slight pinkness of his tongue against his surprisingly dark lips, and so he almost misses Nishitani’s next sentence. “Got a job I need ya ter do for me.”

Majima frowns. “The fuck would I do that for?”

“Issa job only you can do” Nishitani grins, and waggles his eyebrows. “Compensate ya handsomely, of course.”

Majima rolls his eyes, but honestly, for cash-money, he’ll do just about anything for anybody, short of prostitution. Anything to get his debt to Shimano and Sagawa square. “What?” he asks, pretending to be bored, pretending none of this interests him.

“There’s this gambling club I run that’s been real trouble, lately. Won’t listen to a damn word I say, and they seem to be squirreling some cash away, some big winnings they managed to poach from a pack of fools. Can’t have that sort of shit on my turf.” Nishitani says, with a casual ease. “I’d send my boys in, but ya see, someone seems ta have done a number on ‘em, and they look about as threatening as a flock of pigeons, all covered in bandages like they are.”

“You could do it yerself.” Majima says, gaze darting down to Nishitani’s feet. Just over the edge of his socks, Majima can see the bandages, and he’s noticed that Nishitani holds himself with a limp. He’s clearly still injured from their fight, when Majima had shoved his fucking knife right inbetween his tendons.

“I could, but ya see, they know my face. They’d gear up for trouble the moment I stepped within a five-foot vicinity. You on the other hand...” Nishitani leans in, that smug grin only getting bigger.

Majima snorts, before he can stop himself. “Ya say that like everybody in this town doesn’t know my face, too.”

“Lord of the Night.” Nishitani agrees, and his voice hums with approval. “But ya see, yer reputation precedes you. Everybody knows ya don’t start fights, ya end them. So if you started a fight at the gambling parlour, not a damn soul would expect it.” There’s a crazed glint to Nishitani’s eyes, reflecting off the neon signs from the bars around them, and Majima shouldn’t be considering this at all, but he is. The thought of going in and smashing heads of people who actually deserve it always gets Majima’s blood simmering. He can’t help himself. He’s a creature nurtured on a diet of violence, and the Hole has changed him. It shaped him in the image of its own cruelty, and Majima had let its madness into his soul, or he would never have lived to see the sunlight again.

Majima wonders what had made Nishitani this way.

“The fuck would I jeopardize my rep for? For you?” asks Majima, dangerously.

“I’ll owe ya one, just the pleasure of seein’ ya go crazy in there.” Nishitani says, leaning inwards, mouth just centimetres from Majima’s ear. “Whatever ya want, name it.”

Majima’s skin is alit with goosebumps, he feels like a leaf in the breeze, one touch would undo him, undo all of Majima’s tightly laced boundaries, would unravel everything that has kept him safe and alive. If Nishitani pressed even an inch closer, Majima would agree to just about anything he asked. And they both know it, it’s the electric spark between them, Nishitani’s complete understanding of how fragile everything about Majima’s existence is.

But Nishitani doesn’t touch him, just lets his breath caress the inner curve of Majima’s ear and pulls back, eyes glinting with maleficent amusement.

He wants Majima to make the step on his own. He wants Majima to come apart at his own behest. Fucking sadist.

“Well. Let me know. Ya know where ta find me.” Nishitani says, slow and languid. “Be seein’ ya, Majima-kun.”

He saunters away without a care in the world, and Majima lets the cigarette drop from his mouth and presses his back against the wall outside Club Sunshine, desperately trying to quell the fire within him that blazes in indignation at letting Nishitani just walk away from him.

[votederpycausemufins]

oh hey it’s 2 am, here’s a chapter. Hope it’s not too short. i’m gonna sleep

@petrichormeraki​

Mumbo offered to help take off Philza’s house arrest boots, but they found that they were actually quite easy to remove. Since it was the furthest away, they decided going to Techno’s base would be the best to stay out, though there were some complications due to rain and Wilbur not doing well together.

While Mumbo would have loved input from Techno, the piglin hybrid was only around for brief periods of time, trying to mess with the compass that signalled his direction. Still, the hardcore player had good insight into more combat related plans.

Eyes widened when Mumbo placed down the shulker box that held his redstone tools. To try and keep Tommy from taking it, he had to give one of his shulkers that just had wood in it to the young blond. When Tommy tried to hide it in his ender chest, he actually jumped back in surprise. “What the fuck?! Where’d all these diamonds and emeralds come from?! And I’ve got more?!” He pulled out a shulker box from the chest.

“Oh good, you’ve still got all your items from Hermitcraft. That’ll hopefully make things much easier.” Mumbo took his log box back from Tommy now that he had his own. “I’m not sure what all you have, but I’m sure anything will be helpful right now.”

“What the fuck! I have a block of netherite in here?!”

Grian decided he was not actually dead. At least he was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. He had been here for a while and learned a few things. While there was some sort of ground, he could pick up both his legs without falling and just sort of floated there. Waving his arms and legs didn’t seem to help him move. Or maybe it did, he wasn’t sure since everything looked the same. And after trying to do that for quite a while, Grian felt tired.

Feeling tired assured Grian, and he was fairly certain that being dead meant you couldn’t get tired. He couldn’t be sure though. It hadn’t come up in his questions for Wilbur when he was catching up with his family. He was also worried about getting hungry too, but at least that didn’t seem to be a concern.

Grian was trying to think of things to distract himself with. He had already tried just about every idea he came up with for trying to get out with no luck. He had tested gravity a little too much and felt like throwing up when he had tried doing a flip in the air, only for gravity to shift with him instead of staying stationary. Fortunately he could also sit instead of just stand or float.

He had tried checking if he had any items on his person, but other than his clothes, Grian had nothing. That was a shame as his next idea was to try building something so he had something to focus on other than his hands or legs. Staring into the vast white void had become old, quick and disorienting.

So, being unable to do much else, Grian simply closed his eyes and started to imagine a build. He started to mentally work on a nice little cottage, a nearby pen to fill with chickens. Perfect to collect eggs to throw at his friends. Then he started imagining what he could add onto his mansion. Maybe with his family in the picture again, he could add in rooms for each of them. He had already thought of adding a place for Tommy.

When he hopefully saw them next, he would need to ask what they all wanted. It seemed Wilbur’s favorite color was still blue, so a room with blue accents would do well for him. Techno likely wouldn’t have stopped loving yellow and gold seeing as he was a piglin hybrid and all that. But in checking in on his family, he had made a nice wood house, so possibly it could be a much more standard room.

Tommy’s room would likely take after his tower. He had been so proud when he had started building it and the other Hermits voiced their approval. Grian chuckled. He asked how tall it was going to be and Tommy put his hands on his hips and said-

“All the way up to build height! I’ll make sure I can barely see the ground below. I can get all the way to the top and jump off to fly wherever I want without a rocket or anything!”

Grian’s eyes shot open at Tommy’s voice and found the white expanse replaced with a familiar scene. He was back in hermitcraft and standing next to Tommy and himself.

“You sure? It might be cool, but would take a long time to put it all together. I mean, how long did it take to build these floors?”

“Uh…” Tommy rubbed the back of his head. “Okay maybe I won’t go all the way to build height.”

Grian tried walking and found he actually moved around. “Is this… what is this?” He wasn’t quite sure. “I mean, at least it’s better than literally nothing.” He sat down and just watched the scene play out, it going just how he remembered.

Techno came back to the cabin to rest. He had been all over the place and had even pushed himself a little more just to get back, so the first thing he did was crash onto his bed to rest. Philza stopped helping Mumbo to keep watch, but if Mumbo was completely honest, he wouldn’t mind more people showing up if they could help them as well.

Ghostbur had wandered off to who knows where and Tommy was messing with the items he had found in his ender chest, leaving Mumbo working on his own. Without much of an idea on where to look for Grian, currently the idea was to work on prepping. Potions of invisibility and full netherite gear would be good, so the nether was going to be a must. 

Since grinding for TNT was a bit harder with a lack of farms and shops, beds were crafted and slowly filled up chests. Using the room Tommy had dug out beneath the house, Mumbo created a bit of a bunker to put all their prepared gear. He tried not to think of the time he had to help Grian coax a terrified looking Tommy out of one he had created.

Shouts suddenly came from outside and Mumbo quickly left the bunker through the outside exit. He saw Philza confronted by four people, two of which Mumbo recognized, though their attire was different.

“You’re supposed to be under house arrest! You can’t just defy the president like that!”

“Well you didn’t really do much to keep me in there.”

“We’ll make sure that you can’t take the boots off this time.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Please can you listen? You’re my grandpa!”

“And Techno is my son.”

Mumbo walked over, not as cautious with none of the visitors currently wearing armor. “Excuse me, may I ask why you’re here?”

The four people turned to face Mumbo. He frowned at the face that they too also sported magenta eyes. “Who are you?” One of them in a suit that resembled Mumbo’s own spoke.

“Um, the name is Mumbo. I’m a friend of Iskall. I believe at least one of you knows him.” He frowned as none of them, not even Fundy seemed to recognize the name. It seemed it was worse than he thought. “Oh dear, well, I’m sure you have a very good reason for being here, but you really shouldn’t.”

“Are you trying to defend Techno?” One of them spoke. Mumbo didn’t know who they were either. “He destroyed L’Manburg and needs to pay for that.”

The door to the cabin slammed open. “We’ve got more important stuff to do than that!” Tommy shouted and Tubbo was the first to look over.

“T-Tommy?”

“Hey Big T.”

It took a bit of explaining, but the butchers, as they were calling themselves, agreed to help out, mainly at Tommy’s pleading. Mumbo explained more of his plan, which Tommy seemed grateful for. Tubbo kept trying to get their friend’s attention, But Tommy couldn’t look back, refusing to meet their eyes. 

Neither he nor Mumbo knew why everyone’s eyes were like that. Mumbo had assumed that was why no one could remember anything, but if that were the case, then why could Tommy still not recall any of the past few years now that whatever magic - at least, the assumption was the color was due to magic - was gone.

Tubbo seemed to think that Tommy was still upset about the exile even though the blond kept insisting that wasn’t it. So Mumbo tried to reassure Tubbo. “Hey, he’s dealing with the fact that he was living with someone you were coming to attack and that’s why he’s seeing you again, along with knowing he’s lost many memories and learning he’s got a brother trapped by Dream. It’s perfectly fine that he’s feeling a bit put off right now.”

Tubbo reluctantly agreed, Which Mumbo was glad for, allowing them to continue working on their plan. And then that was when Ghostbur walked in.

“Hey Techno. I didn’t know you had any neighbors. Do you think they’ll help?”

Techno, who was still trying to rest a bit, sat up. “What do you mean neighbors?”

“Well there’s a place nearby. Oh, but there’s a sign on it saying no trespassers, especially you, so maybe we can’t talk to them.”

“Wilbur, do you think you could go back there and look around, telling us what you see?” Philza asked his ghost son, who was happy to help as he left again.

Grian had decided he would much rather be dead. This place showed him memories of whatever he started to think of. It had been fine at first, but then one thing led him into a spiral of bad memories. Even though it wasn’t real, right now he was hiding along with his memory copy, trying to hold his breath and not cry too loudly to let Yuki know where he was. The suit his copy was wearing was full of cuts from the girl’s knife and even though he didn’t have any of the injuries, he could remember the pain.

He tried hard to think of something different, something better. He looked around hoping something would give him an idea, but it just made him worry that Yuki could be there. He looked down at his shaking hands and saw the band of metal on them and finally, a new memory, a better one, crossed his mind.

Instead of hiding from a crazed girl, now he was in his mansion, Jrumbot following him around. 

“Please! Please dad I won’t even sell it to you! Just let me show you!”

The memory Grian sighed and looked at his son. “Oh all right. What do you have?”

“Well, Uncle Iskall was telling me some things and made some joke which left me confused, and that’s because you and daddy are my dads.”

“That we are.”

“And apparently dads are supposed to get married?”

“Well, we don’t have to get married. There are some worlds that do that, and your daddy and I do like each other a lot. But we have you, we don’t need to get married.”

“But, well, Iskall told me that people who love each other a lot and get married have rings to show other people that they love each other that much and I want to make sure everyone knows that you’re my dads.”

Grian smiled as the memory Jrumbot gave his memory version a little ring made out of a gold nugget. It was a bit rough, but gold was pliable enough and Jrumbot was a strong robot, so it was okay.

“Alright, well if you made it, I can wear it for you. That means that it doesn’t just show how much I love your daddy, but how much I love you and Grumbot too.”

Grian smiled once more and looked at his own ring. He happily shined it against his sweater before admiring it. It reflected his face back to him and- Grian froze. Magenta eyes looked back up at him instead of his hazel ones.

ooo colors colors colors, what could they mean?

[smuckersblr]

Crybaby parody part 1?

“I swear man, they always plan these things when I can’t find an excuse to be in the damn theatre room.” One of the squares, Steve, mumbled to himself with self preservation. The squares and crybabies were all lined up in the gym, ready to get their shots for flu season, much to the squares’ dismay, they didn’t want to be in such close quarters to the damn holaguns.

The only one in this whole gym though, that didn’t really mind so much being near any crybaby, was Tony Stark. In fact he was intrigued with them, especially Peter Parker. The hottest crybaby he’s ever seen, in his opinion. “Come on, it can’t be that big of a deal…” Tony’s words were faint to his ears once he saw some of the crybabies push Peter up the front of the line, where Tony stood across from. Just the thought of sitting only an arms-length away from the guy has Tony’s pits soaked. “You better watch it with your gaze on that drape, Tones.” Rhodey mutters next to him, his eyes on the dirty floorboards of the old gymnasium.

“I-I don’t know what you're talking about.” Tony walked quickly up to the stool where the nurse rubbed a disinfectant on his arm for the needle. Peter fidgeting with the other nurse while she pestered him to “stay still, crybaby”. Tony was caught looking at his features when Peter finally looked up to see who was staring at him. Their eyes locked and Tony swore he felt a surge go through his body. Maybe it’s just him being a horny teenager, but Tony was in love.

Peter looked away quickly and smoothed his gelled hair back, a loose strand swinging at the front.

Peter stood out front of the school, hanging in front of his car with his crew, talking about plans for the weekend. Tony didn't mean to be nosy but he wanted to finally make a move. Once Tony started to walk towards their direction, his friends, Rhodey, Steve, and Bruce were begging him to come back. “Hey Parker.” Tony said dumbly, rubbing his clammy palms on his slacks looking like a complete dope. Peter looked Tony up and down slowly with a grin that showed the gem on his canine. “Hey Stark, you going to church or somethin’?” his friends chuckled next to him, all with cigarettes dangling from their mouths or a lighter to flick in their hands. Tony let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “Nah, my ma made me wear this today for the senior photos.” Tony mentally slapped himself, because why the fuck did he tell him about that?

Peter laughed genuinely and stepped a little closer in Tony’s space. “Well if you’re not busy tonight you could come over and I could remove the issue.” Another loud chorus of laughter went up behind Peter, Tony blushed and smiled wearily, Peter's eyes scanning over Tony’s body made it clear what he would be removing. “Uh, yah sure I just need to ask my-” a loud horn honking behind them made Tony stop and turn around. “Mom?!” his mom had a crazed look in her eyes and her mouth agape. “Anthony Edward Stark, you better get yourself into this car right now and away from those drapes!” the crybabies feigned a hurt look and faux shock with their gasps. “Now now Mrs. Stark, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume that you squares shouldn’t be so rash around other folks like us.” Natasha, Peter’s sister, snarked back with a shark grin and a lollipop obscenely being sucked with her red lips. Mrs. Stark gasped and opened the door for Tony. “Tony, now!” Tony looked back at the crybabies and gave a sad smile. “Uh, maybe next time Pete.” Peter gave a wink and licked his teeth with a hungry look in his eyes. “I’d sure hope so Anthony.” Now Tony never liked his actual name, but once Peter said it, it just sounds so right. Tony blushed even harder and sat in the car, never breaking eye contact with Peter.

Peter watched the Cadillac screech off with a devilish grin on his face. “Peter’s got a crush~” Wanda giggled under Sam’s arm. Peter rolled his eyes and slammed his hand on the car's hood. “Lets ride!” they all yelled in excitement and got in the flame painted car.

There’s not one second that Tony can’t stop thinking of Peter’s soft face, contrasted with the leather jacket with the ‘crybaby’ logo on the back and the tattoo on his temple that just gets Tony weirdly aroused. Tony was scolded by his friends with his obsession, but he wasn’t the only one with these dark thoughts. Peter was in deep, every dream he had was filled with that dorky face that was so handsome underneath his big square glasses, his body hidden behind an oversized blazer and those loose slacks didn’t do him any justice. Peter would bite his lip and squeal to himself with every glance, every damn thought, it just drove him mad. So he went into action, cause that's what crybabies do. They take what they want.

Bucky had lectured him about dating a square, saying that Peter deserved the baddest of guys, and not some damn bible hugger. Peter naturally ignored what he told him, because Peter knew that Bucky was just being an overprotective idiot.

Peter sauntered down the school's hallway with a cherry lollipop and his gang's colors wrapped around his bicep since the heat has been high this week for a leather jacket.

The squares around Tony’s locker gaped and stuttered Tony’s name. Tony was oblivious with who was behind him, but once a hand tapped his shoulder, and he turned around. It felt like his body was lit on fire, like he was drowning in the damn attraction he felt for this guy. “Hey stud.” Peter’s voice smooth like wine, the lollipop being wrapped with his pink plush lips. “H-hey Peter, you look amazing.” Tony was amazed that he could even compliment Peter without combusting right there in front of him. Peter giggled and stepped closer, twirling a strand of Tony’s hair with his polished finger. “I missed you this weekend, I didn’t get to handle your little problem.” Tony felt his body go hot and heard his friends whisper to each other incredesly. Believe him, he was shook too that Peter was even wanting to be seen in front of Tony right now.

“I’m sorry, my ma and pops kept me locked in my room the whole weekend.” Peter pouted exateradedly and looked behind Tony briefly before smirking and leaning in closer, his lips grazing Tony’s ear. “Meet me behind the bleachers after fourth, okay?” Peter kissed Tony’s cheekbone while pulling back. Tony would do whatever Peter told him to, and he knows that sounds desperate, but he just wanted Peter so bad. “Ok.” Tony breathed, red seeping through his collar and the feeling of Peter’s lips on his cheek was still lingering there. Peter smiled and waved while sucking the treat back into his mouth, he looked at Tony’s friends once more with a wink and walked back to his sister Natasha.

“What the hell was that Tony!” Steve was baffled and quite frankly terrified for his friend.

Tony didn’t answer, but just sighed and looked longingly at Peter’s backside walk away.

Tony wouldn’t admit it if someone asked him, but he did run out of his fourth period class a minute before the bell rang to get to the bleachers early. He didn’t want to risk the chance of not being there on time, and Peter thought that he just didn’t show up and just left.

So Tony got to the bleachers out of breath, disheveled, yet still, on time. He was hunched over still once he heard a familiar laugh behind him. He swiveled around to see Peter leaning against a beam. “So you did want to see me again,” Peter stood up straight, his body defined with his tight shirt and those tight denim jeans. “I was starting to worry that you didn’t want to be seen around a drape.” Peter stood in front of Tony, his head tilted and a hand brushing Tony’s arm lightly, but dropping it before Tony could lean toward the touch. Tony’s brain caught up with what Peter was saying and shook his head wildly after realizing that he hadn’t denied it. “No Peter, it’s not that, I was just…” Tony trailed off, a nervous gulp moved his adams apple, which caught Peter’s eye. Peter smiled softly and leaned closer, his arms wrapping around Tony’s shoulders. “You just what Tones?” Tony breathed in sharply when Peter casually pushed their hips together, a mischievous look in the crybabies eyes. “I just get so nervous around you.” Tony didn't know he had it in him to hold Peter’s waist with a tight grip. But he was doing it, and Peter didn’t seem to mind.

“You do?” Peter says innocently, feigning a shocked face. Tony nodded, looking down but made himself look back up, because he needed Peter to know he wasn’t a square damnit. “Do I make you nervous when I do this?” Peter leaned in and ducked his head, the tip of his tongue lightly trailing up Tony’s neck to nibble his earlobe, moaning lightly in Tony’s ear. Tony groaned and pulled Peter closer. “You just make me excited when you do that.” Peter giggled and pulled back slowly. He tilted his head and played with the hair on Tony’s nape, twirling the short strands through his fingers and scratching his scalp, sending tingles through his head. Tony leaned his head into the touch, sighing contentedly and looking dazedly at Peter. “You’re so beautiful Pete.” Peter smiled at Tony’s dopey look, a puppy in love, how cute. “What else am I?” Peter leaned closer again and started to lightly kiss up Tony’s neck, with every peck becoming a little more wet. “You’re breath-taking.” Peter's kisses turned longer than just a simple peck, he would add some teeth. Grazing them against Tony’s pulse point and sucking a bit to rile Tony up more. Peter loved the compliments that just kept coming. “You’re a damn angel Peter.” Peter giggled against Tony's skin and pulled back. “I may be a lot of things Tony Stark, but I am no angel.” he leaned in again and pecked the corner of Tony’s lips. “I’m a crybaby Tones, got no place in my heart for that religious shit.” Tony nodded, not wanting to argue with Peter, he’ll go with anything Peter says. If he told Tony to stop going to church, he would. If Peter told him to stop wearing square clothes, he would. He’d do anything for him, he’d push mountains and go through hell and back for Peter Parker. “You know...you would look delicious in leather.” Peter licked his top row of teeth with that glint in his eyes again. If Peter said that Tony looked delicious in something, he would wear it everyday. So that's why he found himself standing in the main place Crybabies go to do their shopping at the mall. Bruce in tow with a nervous look and twitchy hands at his sides. “Tony why are we here again?”

“Because Peter said I’d look “delicious in leather”.” Tony idly went through racks of jackets and skipping over the studded ones, because the spikes seemed tacky, and Tony did have at least taste. “So you're here for a crybaby who doesn’t even know your last name?” Tony brushed off the glare Bruce was sending him and scuffed, pulling a hanger off the rack to inspect a nice looking leather jacket. “Bruce, he does know my last name, in fact I don't know one person in this town that doesn’t know my family.” Bruce gave a ‘your right’ look and pushed the jacket Tony was looking at down. “The back has too many gems on it, you’ll thank me later once they don’t laugh at you.” Tony nodded in agreement and pulled out another one. This one was just leather and looked like it would frame his body nicely. So he took that with him, along with the other shirts and jeans he grabbed.

At the dressing rooms they heard the loud rustle of clothes and some loud cursing with constant laughing. Bruce was fidgeting even more once Tony was starting to close the curtain for privacy. “Uh Tony can I come in with you.” Tony looked at his friend incredisiouly, “Dude really? You can't stand out there by yourself for like 5 minutes?” Bruce whined and looked at the curtains occupied with crybabies. Some were loitering outside the dressing rooms, smoking on cigarettes and looking at Bruce like he was their next lunch. “Ok man, hurry.”

Once they left the mall, to Bruce’s gratefulness, Tony felt a surge of power. “Do you know what this means Bruce?” Bruce frowned and shook his head, unlocking his ride and letting Tony inside the old car. “It means that I can date Peter now if I show him and his friends that I'm serious about changing for him.” Bruce’s frown seemed to get deeper and he gave a sad look to Tony while he pulled out the parking lot. “Tony, I don't mean to be a debbie-downer,” Tony scoffed, “Then don’t.” Bruce ignored him and spoke anyway.

“But, you know this isn’t some movie like Grease where the guy gets the girl after changing himself to fit into her circle.” Tony laughed and clapped Bruce's shoulder, making him tense and swerve a bit, then jerking the wheel to go straight. “Well of course not Brucey! He’s a guy!” Bruce shook his head and prayed silently for his best friend.

[msfilmdiary]

The Twilight Saga: Twilight (2008)

Starring: Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner, Nikki Reed, Ashley Greene, Kellan Lutz, Jackson Rathbone, Peter Facinelli, Anna Kendrick, Elizabeth Reaser, Billie Burke, Christian Serratos, Rachelle Lefevre

Screenplay by Melissa Rosenberg

Directed by Catherine Hardwicke

I do not own any of the pictures posted. 

SPOILERS AHEAD 

First of all, you have no idea how excited I am to finally be reviewing this. (I have popcorn!) 

Twilight may perhaps be one of the most recognizable films of the early 2000s vampire craze. Now, whenever someone mentions the word Vampire I immediately think of Twilight. (Also The Vampire Diaries, but that’s a story for another day.) 

Twilight follows seventeen-year-old outcast Isabella “Bella” Swan, after her relocation to Forks, Washington, from Phoenix, Arizona to live with her father, Charlie. Charlie is the towns’ police chief, while her mother, Renee, is married to a minor league baseball player named Phil. 

After the move, Bella becomes reunited with childhood friend Jacob Black, a Native American teenager living with his father, Billy on the Quileute Indian Reservation near Forks. Bella soon makes friends at her high school but is drawn to the aloof and quiet Cullen siblings consisting of Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, Emmett, and the famous Edward Cullen. She is seated next to Edward in biology, to which he acts almost repulsed by her. After the Cullens are absent from school for a week, Edward returns to class and socializes with Bella. A couple of days later, an out of control driver nearly crashes Bella in the school parking lot, but Edward instantly covers a distance by thirty or so feet in order to prevent the van from striking her. After arriving at the hospital, Edward refuses to explain his actions to Bella, ultimately warning her against being friends with him. Jacob then informs Bella of the long-standing rivalry between the Cullens and the Quileutes and that the Cullen family is not allowed on the reservation. 

Bella then begins to research Edward’s condition, ultimately concluding that he is a vampire. He confirms this but pleads with Bella that he and his family only consume animal blood. They soon fall in love, and Edward introduces Bella to his family, where she meets Carlisle, the family father, and a doctor at Forks Hospital, Esme, the family mother, and their formally adopted children Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, and Emmett. The family’s reaction to Bella is generally positive except for Rosalie’s, who fears that her family’s secret can now be exposed. 

Bella and Edward’s relationship is soon jeopardized when James, Victoria, and Laurent, three nomadic vampires arrive in Forks territory. They are responsible for a series of attacks leading up to and in the Forks territory. James, who’s described as a tracker vampire with incredible hunting instincts, is consumed by Bella’s scent and becomes obsessed with hunting her. Edward and the other Cullens protect Bella, but James ultimately tracks her to Phoenix, Arizona, where she’s hiding with Jasper and Alice. James lures Bella into her old ballet studio as a trap, attacking Bella and infecting her with vampire venom. Edward arrives and fights James, subduing him until the other Cullens arrive. Alice, Jasper, and Emmett kill James, decapitating and burning him. 

In the aftermath, Bella suffered a broken leg and is hospitalized. Edward accepts Bella’s invitation to their high school prom, where he refuses her request to turn her into a vampire. They are unaware that Victoria, James’ lover, is secretly watching them, in schemes to avenge his death. 

Let’s talk about Twilight as a cultural phenomenon. It pleased devoted fans to the novel series, while also defining an early generation of the vampire-romance genre. I was five when the first Twilight movie was released, so it was never a huge part of my life growing up. However, I do remember the cultural aspect of the films. I remember going to the mall in the mid-2000s and seeing posters and pictures for it everywhere. Twilight, like it or not, was everywhere from 2008 to 2012 and has experienced a surge in popularity since Stephanie Myer’s release of Midnight Sun, which is Twilight told from Edward’s perspective. 

If you couldn’t already tell, I’m a huge fan of Hardwicke’s directing style. I think if she continues to direct the following Twilight films, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn 1 & 2. I would have enjoyed the later movies as much if not more if I enjoyed the first one. However, that’s not to say that I don’t enjoy the series as a whole. I think it truly defined the early-mid 2000s, and the nostalgia of the movie I think is more remembered than the actual story. 

My friends and I still have Twilight marathons to this day. Do I think it’s deep? No. It’s about a girl falling in love with a 108-year-old vampire, of course, it’s not deep. Plus, the film, novels, and the story are directed at teenage girls, who of course back then, couldn’t possibly understand the complexity of a well-written and well-developed script. Do films have to be deep in order to enjoy them? No, absolutely not. I think that most of the people who heavily critique Twilight think that it needs to be deep in order to be enjoyable. Twilight, in no shape or form, I think claims to be deep. I think it’s a cultural phenomenon, and because of that, people think it has to be the next generation-defying film that has to be good. I also think that it’s more popular to hate Twilight because it's directed toward teenage girls, and, as we’ve learned, teenage girls can’t have anything without being made fun of. 

I also want to talk about Bella’s plainness. When I see critiques on Twilight or Bella’s character in general, said critiques typically argue that Bella’s lack of personality in the films (and book) is a major turn-off. I agree that she’s plain, but I don’t agree that she’s a major turn off when it comes to my love for Twilight and the saga as a whole. Truthfully, she was designed to be a plain and somewhat modest teenage girl. Everyone around her, especially her friends, are full of life, while she is frankly dull. She is one of those characters that is written to coincide with another, that being Edward Cullen. 

In my perspective, they are two sides of the same coin. For example, Bella believes that she has nothing to live for, while Edward is pushing and pushing her to live and have the life he never got to live. Bella is extremely realistic for a teenage girl, honestly. Her “normal” attributes make Edward seem more desirable and God-like. I think it's time we stop picking on the “boringness” of characters written for and about teenage girls, mostly because I think it's just another thing that young girls can be put in a box for. If they’re not interesting or captivating enough for a certain audience, they’re plain and dull and lifeless. If they’re too interesting or captivating, there’s always something wrong with them (hence the manic pixie dream girl trope). Bella, I believe is written against that trope, and that is why she’s boring. 

I enjoy Twilight. I do. And I’m not ashamed of it. I don’t think every movie has to be life-changing to be defined as a cultural phenomenon, or even enjoyable. I think when people say that Twilight is “bad” we have to ask ourselves what a “bad” movie is. “Bad” and “good” is completely subjective to who is watching it. As a teenage girl in my life right now, I enjoy watching Twilight. Truth be told, I like the story, and I like the nostalgia attached to it. 

I wonder if my feelings would be different if I was a teenage girl in 2008 when the Twilight film was first released. I wonder if I would hate it because I was told to hate it, or if I would like it because it’s something that I enjoy. Nonetheless, the first Twilight film will always have a special place in my nostalgic little teenage girl heart, everything from Bella’s bleak green and purple bedroom to the clearness of the Cullen's barely used kitchen. 

Overall rating: 9/10 (For the nostalgia, of course.) 

[alley-catz-vs-daybreakers]

Know Your Enemy: Side AC vs DB Pt. 2

A night out in Chuuko soon turns to one of disaster for two rivaling teams destined to collide. As they meet face to face, pride seems to intervene.

Seiichi: *whispers* Uuugh! Is this joker for real!

Seiichi: We were supposed to find someplace to eat! Not do whatever this is!

Woman A: It’s such an honor to meet you Hiroshi-sama!

Woman B: I can’t believe it’s him! We’re big really fans! 

Hiroshi: Fufufu, the pleasure is all mine fair ladies. ~ It is quite the honor to meet all of you this fine evening. ~

Woman C: Woooow~ He really is like a prince! 

Woman D: I think I’m in love! 

Seiichi: Are you kidding me?! Oi Hiroshi! C’mon let’s just get outta he—

Younger Woman E: Hey! You’re Seiichi Asagao aren’t you? 

Seiichi: ! ! ! 

Younger Woman A: I’ve seen him around before. He’s a real cool street artist.

Woman B: Wow really! Hey can we get your picture?

Seiichi: I-I-Uh! T-That’s not really a big deal! There’s way too many girls here! [quickly puts his hood up]

Woman D: Huh? Are you ok? You’re all red?

Younger Woman C: Wait, if the rest of the Alley Catz are here then Emiko must be too! 

Woman C: Really! Where is she! 

Seiichi: That’s it! I can’t take much more of this!

Hiroshi: Now now, everyone settle dow—HGH! Oi! Seiichi! What do you think you’re doing?!

Seiichi: Run! [pulls him along and they start running]

Woman A: Hey where are you guys going!

Woman C: They’re leaving? Wait for us!

Crowd: [squeals and chases after them]

Seiichi: DAMN YOU HIROSHI!

Hiroshi: Just shut up and run!

——————————

Natsuki: Nope. We’re not going in that direction.

Haruto: Eh? Why?

Natsuki: Going over there increases the risk of us bumping into more of those crazed women.

Haruto: (raises brow) How do you know? We’ve never even been here before.

Natsuki: (Sarcastically) Look at the buildings, taller buildings are subject to hold more people, as impressive as they may look, I am not willing to get trampled for that sake of your instant gratification dearest brother of mine.

Haruto: Then what do you propose oh smart one?

Natsuki: (thinking) It wouldn’t hurt to simply have a look around.

Haruto: (grins) Sorry to burst you bubble man, but I don’t think you’ll find any critters to dote over in here.

Natsuki: I will wack you.

Haruto: [hands in surrendering gesture] Gotcha. Just sayin’.

continue walking

Haruto: . . .

Haruto: Hey Natsu?

Natsuki: Hm?

Haruto: Don’tcha think Ko-chan looked kinda lonely? 

Natsuki: Not sure. As long as he has what it takes to bring us through the matches, then he’s fine.

Haruto: (grins) Don’t worry, I got plenty of energy to carry all of us through!

Natsuki: I’m not worried, and keep in mind you have your dance rehearsal in a few days.

Haruto: Thanks for the love bro.

Natsuki: (Turns away with a slight blush) The curses of being older. . . at least this is uncommon.

——————————

Crowd: [squeals 😆]

Hiroshi: Well this is certainly exciting isn’t it!

Seiichi: This is all your fault you crazy Womanizer! If they want you they can have you!

Hiroshi: It’s not just about me now!

Seiichi: Who cares, keep running! Here! [skids across the sidewalk] Around this corner!

Hiroshi: Right!

[they quickly turn and keep running as the crowd passes them]

Hiroshi: Did we lose them?

Seiichi: I don’t know! But I’m not gonna stooo-aaah! Hey!! [trips]

Haruto: ACk!

Natsuki: Oh. It’s you two

Seiichi: Aaaagh~ whaaat? O-Oi watch where you’re going freak, we got places to be!!

Hiroshi: Enough Seiichi, they’re gone. Now since you clearly lack manners, I shall be the one to ap—oh. Why it’s only the little mocking birds from before.

Natsuki: And what exactly do you mean by that? You showy rooster.

Seiichi: Rooster? Pffffffft—!

Hiroshi: [smirks] Hmph. Nothing at all. And do shut up Seiichi.

Haruto: Okaaayyyyyy. Maybe we should save our breaths? Even I don’t wanna see Ko-chan upset.

Seiichi: Ko-Chan? Oi, ain’t that the beanpole that was creeping around Emiko earlier?

Haruto: Hey! Ko-chan doesn’t creep!

Seiichi: Tch, you sure? Looked more like a prideless pervert to me.

Hiroshi: Hmmm, you have a point. The boy appeared to have no sense of dignity at all. 😏

Haruto: What the hell?! How can you say that about him?! Kosuke’s not anything like that, you edgy teen and fancy pants!

Natsuki: Let it go, Kosuke can defend himself. On the other hand, I’m  not so sure about Harajuku’s own childishly ditzy leader being able to lift a finger.

Seiichi: Oi! Emiko’s way stronger than that piece of scrap you guys drag around! I’m sure you’ve heard about her on the streets yea?

Hiroshi: Seiichi. That’s enough.

Seiichi: What?! What do you mean that’s enough! I’m not done yet!!

Natsuki: Listen to your guardian. Let’s go Haruto (turns to leave)

Hiroshi: As expected. C’mon Seiichi, let’s leave the dog and his master alone. I don’t think he can keep him at bay for very long. He might run off into the street and get lost.

Seiichi: Tch, whatever.

Haruto: Owowowow! Natsu! My wrist! My wrist!

Natsuki: (mumbling). . . What. . .?

Natsuki: What the FUCK did you just call my brother?!  Mic activates

Natsuki: 

Shut your little mouth you fucking sick tick! As if it wasn’t torturous to listen to your shtick You’d better run off, because I’m at my limit. If you dare say word, then I’ll make you go squish!

[loud blasts sound]

Seiichi: Whoa! Ha ha!!

Hiroshi: H-Hgh!! Now we’re having fun!!

Hiroshi: You ready Seiichi?

Seiichi: Oh you don’t have to tell me twice old man!!

[Mics activate]

A disheartened little cuckoo tainted by dull and fatuous laws! Watch as he flies into the fray of deadly smiling jaws~

Jabber Jabber Jabber with your self-centered blabbering! Your idiocy’s a crime against our kaleidoscopic society!

Now that’s going too far.

Says you, sadist Ladykiller.

On the brink of insanity! Drop dead on Harajuku’s toxic thriller!

Haruto: (huffs) Guess we’re throwing hands. You good Natsu?

Natsuki: Just start.

[Mic activates]

Just a fair warning here, close your eyes! You don’t haveta listen, but you will go blind!

I don’t play with minds, just physical suicide! Coming from a nut house, you’ll be tossed to the side!

Now where to start? Should we just strike the heart?

Go for an arteriole, watch them lose their fake twinkle.

Seiichi: Agh!! Damn!

Hiroshi: Aaaah!!

[the dust clears, Seiichi & Hiroshi appear somewhat unfazed]

???: Another fight? Just what do you men think you’re doing?

Haruto: (whispers) Huh? Natsu whose this big busted lady? Ow!

Natsuki: (hisses) That’s Kadenokoji Ichijiku. Show your respect!

Bows

Seiichi: S-Sh**!! It’s the crazy lady!!

Hiroshi: Watch your tongue!

[they both bow]

Ichijiku: Hmph. Both your Divisions hold a very small record in outbursts such as this. Although I can’t say I’m surprised coming from such barbarians.

??? + ???: R-right! We’re so sorry ma’am!

Seiichi + Hiroshi: Emiko??!

Haruto + Natsuki: Ko-chan!/Kosuke. . .

Ichijiku: I hope I make myself clear. Since you two were not here to witness the event I can’t particularly say all of you are at fault. But if I hear one whisper of a fight between your Divisions outside of the battle you will all be disqualified!!

Ichijiku: And. I expect better leadership from you young lady. This is what happens when you surround yourself with pigs.

Emiko: . . . Yes, ma’am. . . .

Ichijiku: Speak up!

Emiko: Y-Yes ma’am!

Kosuke: R-right. . .

Ichijiku: Now. Leave the premises immediately. Before I change my mind. [she walks away]

—End—

[chestnut-b]

Himawari Chapter 14

Kakashi blinked.

As soon as he’d reached the main estate, he’d stalked through the hallways like a man crazed. The kakushi had all but run at the sight of him.

He’d sensed the flare of killing intent, heard Naruto’s pained cry from a distance, but never in his life would he have expected to walk into a scene like this as he pushed the doors open.

Iruka, screaming his lungs out, slamming his head into a Hashira.

Chapter 14 of  Demon Slayer AU

Kakashi could barely hear his own thoughts over the winds that howled past his ears, and the thundering, pounding of hooves of the galloping horse beneath him.

It had been three days since the crow messenger had descended with a message that left his blood running cold.

“The demon child Naruto, to face trial for the attack on slayer corp members Mizuki and Umino Iruka! The Hashira, to report to headquarters without delay!” The bird had cried in its typically shrill, broken manner.

He had pressed for what information he could and sent the messenger off with curt instructions. The old lady tending the tea house returned with a fresh cup, but there was no time for it. 

As soon as he’d been given the location of the nearest stable, the Hashira paid for the fastest horse they had, and set off on the Southern road.

The scenery of the countryside had long been reduced to a mere blur. He’d barely taken the time to rest, stopping only for a fresh horse and just enough food to keep himself on its back. 

But the journey eventually took its toll, and having glimpsed the ominous, swelling clouds on the horizon, he’d been forced to take shelter in an abandoned farmer’s lodge. Slumped against the wall, he reached into his shirt pocket. He gazed wearily at the omamori in his gloved palm, before gently closing his fingers around it.

“Umino Iruka...Still lives!” 

The echoes of the crow’s last words before it took off into the grey skies had played in his head countless times since. 

Still lives. Still lives.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He cursed under his breath.

Naruto was alive, that much he could glean, but the message implied he’d been under the influence of the Kyuubi. 

Kakashi rested his forehead on a bent knee and let out a deep, frustrated breath. Outside, the rain battered at the tiled roof, thunder roaring in the distance. There was a bubbling of unease rising in his stomach that just would not go away.

The thought of Iruka fighting for his life...at Naruto’s hands? 

I should have been there.

Exhausted, the Hashira closed his eyes.

It wasn’t long before he found himself in that familiar field of sunflowers under the awakening sky. In the distance, someone was waving at him, grinning warmly. 

You said you’d stay alive till the next time we meet. I’m holding you to that.

***** 

Someone was crying.

He felt himself rising to his feet, and placing one foot in front of the other, he walked towards the source of the soft, lonely cries.

He passed hallway after empty hallway. And while he’d started his journey numb, with each step he took, like ripples in a pond, pain after pain started to blossom across his body.

Cuts under his feet, fingers and nails digging into his legs, burning lungs.

Despite it all, he walked.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, but eventually the figure of a crouched child appeared in his line of sight. He could only see the boy’s shoulders, trembling as he sobbed. 

Naruto. 

He tried calling out his name, but no voice would come forth. Instead, he felt his throat constrict, as if held in a ghostly, vice-like grip, and soon, he tasted blood.

Even though he struggled for each breath, he pushed forward. 

Now, he was just within arm’s reach.

“Iruka-nii...where did you go?!” 

Iruka froze. He collapsed onto his knees, bowing over. His hand snapped to his face as a pain unlike any other erupted from one cheek, traveled across his nose and to his other cheek. He would have screamed, but found no voice with which to let out his anguish. 

Then he felt a small hand brush against his forehead. Iruka looked up, and found himself gazing at his own reflection in a pair of teary blue eyes.

He wrapped his arms around the boy, and pulled him into a tight embrace. 

There was a struggle, a feral cry, and finally, fire.

But Iruka didn’t let go, not even as he felt the claws dig into his arm, or when his back started to split open.

Naruto, I’m right here.

His right shoulder exploded in pain, but it was nothing compared to hearing Naruto’s terrified, sorrowful cries. He felt his own hot tears run down his cheeks.

I’m here. So, please, don’t, don’t-

...Gods, please don’t take him away.

*****  

Iruka awoke to the sound of his own screams.

Within seconds, hands were pressing onto his chest and arms. He could hear panicked scrambling, and a woman issuing commands as she held him down. 

His veins were on fire, and his chest heaved painfully as he took in air like a man drowning.

“Iruka-san, calm yourself! Your wounds will reopen.” The voice above him said firmly.

Wounds…I’m...Alive?

How?

Iruka pried his eyes open, and as the worst of the spinning receded, he found himself face to face with a girl not much younger than himself, with short black hair and a dark set of eyes with an unreadable expression.  

“Naruto...Where is he?!” Against the force pinning him down, Iruka attempted to sit up, but even he could not help rein in the cry of agony at the tearing of his shoulder.

“The boy is fine. You, however, aren’t out of the woods just yet.” The hand on his chest pressed harder, exhibiting a strength he did not expect from the girl’s lithe frame. 

Iruka tried to make out what little he could of his surroundings, but it was too dark. All he knew was that he was sleeping in a raised bed, and that the air smelled of herbs and alcohol. He was running a fever, his skin and hair were slick with cold sweat, and his head throbbed incessantly.

“How...am I alive?” 

The girl slowly released her hold. Sitting back into a chair by the bedside, she sighed.

“How indeed. You seem to have quite the lucky streak, Iruka-san. If you’d been found any later, you would certainly have perished.”

I’m not sure if I’d call it luck.

“Where are we?”

“It is not my place to say. But you and the boy are safe, for now.” 

For now?

“You aren’t wearing a slayer uniform.”

The girl looked even less amused. 

“The only reason I’m here is to make sure my master’s efforts do not go to waste. I could hardly care less about the rest of your kind.”

Your kind?

“Just who are you?...”

The girl stood from her seat, and reached into the sleeve of her kimono. 

“There’s no advantage in you knowing, I’m afraid. But, you’re well familiar with my work.” She said, continuing with a grim expression. “I will say this, the consequences of this incident could be more far reaching than we expect. You’d best prepare yourself.” She said in warning as she leaned over him. 

In the barest light of a flickering candle, Iruka could have sworn he saw a slit eye in the face above his.

“W..wait...” He cried.

Before Iruka could react, he felt a sharp jab in his shoulder, and almost immediately, his vision swam.                                                                                                                                                                                                                 “Good luck, Iruka-san.”

 *****  

In the following days, between bouts of consciousness, Iruka tried to question the kakushi attending to him, but the veiled faces offered nothing more than what the girl had left him with. It was a small consolation at least, to see they were wearing slayer uniforms. 

One morning, when he’d finally gathered enough strength to stand on his feet, he  trudged to the door, intent on searching for Naruto himself. Grabbing his red cord from the bedside table, he shoved it into his shirt pocket. His shoulder and back still burned, and any attempt to raise his arm above his head had been painfully regretful. He’d been dressed in a haori that wasn’t his own, and his weapons and seals, much to his chagrin, were nowhere to be found.

By the time he made it to the exit, he could feel the start of a cold sweat running down his neck. He pushed the door open, but was forced to take a shaky step back when he was faced with yet another masked corp member.

“Umino-san, please follow me.” The man instructed.

What choice did he have?

Following the kakushi, Iruka observed his surroundings. The floors were polished and spotless, the walls and doors adorned with elaborate paintings. It didn’t take long before he came to the conclusion that he’d been kept in the middle of a grand estate.

He paused when he sensed a presence behind him. Turning around, he caught just the barest glimpse of a girl with dark hair and a clear gaze staring in his direction. She’d been peeking, and with a small squeak, ducked back behind the corner as soon as Iruka noticed her. 

The kakushi cleared his throat, prompting Iruka to continue walking. They passed numerous empty hallways, and just as his stamina was starting to strain, the kakushi stopped in front of the largest set of doors he’d seen so far. There, another veiled corp member stood waiting. 

Iruka’s senses flared, and he couldn’t help but take in a sharp breath.

Beyond the doors; a gathering of auras that radiated sheer power. 

Amongst them, he recognised only one. 

The Kyuubi. 

He’s here.

The two kakushi stared at Iruka with some unease before exchanging a quick glance. 

Soon, the doors were slid open.

The kakushi who’d lead him here took three steps into the room before kneeling on the tatami and pressing his head to the floor.

“Honoured Hashira, please excuse our intrusion. On Oyakata-sama’s orders, I’ve brought the man named Umino Iruka.”

Almost immediately, six pairs of eyes descended upon Iruka. He felt a jolt, like lightning running along the length of his spine. His fists clenched instinctively; he dared not even take a breath. 

He scanned his surroundings. They’d just entered a large hall, and beyond it was an immense garden of wisteria trees, dusted in snow. In the middle of it was a large crate of dark wood, wrapped in iron chains. As tall and wide as an adult. It emitted a quiet hiss, and when Iruka focused his gaze, he found it enveloped in a thin cloud of steam. The snow beneath it was all but melted. 

Iruka’s nerves rattled, and his nails bit into his palms.

They’ve kept him...in there?

He shifted his attention to the six in the room on his left. One woman, four men, and a boy who couldn’t have been older than eleven, all dressed in slayer uniforms with unique haori. Their gazes were intense, and with the amount of tension now in the air, Iruka couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. 

So these are the Hashira.

 He was broken from his daze by a terse hiss from the floor. 

“What are you waiting for? Pay your respects, idiot!” The kakushi snapped.

Right…I guess I have to…...

With some hesitation and a shaky breath, he bent a knee, intending to kneel. 

“Oi...wake up, demon!” 

Suddenly, a woman’s voice bellowed irately from behind the wooden structure. It was followed by a series of violent bangs and the rattling of chains as it shook from being hit. Whoever it was, she circled the crate and into Iruka’s view, and realising the new entrants, immediately locked eyes with him.

Even as heavily reined in as it was, he recognised that killing intent. 

“Oh. So you’re finally awake.” She drawled, clearly, she’d been bored to death up till this point. “We can begin the trial.”

“Trial…?” Iruka echoed. There was a creeping sense of foreboding, and his empty stomach lurched painfully. 

“That’s right...” The woman drew her sword, and pointed it towards Iruka. From her sleeve, a small snake emerged, and coiled itself around her wrist and hand. It was the same snake he’d seen before he’d lost consciousness, and it stared at him silently with its ruby gaze.

“Umino Iruka, you stand accused of breaking the Slayer code and assaulting a corp member.” She pointed her sword towards the crate, and gave it a fierce, thundering kick. 

“And last but not least, harbouring a damn demon.” 

 *****  

This isn’t good. 

He couldn’t deny the charges. Iruka knew full well the consequences of turning his blade against a fellow slayer. 

Expulsion, if he was lucky. Or perhaps he’d be made to commit seppuku.

The irony of it all was that for all the damage he took, he hadn’t been able to even scratch Mizuki. 

The only other woman in the room rose from her seat, and turned towards her comrade. She had dark, flowing curled hair and a pair of striking red eyes. 

“Anko, we’d best wait for Oyakata-sama and the others before-” 

“Shut it Kurenai, I’m not about to waste any more time waiting for that boyfriend of yours to turn up. One of my men nearly died, and I had to drag this nobody and this disgusting thing all the way back here.” ‘Anko’ seethed under her bandages. 

Mentally, Iruka dug through what little knowledge he had of the main corp. Mitarashi Anko, Snake Pillar. Yuuhi Kurenai, Illusion Pillar. The only two women in the ranks of Hashira. Among the nine, Mitarashi was well known to be particularly difficult. 

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Kurenai’s eye twitch in annoyance. 

The men in the room seemed perfectly content to watch silently. Of the four seated, two in particular had their eyes trained on him, though one; a towering figure whose skin was a canvas of devastating scars, was clearly blind. His neck and waist were wrapped in chains, some as thick as the ones that bound the wooden prison in the garden. Morino Ibiki, Iruka noted, the oldest and most senior of the Hashira. 

The other man, dressed in a haori that was almost too green, stared at him intently, though it was a gaze without ill-intent, almost curious, even. With thick eyebrows and a perfect bowl cut, Iruka would have found it amusing if it wasn’t for the situation he found himself in.

Maito Gai, in the flesh. 

The last two were looking as well, though they were a lot more subtle about it. A man with auburn hair was playing with a senbon between his fingers. Another, with pale skin, short dark hair and sallow eyes, looked away to cough weakly into his fist. 

Iruka couldn’t help but sympathise. 

Shiranui Genma….Gekkou Hayate.

He found his gaze settling on the smallest figure among their number.

The boy was staring into the garden where the box lay, his face devoid of expression. Much like the girl he’d spotted in the hallway, his gaze was as clear as crystal.

No doubt, that could only have been Hyuuga Neji, famously the youngest Pillar in the history of the corp. Though he had no doubt he wouldn’t have lasted a minute in a fight with him, Iruka couldn’t suppress the swell of despair that washed over him.

Even the children...

His thoughts turned to Naruto. 

If you survive this, is this the fate that awaits you too?

He took a deep breath. Steeling himself, Iruka stepped further into the room. The kakushi behind him flailed in panic. “W-wait-”

But Iruka ignored him. He walked past the seated Hashira, until he stood just before the Snake Pillar. Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground, and pressed his forehead to the cold, hard floor.

“What you say is true. I stood in the way of a slayer doing his duty, and turned my sword against him.”

“So you don’t deny it then.”

“I do not.” 

Iruka grit his teeth, and lifting his head, he looked the Hashira in the eye.

“But I regret nothing.”

Like hell I would.

Suddenly, Iruka felt himself lifted from the ground. The next instant, the air in his lungs was knocked out as he crashed into wood and metal.

***** 

 Made it!

A week after having set off, Kakashi finally saw the first ring of Wisteria trees in the distance marking the outskirts of the Headquarter grounds. He was every bit as exhausted as his steed, but knowing his goal was just within reach filled him with renewed determination. 

Above him, he saw the crow he’d sent ahead, circling against the overcast sky. When it became too dense to go further on horseback, he quickly dismounted. 

There wasn’t a part of him that did not ache, but he had no time to lose. Not long after he started his entry on foot, he heard a familiar bark. Just ahead, Guruko stood, waiting for him. 

“Guruko, lead the way!” 

Nearly there. For god’s sake, don’t do anything stupid.

 ***** 

He’d landed hard on his wounded shoulder; and for a few short seconds, the sheer agony of it had caused him to black out.

“Anko!” Kurenai and Gai called out in unison from the hall. But the woman, fuming, was deaf to any cries.

“You piece of trash.” She spat, walking up to him.

Iruka heaved, and struggled to lift himself off the floor with his good arm.

“Naruto...hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

“Mizuki claimed he was attacked in the back by that demon over there, while defending himself from you.” 

Iruka, now kneeling in front of the prison, had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

Of course he did. 

“He was attacked by the demon he’d been ordered to chase down.” He panted, clutching his wounded shoulder. “Naruto dispatched that demon. He hasn’t hurt anyone!” 

That being said, as the words left his lips, he remembered the claws digging into his arm, and the sight of the boy reaching for his throat. 

Silently, Iruka registered the growing heat behind him. He could hear movement. Whoever it was inside; Naruto or the Kyuubi, he was stirring.

“Funny you should say that.” Anko laughed. She towered before him now. “When I found you lot, the brat tried to fight me with a sword, covered in your blood.” 

“We’ll see if you can say the same once we put it to the test.” 

The Hashira raised her blade, and before Iruka could react, stabbed it past his head and into the wood behind him, breaking the chains in the process. 

There was a pained cry.

“Naruto!” Iruka screamed. 

He attempted to reach for the hand wielding the sword, but a swift blow to his stomach left him reeling. With a sharp kick, he was pinned to the wood behind him. 

He tasted blood in his mouth.

“Don’t even think of trying anything. Any attempt at a breath technique and your lungs will burst.”

At the corner of his eye, Iruka watched as the slayer withdrew her sword, now stained with blood. 

He stared.

Slowly, everything else around him faded into oblivion. 

He heard only his own ragged breaths, the gnashing of his teeth, and the rush of blood in his veins and ears. 

In his spiraling rage, he didn’t notice the barks in the distance, of the sliding of the doors that followed soon after.

“I’ll never forgive you.”

“Hah?” 

“I said…” 

He willed every bit of strength he had left into his arms, his back, his legs. 

“Anyone who hurts Naruto is going to pay!”

Ignoring every good sense, every stab of agony running through his body, he propelled himself off the ground, and with a determined cry, grabbed the collar of the Hashira’s coat with both fists.

*****  

Kakashi blinked. 

As soon as he’d reached the main estate, he’d stalked through the hallways like a man crazed. The kakushi had all but run at the sight of him. 

He’d sensed the flare of killing intent, heard Naruto’s pained cry from a distance, but never in his life would he have expected to walk into a scene like this as he pushed the doors open.

Iruka, screaming his lungs out, slamming his head into a Hashira. 

A single crack echoed throughout the hall.

Anko had stumbled back, and brought a trembling hand to her face. Her snake, now coiled around her neck, hissed and bared its fangs at Iruka, who was now bleeding from his forehead, and keeping on his feet by what must have been sheer adrenaline alone.

There was a pause, a tension so thick not even a freshly sharpened nichirin blade could have sliced through. 

The rest of the Hashira, watching from the room, stared in silence, but Genma had reached his limit, and quickly turned away, shaking. Beside him, Hayate let out a small cough.

Transfixed on the scene before them, no one had even bothered to acknowledge Kakashi’ arrival. 

 *****  

“You…bastard...” 

Iruka could barely make out the words past the ringing in his ears and pounding of his head. It took everything he had to not to collapse. Past the point of feeling pain, his entire body had already gone numb.

The woman before him tightened her grip on her blade, knuckles white. If looks could kill, her rage-filled eyes would have certainly done the job.

He registered a hand preparing to grab him, but Iruka wouldn’t budge, not when he was the only thing standing between this sadist and Naruto.

Then, there was a sound, almost like a clap of thunder.

“Enough!” 

Iruka was quite sure he felt his heart skip a beat.

That voice.

He could see the outstretched hand that had reached out towards him. Beside Anko, a newly arrived slayer in a deep maroon haori stood with a firm grip on her arm. Beneath matted silver hair, his eye, grey like a storm cloud, stared down at her with grave intensity.

“Kakashi!!!” Gai’s voice bellowed excitedly from the hall. 

Anko turned her murderous glare towards him, but Kakashi’s eye merely narrowed dangerously. 

“I won’t say it twice. Back off. Or are you going to continue defying Oyakata-sama’s will?” He warned.

Iruka looked on in a daze. He realised, even facing a demon, he’d never heard Kakashi speak like this. 

Anko looked utterly indignant, as did the snake around her neck, but upon hearing the name of their leader, she tensed. Slowly, with no small amount of unwillingness, she withdrew her arm. 

Kakashi turned to Iruka. They were both an exhausted mess. His clothes were filthy, and Iruka thought he caught a strong whiff of horse. 

But in his eye, dark and strained, was a clear relief.

“Kakashi-san…?” Iruka breathed as the man stepped before him. 

The Snake Pillar threw him a dirty glance before returning her blade to its scabbard. 

“Awfully familiar, aren’t you? Hatake, explain yourself.”

“Can't say l feel like it. Oyakata-sama will be here soon. Save your questions for him.” That was all he had for her, before directing his attention back to Iruka. 

“Rough week, sensei? You look like shit.”

There it was again. That moronic smile.

Iruka wanted desperately to laugh, but his senses were starting to return, and it hurt too much. Instead, he settled for a weak grin. 

“What a coincidence, so do you.” He replied. 

“And whose fault do you think that is?” Beneath the concerned look on his face, it could have been a chuckle. 

For a moment, Iruka could have tricked himself into believing they were the only two standing under the gently falling snow.

There were so many things he wanted to say, but seeing the blood drying on Anko’s blade, he carefully turned to the wooden prison behind him. 

“Please, Kakashi-san. He needs me.”

“You’re sure?” 

Iruka nodded. They could both feel the presence inside. Naruto had not returned. 

“I believe in him. Even if no one else does, I will.” 

Kakashi stepped up beside him, drawing his blade. 

With a few clean strikes, the wooden wall shattered into pieces.

*****  

Iruka felt the gazes of the Hashira behind him, more curious than anything else. Not one of them felt threatened, not with eight Hashira in plain sight. 

He approached the prison. There was a rush of heat as the wall fell, and as the steam dissipated into the cold winter air, he could make out a figure curled up in the darkest, furthest corner.

A pair of orange, slit eyes glared from the shadows. 

His breath hitched upon laying eyes on the boy; he’d wrapped himself in Iruka’s haori. Where he’d been wounded, blood seeped through. Thankfully, the strike had not landed anywhere vital. 

“Whatever happens, Kakashi-san, stay your hand.” Iruka said quietly.

“I can’t promise that.” 

There was a small sigh, but with a determined breath, Iruka stepped further in. 

“Naruto.”

The only reply came in the form of a hurt growl. The boy was breathing heavily, and his eyes shifted wildly. He bared his fanged teeth like a distressed animal. 

Iruka reached out, but his arm was quickly swatted away by a clawed hand. He felt the skin on his forearm tear, but he didn’t flinch.

“Forgive me, Naruto. I couldn’t protect you.”

“It must have been painful, right? You must have been so scared.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone.”

I’m always too late. Too weak. 

If I were born with a normal body, I’m sure I’d do a better job.

I don’t deserve to be called your brother.

The boy hissed as he tried his best to back away. He curled up even tighter, hiding his face as he pressed himself to the floor, shaking erratically. 

Iruka slowly lowered himself to the ground. 

“Naruto, it’s going to be ok. Kakashi-san’s here. I’m here.”

The boy was growling even more fiercely. His aura flared in hot waves. Behind him, he could feel Kakashi tense, but Iruka didn’t back away. 

Instead, he wrapped his arms around the shaking figure, and pressed his head to the mess of blonde hair. 

“No matter what happens, I’ll be with you.”

Suddenly, there was a pained, animalistic cry, and a spike of heat before it was extinguished just as quickly. Iruka felt a pair of arms grab at his back, and the cries slowly melted into something resembling a child’s.

When he finally heard the voice he’d been desperately hoping for, he could finally breathe again.

“I thought you were dead, Iruka-nii!” 

It was no one else but Naruto, sobbing into his arms. 

 ***** 

“The demon actually turned back into a human.” The youngest Hashira observed as the veins at the corner of his eyes relaxed.

“Well, that’s certainly a first.” Genma quipped.

“What an interesting turn of events.” Hayate managed, before letting out another cough.

“Truly spectacular! I’m touched to my core, Eternal Rival!!” Gai bellowed, tears flowing feely down his face as he pumped his fists in the air.

“What a pitiful child.” Ibiki whispered gravely under his breath. 

Kurenai would have said something too, but she’d detected a familiar presence storming their way, and turned to the open doors. 

“Sarutobi-sama! Please calm down!” Cried a kakushi from the hallway. 

“Get out of my way!” 

The first thing she saw were the escaping Kakushi.

The next, the towering figure of one Flame Pillar. 

“WHERE IS HE?!” 

Genma didn’t even bat an eyelid when he asked “Where’s who?”

“Where the hell is Umino Iruka?!”

***** 

End of Chapter 14

Ahh another chapter that took way longer than planned to finish (it feels like it gets tougher every chapter haha!) I’m wondering if it feels too long-winded, or if it’s something you guys could possibly enjoy. Let me know either way! 

I always love reading your comments, and as always they serve as the biggest motivation for the next chapter too! Thank you so much!! I for one am definitely looking forward to writing Asuma next. :D