#not sure if there's anything i can do about that except keep practising

[mimicteruyo]

Characters: *spend nearly 1000 words waffling about something like it’s a Major Plot Point*

Me, halting mid-word: ...hold on, this has nothing to do with the plot

[vagabond-umlaut]

a battle well begun is the war half won

gojo notices you. you notice gojo. [the boy wants your eyes on him at all times.]

teen!gojo x fem!reader; first meetings; love at first sight[??]; lovesick gojo[??]; mostly fluffy; 1 small discussion on death; reader is in 1st yr whilst gojo is in 3rd yr; gojo has a very... unique definition of romancing in his brain; 'one-sided enemies to lovers' vibes; 2.2k wc

belongs to the series 'fictitious force' but can be read as a stand-alone if you wanna

the og saying is smthng else, yeah... ik. i js tweaked it a bit for fic title purposes, hehe. also, pls no comments on how i named this series... i used to hv a love-hate thing with pseudo-force problems in physics during my hs... and i'm srsly out of ideas :D

header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

the sky bleeds green, the first time gojo sees you fight.

it isn't anything enthralling. your movements, far from well-practised. your twisted expression screams unease at best, extreme discomfort at worst— you are definitely not one of the best sorcerers the boy has seen so far—

yet he finds himself utterly transfixed.

feet rooted to the earth as an even brighter green beam cuts through the forest. and the second mountain of cursed energy becomes a few wisps of smoke. your form slumping to the ground not long after—

were the boy a better person at heart, he reckons he would've rushed to help you. but he isn't. not really.

so he keeps to his vantage point. blue eyes narrowing a touch behind his shades, as they watch you slowly heave yourself off the mud, face shifting into a scowl as you trudge towards a tree and plop down with no ceremony in front of it—

a barely-there rustle to his left.

followed by the appearance of the steady simmer of a cursed energy, all too familiar.

"yo, nanamin!" gojo greets, wearing a wide beam the second the said kouhai comes before him, feet carefully and soundlessly treading the rugged terrain— the latter's perpetual glower turns into a momentary flicker of surprise.

but it's vanished before the older boy can comment on it.

nanami's face flattens back to its usual state of annoyed indifference.

"the tournament is already over. yaga-sensei wants us all to report to him in another ten..." the boy trails off. rather abruptly. rather strange for him— aha! so nanamin has finally spotted you in the valley below, huh?— gojo wraps an arm around his kouhai's shoulders, allowing his gaze to return to you as well.

you look pretty cute when you're yawning...

"she's from kyoto, isn't she?"

"yes," the younger boy replies, pinning gojo under a curious look. but it's gone all too soon, all too swiftly like the ones preceding. he drops the arm resting on his shoulder.

gojo lets him. simply pouting in response, before he hums, "do you know her?"

"personally, no," nanami is quick to answer, "but from what i've heard from others... she's somewhat peculiar, if i may say so."

this is honestly one of the best opportunities he will ever get to tease that stoic underclassman of his, even more 'cause since when did he, the nanami kento, start gossipping like old geezers!?— but gojo opts to let this chance pass by.

getting more deets on you is way more important for him.

he doesn't bother to hide his burgeoning interest from his tone. "you know her name by any chance?"

nanami does. and as far as gojo knows, your surname doesn't belong to any of the sorcerer clans. none of the major clans, he is pretty sure of that— you might be from a minor one. or, what his gut feelings are telling him, you're from a non-sorcerer background.

not that it matters to him. he is better than the elders of his clan.

"and which year is she in?"

"first year."

wow. you haven't been in school for more than a few months, but you have already managed to make people talk about yourself, huh? quite impressive, gojo thinks as he steals another glance of you.

this time, no longer yawning. just staring vacantly at your keds—

except those muddy shoes are no longer the object of your attention. it is him— really, so very him— your bright, blinding, blindingly bright gaze, every ounce of it focused on him, as your back straightens. and he spots your shoulders tense, brows furrow—

gojo satoru doesn't run away.

he is one of the strongest duo of jujutsu sorcerers. the boy does not, he cannot, he must not run away... yet that's what he does when his gaze collides with you the first time.

grabbing nanami's hand and wasting not one moment to warp them both to the school rooftop, his kouhai's yelp of surprise goes with an ear-piercing whistle of the winds— gojo releases his hold on the boy, the moment his feet touch the concrete— and turns to him, eyes the calmest he can make them seem.

"tell me everything you know about her— like, right now— or i will tell your dear geto-senpai you were the one who finished his melon pan— quit glaring and start speaking, nanamin!!!"

****

turns out, nanami's heart has a very soft corner for gojo's best friend.

also turns out, the third-year need not wait till the breakfast at 10 am tomorrow, to approach you— you amble into his life, dressed in a tad too washed-out set of pajamas and a terrible hairstyle— gojo reckons an angel too would look the same, when you flip the kitchen lights on, making the clock seem a halo-ey thing behind your head.

you stop. suck in a sharp breath.

the boy swallows the last bit of his mochi. and grins.

"heeey! you're the newbie from kyoto, right? heard a lot 'bout you!"

honestly? it was less of hearing and more of extracting info, but gojo decides not to mention it. you don't have any business knowing that, whatever can be the case— ten painfully slow seconds tick by before you return him a response—

a stiff smile.

an even stiffer bow.

followed by you turning on your heel.

were gojo any slower, you would've slipped from the kitchen without any doubt. but he isn't. which is why not even four seconds can pass before he stills you again, this time not by his tall figure lounging in a terrifyingly dark kitchen but by his fingers grasping your wrist.

thumb pressing into the dangerously frantic pulse beneath your skin.

you try to snatch your hand away. and the boy lets you. only 'cause he was too distracted by the furious warmth of embarrassment creeping into your pretty face— no, it is not for how your skin felt a tad too soft beneath the callouses of his palm...

you're the first one to speak this time. voice so quiet... so firm.

"i don't think i can help you with anything, senpai. please don't bother me this way. let me go... please."

no way in hell is gojo bothering you right now— the indignant retort is the first thing the boy can think of. but he resolves to bite it back.

a stupid argument isn't how he wants his story with you to start. sure, there might and will be those later on, but not now. no. he shoots the second grin of his this night, your way.

"aw, i don't need your help with anything— but yeah, you're right. i'm not supposed to stop you like this... you need to sleep enough before tomorrow's one-on-one duels, don't ya?"

"yeah," you agree easily, eyes drifting to your shoes in a small nod.

gojo's grin widens.

maybe like a cheshire cat.

maybe like a victor cat who finally got the rat right where he wanted: in his paws.

"but you won't be needing a lot of rest if you're already determined to lose the match tomorrow— will you now?"

no, you won't. you obviously won't. gojo has learnt enough about you to predict this much accurately; but maybe not too accurately. given you don't show any sliver of shock or fear in return.

just two eyebrows raised, only to slowly descend to their original level a moment later. your tone feels firmer this time. "what exactly are you trying to tell me, senpai?"

"nothing too serious," the boy hums easily, stuffing his hands into his trousers pockets. why do they start being so cold, so clammy now of all times??— "just that it doesn't take a hell lot of work to maintain an image of being an incompetent idiot, like the one you always seem to be— c'mon," the boy coaxes, making his voice seem extra petulant at noticing still no emotion whatsoever on your face, "you do know what i'm speaking of, don't you?"

in retrospect, maybe... he should have handled you with greater care. you're not only new to your school, but also to the world of sorcery in general. pressing you so hard will hurt you, if not break you entirely— but gojo doesn't let such concerns form in his mind. not even for one whole second.

not when he wants to see something, anything come to life in those bright eyes of yours. he is dying to see a spark in them.

you fold your arms across your chest. brows nearing in a mild scowl. gojo doesn't really understand, but loves the sense of joy the sight is bringing him— "what exactly are you trying to tell me, senpai?" your adorable voice repeats, stonier than before.

he resists the urge to pinch your cheeks. or worse, coo at you.

the boy removes his hands from his pockets. copying your stance as he says, "i cannot really tell you anything, y'know— you're almost as smart as me— i mean, tricking those stinking geezers into believing you're just some weakass, with neither a cursed technique nor good fighting skills, despite the insane amount of cursed energy you've..."

"why did you never curb your cursed energy, by the way?" the query slips past his lips into the space in between: horribly genuine. a fact that doesn't escape your eye, he grasps when you reply— in spite of the not-too-little reluctance marking your features.

"the higher-ups were aware of my high cursed energy before i even knew what the hell it was— it was honestly too late," you state in an awfully matter-of-fact tone, "they would have noticed if i tried to do anything to it."

the 'and they would have harmed me or my family' goes unsaid, but gojo doesn't need to hear it to know it. not entirely intentionally, his voice grows softer with the next question.

"but you tampered with something that no one knew anything of yet— you lied about having no cursed technique, didn't you?"

your hesitation overpowers you this time, however. brows furrowing for a beat at him, before they flatten again. you offer a curt nod.

few more seconds borrowed until you speak again, "but my horrible fighting skills weren't a lie entirely... i really am shit at fighting— you saw that today, did you not?"

he did. he so did—

but that very moment, he also saw just how strong your technique is. surely not as powerful as his. but pretty much capable on its own— it frankly won't be a serious issue even if you keep fighting how you did today—

the sound of a yawn breaks his internal musings.

those big eyes of yours blink up at him. so bleary, so bright. he stifles the urge to pinch your cheeks again. deciding to shoo away the sleep in your eyes by throwing the next ask his brain has cooked up. one he knows, has the biggest 'yes!' ever for its answer—

"you're very scared of dying, aren't you? that's why you always make yourself seem so weak— so much so that you aren't assigned to any mission— don't you?"

— only to question his brain when he notes the easy smile twist your lips. it sharpens at the edges as you answer, "dying's rather easy and uncomplicated, senpai. it doesn't really scare me, except maybe, the pain i might have to suffer— but do you know what's scarier??"

"no," gojo says back quietly. honestly. your smile grows something an awful lot similar to pity— the boy detests it usually... but coming from you, he thinks he will take it.

he will take any look you're willing to give him.

as long as it's you on the other side—

your words reach him quieter than the breeze outside. "what's more terrifying is the worry of what is going to happen to your loved ones, should you just die someday— death is inevitable, but i just want to stave it off for as long as i can. just so i may live with my family... you know what, senpai?" you interrupt yourself abruptly, voice becoming the sharpest in these last fifteen minutes.

a feeble sound escapes the boy.

he isn't sure if it's because of that sincere little hum in your words or if it is the gleam of the moonlight on your face. perhaps, both...

yeah, both— it is rather difficult to distinguish between the beauty of your inner self from that of your outer self— the smile simmers down to a subtle twitch of your lips.

something stutters and stumbles inside gojo's chest.

"i know you see me as nothing more than a coward right now, but i believe... it's better to be a coward and alive, than to be a hero and dead— isn't it, senpai?"

[you're pretty bold, however.

far braver than he could ever deem you to be, the boy muses later to himself with a wry smile, an ice bag on the big toe of his right foot— this poor thing swollen and bruised from how mercilessly the heel of your slipper stamped onto it earlier—

okay, fine— the sorcerer concedes to the imaginary angel perched on his shoulder. something between a grumble and a sigh escaping— he shouldn't have asked you out on a date, in return for him to keep your secrets.

it was really inappropriate, he admits. and gojo likes to see himself as a gentleman... yet, yet, yet.

the need to see that placid mask of yours crack— let it be by a glower and not by the smile, he has never seen on you but knows will be just as lovely as you— that need was too overwhelming then as well...

shushing the angel and fist-bumping his guardian devil, gojo tosses the ice bag away. and falls back into his bed—

a very happy, a touch too giddy grin splitting his face into halves:

you really are a peculiar girl, heh!]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[imaginespazzi]

Part 4: The Art of Letting Go

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Only know you love her when (she lets you) go

(In which a still very sadistic writer make things a lot worse but only so they can get a little bit better)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt with very little comfort

Words: 7.9K

TW: Car Accidents, Panic Attacks, Swearing

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I know I'm very, very late with this and I love you all for being so patient. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter but it is what it is. Logistical details are probably a little off but I need things to work for the plot, so try and ignore that. Per usual I did edit (very loosely and I'll probably go back over it later), there are probably typos anyways. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading lovelies and let's get a W this weekend. <3

December 2023

A week or so after they get back from the Cayman Islands, Azzi feels like she’s been sleep-walking through life, everything around her hazy and dull. She religiously sticks to a routine of eat-study-practice-sleep. Except well, sleep isn’t really sleeping. It’s her brain conjuring images of blonde hair and blue eyes and Azzi forcing herself to wake-up from a nightmare that used to be her favourite dream. 

She doesn’t tell anyone what happened, lying to herself it’s because it would be embarrassing and not because it would mean having to face the truth. Still, it doesn’t mean that her teammates can’t piece together little bits. There must be something quite sinister about the air around her, because none of her normally nosy and eager-to-help sisters try to weasel any information out of Azzi. They act like they always have, only sharing worried looks behind her back when the façade of i’m doing fine slips momentarily when she thinks no one’s watching. 

And then that façade goes to hell over the span of a couple of hours. 

It starts with the inevitable breakup with Zoe. At first Azzi avoids it, making up excuses as to why she can’t see her girlfriend. Selfishly, there’s a part of her that wants to keep Zoe, keep a girl who would never leave, never make her feel anything less than (or more than) just content. But it’s not fair, Azzi knows that, and it’s why she practises her it’s not you, it’s me speech to perfection in front of the mirror. When she goes to message Zoe that she's coming over, the text chain causes a pinch of guilt in her heart at the contrast between her girlfriend’s hopeful tone versus her own nonchalant one. And Azzi thinks that Zoe will never really understand just how similar the two of them are, stuck at wanting someone who would always let them down. Only, Azzi will let Zoe free but when it comes to her herself, she’s pretty sure she’s destined to be trapped forever. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that Azzi remembers the apartment in Storrs that she’d visited barely a handful of times a lot more than she remembers the apartment she’s currently in, the one that belongs to her girlfriend. Zoe sits rigidly on the couch with the same reserved, guarded expression she’s had since she’d opened the door, clearly aware of what was about to happen. Her foot taps incessantly as the silence between them drags on.

“You deserve better,” Azzi says finally, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the floor. 

“No,” Zoe’s voice is cold, “don’t say shit like that. It’s a cop out. It’s the shit people say to make themselves feel better-”

“Zoe-”

“Don’t be a fucking coward Azzi. Look me in the eye and say it, say exactly what you’re here to.”

Azzi doesn’t want to do any of that. She wants to crumble to the ground and let it swallow her until she’s buried so far away from the mess she’s created. But she owes Zoe this. When she does look at Zoe, there’s this look in the other girl’s eyes that Azzi had never thought herself capable of evoking in anyone and she has to swallow away the bile that rises in her throat, disgusted by her own self. 

“I’m breaking up with you,” Azzi whispers. Her words linger in the air, like shrapnel after an explosion. Zoe flinches, a single tear trickling down her face. 

“There it is,” the Californian says quietly, the ghost of an ironic smile playing on her lips, “I knew it was coming but damn- there it is.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For what-” Zoe cuts herself, “no actually don’t- don’t answer that. I think I know.”

Azzi draws in a deep breath, ready to confess, “I need to tell-”

“Please-”

“Z-”

“Please,” Zoe sobs, “please don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear it okay? I don’t- I don’t want to hate you Azzi. It’s too much and I don’t- I just- I’m so tired of feeling so much for you when you don’t- when you feel so little for me.”

“That’s not true,” Azzi counters helplessly, her words ringing hollow to her own ears. 

“Fucking hell you just ended it Azzi, you don’t have to pretend anymore. And it’s okay because I get it. You can’t feel any more than what little you do for me because- because you’ve already given the rest of it away. And it’s not- it’s not like I didn’t know you know? I only ever met you because you were crying over her. You only let me into your life because you missed her. And now you have her,” Zoe says wistfully. 

It’s terrible the way everything else becomes white noise as Azzi’s ear latches on the last sentence, a sentence that couldn’t be any further away from the truth. She was prepared for the accusations, for Zoe to hurl every curse word in the book at her, but this, the unintended reminder that she was giving up on soft, sweet, gentle Zoe for something that she didn’t have, hurts far more than any words could. 

“This isn’t about-” 

Zoe’s quick to cut Azzi off, pushing herself off the couch they had been sharing, trying to put even more space in between them, “please do not insult my intelligence by finishing that sentence. I deserve that much at least.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are because I know- I know who you are Azzi and I know you’re a good person and that’s why- that’s why I don’t wanna know okay? Whatever you did- whatever happened- just let me- just let me have this. Let me remember you as someone good- someone great,” Zoe pleads.

“If that’s what you want Zo,” Azzi answers weakly, the guilty clawing at her heart. She doesn’t think she deserves to be remembered like that, doesn’t think she’s worthy of being thought of with fondness, not anymore. 

Zoe doesn’t make any acknowledgement of Azzi having spoken as she starts to pace, “I should have known. You know the day I met her this summer, I got it- the appeal- I got it immediately. She has this aura, this charm. She just- she just fucking glows you know? And she’s just- she’s this huge entity and so are you and I’m just,” she lets out a hollow laugh as she shrugs,  “I’m just a girl from Stockton, California.”

“And you’re amazing,” Azzi puts up a hand when Zoe tries to cut her off again, “you are. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did for me last year. You could have walked away that day and maybe- maybe one day you’ll think you should have. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Zoe. You do deserve better. It’s not a cop out. It’s the truth.”

Since she was younger, Azzi’s always hated endings. This time is no different. The bitter truth is that she probably won’t miss her girlfriend, but she will miss the friend that had gotten her through one of the toughest years of her life. Slowly, Azzi picks herself off of the couch and walks over to a still Zoe, squeezing her left hand once before heading towards the door. 

“Azzi,” Zoe calls out, just as Azzi has one foot out the door, “I hope it works out for the two of you. You and Paige always did just seem inevitable.”

***

She blames the fact she’s currently stuck in the terrible LA traffic, with the word inevitable ringing in her ears, for the way her fingers continuously flicker over the green call button under Paige’s name. Zoe saying her name had been the first time in a week that Azzi had even let herself, in consciousness at least, think of the blonde properly. And now that it had been unleashed, whispers of Paige, Paige, Paige echo through every crevice of skull. The pain and anger that she’d been trying to shield herself from, come barraging into her heart as she’s held captive once again by thoughts of her best friend. 

It would be a lie to say that Azzi hadn’t been hoping for a call or a text to come through. She’d waited two days with bated breath for a friendly quip that would lead them back to their safe haven of just pretend. Instead it was as if they were back to being who they had been before summer of 2022 all over again. Back to being nothing. But this time Azzi had been adamant that if Paige was going to cut her off again, she wouldn’t fight it, not this time. Apparently that resolve was never meant to last and Azzi feels a little pathetic with how desperately she needs to hear Paige’s voice, how desperately she wants to try again. 

The traffic clears just as she presses call and maybe that should have been a sign. Azzi’s not a bad driver per say, but as her dad always said, no one’s a good driver when they’re distracted. The phone rings for too long and she should take that as her next sign and accept it as Paige not wanting to talk, but she lets it continue to ring anyway, as she turns onto a more secluded road. And then-

“Hello,” the voice is unfamiliar and Azzi doesn’t really know Paige’s teammates, beyond Caroline, that well but she’s pretty certain this one doesn’t belong to any of them. 

“Hi uh- who is this?” she manages to get out as her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“Oh um- this is Rose, Paige’s friend” comes the reply, the word friend said with a sultry lilt and Azzi feels her skin prickle. Hang up. 

“Why are you answering Paige’s phone?” her tone is far more accusatory than she’d like it to be. 

“She’s in the bathroom but she told me to,” Rose answers defensively. 

Azzi hesitates, she doesn’t need to know more except, “does she know who called?”

Because surely if she did, if Paige knew it was Azzi on the other line, she wouldn’t let one of her likely random hookups answer the phone, surely Paige would know what it would do, how it would make her feel. 

“Uh yeah- I told her Azzi called and she seemed pretty sure she wanted me to pick up.”

Maybe Paige does know what it would do, does know how it would make Azzi feel, maybe that’s the whole fucking point. Through the phone she can hear quiet footsteps walking closer, towards Rose. When Paige is close enough that Azzi can make out the sound of her breathing, can almost picture the way her chest is heaving, that’s when the tears finally fall, blurring her vision. 

She doesn’t see the blinking headlights rushing towards her until it’s too late and then she’s swerving. The world around her erupts in motion and light and noise, everything spinning and spinning and spinning. For one moment, as she loses complete control of her car, Azzi thinks maybe this is it. And the most terrifying part of it, is that for a second, she’s not all that opposed to the idea of this being the end. It’s a singular image of her parents in her brain that has her regaining her senses and hitting the brakes as hard as she can. Her tires screech as her car barrels into a tree and her entire body jerks around in her car, her seatbelt leaving burn scars against her neck. Azzi feels her heartbeat going haywire, as everything comes to a halt. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Rose’s panicked voice echoes. 

“What?” and there’s Paige and even in this wreckage, Azzi’s heart stutters at the sound of her best friend. 

“I think she crashed-”

“WHAT?” there’s frantic shuffling until, “Azzi? Azzi? Hello? Are you there? Fuck. Azzi are you okay? Please say something. C’mon Az. I know you’re there. Can you hear me? Please be okay. Azzi? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Azzi?”

Azzi opens and closes her mouth, trying to answer to the call of her name, but nothing comes out. She feels hot and cold all over at the same and she swears there’s a hand curled around her neck because she can’t fucking breathe. 

“Azzi,” Paige says again desperately, “please say something.”

“P-Paige,” Azzi finally manages to stutter, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. There’s blood rushing to her ears and everything around her feels hazy. 

“Azzi,” and that one syllable is wrapped in so much emotion, “I’m here okay, are you okay?”

No, Azzi thinks, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. 

“I c-can’t breathe. I think” she grasps at her neck, “I th-think I’m having a panic attack.”

Paige curses under her breath, “okay, okay alright listen to me breathe okay? And try to match it okay?”

“O-okay,” Azzi whispers, pressing her head to her steering wheel as she tries to mimic Paige’s exaggerated deep breaths on the other end of the line. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me Azzi, just keep breathing okay,” Paige’s voice is far calmer than she probably is in reality, “just keep breathing with me okay.”

Azzi closes her eyes as she feels her chest slowly start to loosen up and lets herself be immersed by Paige’s soothing words of comfort. And for a second, it almost feels as if her best friend is right there with her. For a second, Azzi imagines that they’re on a whole other planet, just them in their little world, like it always should have been, like she’d once been so sure it would be. It’s a beautiful dream that reality is quick to gatecrash. 

“Babe, is she okay?” Rose asks, and Azzi’s eyes fly open at the term of endearment. She’s not on a different planet. She’s alone. And Paige isn’t. 

“I’m fine,” Azzi breathes out and then more firmly, “I’m fine.”

“Thank God,” Paige lets out a sigh of relief before her tone turns sour “what the actual fuck Azzi?”

Azzi winces at the loudness, pretty sure she might have a concussion from the way her head had crashed back into her headrest as she’d crashed into the tree in front of her. 

“I’m fine,” she repeats assertedly, as everything around her slowly starts to make sense again. It’s not a lie really, at least not physically. There’s the potential concussion, and the litany of bruises she’s starting to feel all over her body but she’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong internally. Well except for her stupid fucking heart but it wasn’t the accident that had fucked that organ up. 

“You just crashed your fucking car, no you’re not fucking fine,” Paige yells, voice thick with tears. 

“What the fuck do you care?” Azzi bites back, “sorry I interrupted your fucking night Paige. I swear it won’t happen again.”

She hangs up before Paige can say anything else, sitting deathly still for a second. And then she lets herself completely break apart. 

***

74 missed calls from Paige

did u go to the hospital 

pick up ur fucking phone 

dude

azzi

this is not the time for this stubborn bullshit 

PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE 

AZZI 

just say ur ok at least

please 

called ur mom 

said u had a concussion and some bruising 

thats not too bad 

ur so fucking stupid 

it could be so much worse 

please pick up 

AZZI FUCKING FUDD PICK UP UR PHONE 

so u can call carol and not me ok 

thats just fucking perfect

dude i feel like an accident > stupid fights 

so maybe just pick up 

or call me back

u wanna play this stupid game fine 

ignore me for now

but i’mma be in dc for christmas

ur gonna have to talk to me 

i know where u live 

***

The box in Azzi’s arm feels freakishly heavy, like she’s holding the whole world inside of it. In a way, maybe she is. The walk up Paige’s dad’s driveway feels longer than it ever has and she’s fighting the urge to turn back with every step. As soon as she’d seen the vaguely threatening text message, Azzi had decided she would beat Paige to it. The night of the accident had put several things into perspective and Azzi was determined to finally grasp control of her own life. 

It hasn’t been that long since the Cayman Island and so it hasn’t been that long since Azzi’s seen Paige. But when the door opens and she’s face to face with her best friend, despite the dread and anxiety that’s drowning her heart, Azzi still feels that beat of it’s cold but you always make me feel warm flutter in her chest. Paige smiles and Azzi’s arms wobble, drawing the blonde’s attention to the box in her arms. 

“Still a couple of days till Christmas Az, a little early to give me my present,” Paige smirks lightly and Azzi feels a river of hot anger slide around her veins. After everything she’d put her through in the last couple of weeks, the fact that Paige could act so frivolous, as if they were still fine, makes Azzi see red. 

Her voice is icier than the sheet of frost on the ground when she replies, “it’s not a Christmas present.”

Paige’s eyebrows knit together questioningly, “then-”

“It’s all your stuff I had lying around,” Azzi cuts in, trying to keep her voice confident and stable. 

The smile disappears from Paige’s face as she studies Azzi's face, looking for some semblance of emotion beyond the blank stare. 

“What?”

“All the things you’ve left at my house over the years, a couple of t-shirts, a hat, a book and a couple other things, they’re in this box,” Azzi says pointedly. She tries to hand it over but Paige is quick to move away from it, staring at the offending object as if it’s a ticking time bomb. 

“What the actual fuck is going on Azzi?”

“I might have missed some things. Let me know if I have and I’ll mail them to you in the future,” Azzi recites clinically, keeping her demeanour stoic as possible “and of course I would like my things back as well. Not right now of course. You can mail them to me whenever it suits you.”

“Mail back your things? What? What the fuck are you going on about?” Paige asks, a bewildered expression taking on her face. She reaches out as if she wants to shake Azzi but seems to think better of it. 

Azzi doesn’t say anything, as she sidesteps Paige into the house, putting in the utmost effort to make sure no part of herself brushes up against the older girl, knowing the inevitable burst of electricity when they touch would be enough to break her resolve. She places the box of Paige’s stuff on the coffee table in the living room, before turning back to Paige. 

“I’m giving you your stuff back,” Azzi repeats, “I’m giving you what you want.”

“What I want? When did I ask for my stuff back?”

Azzi draws in a deep breath, fighting desperately against the screams of you don’t want this in her own head, “I’m giving you a clean break Paige. I’m letting you go.”

Saying those words feels a lot like free-falling. Her stomach lurches at the way Paige’s features scrunch up in pain and she’d never meant to do that, but Azzi’s so tired. She’s so tired of this push and pull, the way they seem to hurt each other every fucking time, the way things get so close to going right and then go wrong any way. The bitter truth of life, Azzi has forced herself to admit, is that it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, sometimes the darkness wins out anyway. 

“You think-,” Paige stutters, clutching at her chest, “you think this is what I want?”

“Well isn’t it?” 

“Of course n-”

“If I hadn’t called you that night would you have called me first Paige?  If I hadn’t gotten into that stupid accident, would you even have texted me ever again?”

Paige’s silence is an answer in itself . And although Azzi had known it, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that had posed the question hoping against hope that Paige would have answered it with a resounding yes of course. She thinks maybe she should be used to the singe of disappointment that burns her skin by now but she’s never been immune to Paige’s fire. 

“That’s what I thought,” Azzi says quietly, “I’m tired of running after you Paige. I thought I was done after the Cayman Islands but then I- I don’t know- I don’t know why I called you that night when you- you clearly didn’t want that.”

“Azzi c’mon-”

“It’s my fault really. Because you've always been clear about it and I- for some reason- I just don’t listen. You were clear with it when you told me to go to UCLA and get out of your life. You were clear when you didn’t want me to come into your air BnB. You were clear when you told me to get out of the bathroom last summer. And when you left that night-,” Azzi pauses as Paige’s eyes widen, the words catching in her throat, “when you were gone that morning- every time you didn’t call- every time you didn’t text- you were always clear about it Paige and I- I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

“You’re being really fucking unfair right now,” Paige accuses, “you’re mad because I didn’t want to be your fucking side whore? I’m so sorry I had more self-respect than that Azzi.”

Azzi blinks rapidly, her face still completely neutral, “excuse me?”

“You wanna blame me for those first two things, fine. But you have a whole ass girlfriend and you wanted me to be what? Just a girl you can fuck occasionally because you feel like it? Who the fuck do you think I am? I deserve so much better than that.”

“I don’t-”

“You wanna know why I left that morning?” Paige asks icily, “I woke up and the first thing I saw is your girlfriend’s fucking i miss you text. All that shit you said to me when I kissed you in LA about not wanting to be one of my groupies or whatever but what did you want me to be Azzi?”

When they were young and naive, the largest fight they’d ever had was about whether or not one of them had cheated in a game of horse. The allegations of cheater from a 15 year old Paige had seemed massive back then, but they pale in front of the accusations of cheater from a 22 year old Paige. It’s not that Azzi thinks she’s some prime example of a good samaritan and she can deal with people thinking she’s not all that, but it’s different when it’s Paige, it’s different to know that Paige could ever think so low of her. 

“You really think I’d do that you? That I’d make you my sidepiece or whatever?”

“What else am I supposed to think about you fucking me while you have a girlfriend?” Paige asks exasperatedly and Azzi flinches at the repeated use of the profanity. 

“Had.”

“What?”

Azzi grips the hem of her shirt, trying to focus her eyes anywhere but Paige, “I had a girlfriend. Past tense.”

“You- you broke up with Zoe?” Paige’s expression morphs from anger to confusion before finally settling on realisation. 

“I never wanted you to be a side piece. You think I don’t know you deserve better than that?” Azzi rubs her temple, as she tries to keep herself steady on her feet, “I know seeing that text hurt you but it’s not like you didn’t know I had a girlfriend. But- but if you’d just waited for me to wake up, god if you’d just talked to me once instead of jumping to conclusions then-”

“Then what?” Paige breathes out and Azzi doesn’t miss the little spurt of hope that’s taken birth on the older girl's face. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Azzi shakes her head, “that’s also past tense now.”

The thing with Paige is that anger is her protective mechanism. When she gets a little close to losing control of her emotions, or feeling too much, it’s what she falls back on so it’s not surprising that her tone is harsh when she speaks again. 

“How the fuck was I supposed to guess you were gonna break up with your girlfriend Az c’mon,” Paige takes a step towards her, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

“I never asked you to read my mind. I just- all I’ve ever wanted- is for you to just have a little faith in me- in us,” Azzi’s voice breaks on the last word. 

“That’s not fair. I was really fucking  hurt Azzi-” Paige begins, her voice pleading.

“And then you tried to hurt me back on purpose,” Azzi spits out as the façade of neutrality completely slips off, “you knew it was me calling and you had that girl pick up any way knowing exactly how it would make me feel.”

“Azzi,” baby blue eyes sparkle with tears and Azzi has to force herself to look away, because no matter how much she’s convinced that this is what needs to happen, seeing Paige break, will drown Azzi and she’s barely floating as it is. 

“I don’t enjoy hurting you Paige,” Azzi says softly, “and I don’t think you enjoy hurting me but for the last couple of years, I feel like that’s all we’ve been doing and I- I can’t do it anymore.”

It’s not something she’d ever admitted out loud, or even to herself, but once upon a time Azzi used to think her and Paige would have one of those stories, one of those soft, sappy fairytale-esque stories that had no chance of an ending that wasn’t happily ever after. And she hopes that maybe in another universe, maybe they did have that. Maybe in a universe where she chose UConn and things never went wrong in the first place. Maybe in that universe, they’re happy. But in this universe, they seem to be destined for misery. And Azzi thinks the saddest tragedy of it all, is that it feels like she’s ending a story that never even really got the chance to start. 

“So that’s it then, you’re walking away- you’re just- you’re fucking giving up?” Paige says bitterly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and Azzi feels a flicker of annoyance light up against her ribcage. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” she accuses, “Is that not what you do? You walk away every. single. time. because you can’t deal with things getting just a little too fucking hard. And what? I’m just supposed to wait until you come back? Or chase after you like a pathetic little puppy?”

Paige flinches at the hardness in Azzi’s tone, mouth opening and closing but nothing escaping. 

“I’m so fucking tired of always being the one calling, the one showing up, the one trying. I’m so fucking tired of fighting for us when it feels like you’re fighting against me,” Azzi pauses,trying to blink away the tears she’d tried so hard to keep locked behind her eyelids, “if you wanna call that me giving up then okay, but I don’t think you realize just how fucking hard I want to hold on.”

Azzi’s not sure if it’s the way her voice cracks, or the absolute misery behind every word she says, but Paige's hard and cold expression is gone so fast it gives her whiplash. And then her Paige, the girl with the warm eyes and soft heart is back, looking at Azzi in a way that makes her want to believe in them all over again. Arms outstretched, Paige takes a step forwards and there’s nothing more Azzi wants then melt into them. It takes everything in her to step away instead. For a moment there’s nothing but them staring at each other in silence, a moment where Azzi tries to memorise everything about Paige just in case this is the last time. And then-

“What if,” Paige begins softly, “what if I entered the draft?”

Azzi looks at her in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“The Sparks have the second pick, it’s where I’m projected to go,” Paige bites at her lips, peering at Azzi through her eyelashes. 

The Sparks. The Los Angeles Sparks. 

“Is that what you want?” Azzi asks quietly, trying to prevent her brain from already coming up with dreams of stupid picnic dates at the park during sunset. 

Paige hesitates. And it’s enough for those dreams to crumble, because Azzi knows Paige just a little too well, knows exactly what that little bit of hesitation means. 

“I haven’t decided yet but if- if there was a reason that I should-”

“There isn’t,” Azzi says firmly, “it’s not what you want.”

“I don’t even fucking know what I want,” Paige argues and that doesn’t make it any better. 

“Then figure it out,” Azzi yells, frustratedly rubbing her hands over her face, “I won’t deal with you fucking resenting me and running away again in a couple of years- hell in a couple of months- because you regret your fucking decision.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Please just stop. It's done. I’ve made up my mind” Azzi begs, exhaustion flooding into her body, “just- just let this go please.”

Paige meets her eyes with a stubborn fire, “I don’t fucking want to.”

“Well tough luck because I do.”

“Azzi,” Paige pleads desperately, trying to block Azzi as she beelines for the door, but the younger girl is quick to push past her. 

“Goodbye Paige.”

***

December 2024 

azzi please just let me in 

ur parent are saying u dont wanna see me 

and i get it 

but i can fix this i swear 

i know u know im here

please fucking let me in 

i fucked up 

i know 

im so fucking sorry

but dude we can fix this

just 

can u just fucking let me in

i really wanna see u 

i really wanna talk 

can we just fucking talk 

please 

merry christmas az

u know what fuck u actually 

didnt mean that sorry 

i was just mad 

u make me really fucking mad 

christmas breaks almost over 

i have to go back soon and ik u do too

we should talk before that 

ur so fucking stubborn 

but so am i

im not giving up 

i won’t 

January 2024

hi 

i miss you

ur really fucking annoying

not texting me back

but its fine

i’ll just fucking spam 

i had an ok day today 

practice was kinda ass 

not me tho

i was great

as always 

bet i made more threes than you did 

bro im watching ur game

and

what the fuck kinda airball did u just throw up 

get in the gym az jfc 

oh that was a good pullup

not better than mine

but decent 

been a fucking month azzi 

just fucking call me back 

or text me idk 

i miss u 

sooooooooooo

hows ur day

good? good.

hows mine?

oh kinda shit 

lets see

we lost in front of all these uconn legends

to their fucking rival 

everyones saying uconn fucking sucks 

some people are saying i suck

they might not be completely wrong 

now would be a good time to reply az 

like maybe make me feel better

fuck u actually 

what the fuck am i doing 

idk if u even read these 

February 2024

idk maybe i should stop 

like maybe only fucking psychos do this 

but idk bro 

i feel like ur gonna text me back eventually 

well sc was a shit show 

i mean we knew it but holy shit 

i really wanna talk to you about it

it’d mainly just be me fucking yelling 

and u giggling 

fuck i miss ur laugh

i miss you

idk if u just ignore these

so idk if ur gonna even see this 

but 

i wanted to tell you first 

before u saw it from somewhere else 

im staying at uconn 

u were right

i didnt want to leave yet 

i want my 4 years

but 

just dont think it means i didnt mean what i said

that i dont wanna be in la with u

i do

its not about that

i just need to do whats best for me

and thats staying here 

fuck

i get what u meant now

u didnt pick ucla over me

fuck fuck fuck 

im sorry az

is this how u felt 

when i didn’t text u back 

because it’s actually fucking hell 

i miss you so fucking much dude

i’m so sorry 

i’m really fucking sorry azzi 

for all of it

please just call me back

March 2024

last pac-12 tournament mvp!!

dude i’m so proud of you

we also won 

idk if u heard 

it wasnt easy either 

everything just always fucking goes wrong 

fucking pisses me off 

but oh well 

u know i dont even like texting 

idk how many messages ive sent u 

its gotta be hundreds atp 

insane shit on my part 

tf is wrong with me 

did u see the bracket

see u in the final 4 azzi 

April 2024 

i fucking told u 

i told you id see u in the final four

fucking meant it

fuck 

gonna kick yalls ass

revenge szn

we’re built different in march

cleveland here we fucking go 

but also

cant avoid me anymore 

i cant fucking wait to see you az  

***

UConn 87     UCLA 84 

There’s six seconds left to go and UCLA has control of the ball. The game today had been completely different from the on down in the Cayman Islands. That one had featured a UCLA team that had dominated from start to finish versus a UConn team still reeling from multiple injuries. This time around, UCLA seemed to have lost some of their shine and UConn had been on a tear. She would never give Paige the satisfaction of knowing it but her stupid goading, her incessant smirking because UConn seemed poised to win handedly, had gotten in Azzi’s head for most of the game. The fourth quarter had seen UConn enter with a 11 point lead that had held study until the last two and a half minutes when something had finally clicked for Azzi. 

“Told you, you should have fucking come to UConn,” Paige had sneered while casually dribbling the ball and that had been enough to break Azzi out of whatever funk she’d been in. All of her anger and frustration at Paige seemed to culminate into that one moment as she’d swiped the ball straight from Paige’s hands, narrowly avoiding a foul. An easy steal-and-score layup was followed by two signature three pointers, created by her team’s defence, and suddenly the lead had been cut down to three. On the other side, Muhl had been called for an offensive foul and immediately Coach Close had called for a timeout to advance the ball. 

When both teams get back on the court, Azzi, with her competitive streak in full control of her emotions, relishes in the way Paige’s face is contorted up in frustration. But it isn’t just this game that has Azzi irritated. Paige had been relentless since both teams had landed in Cleveland in trying to corner Azzi. She’d known it was gonna happen since she’d read the text but still Azzi had hoped that maybe the blonde would just let it go, would understand just how much Azzi didn’t want to have to deal with this. Because seeing Paige hurts. All the missing and yearning of the past few months seemed to have blended into this ball of tight hot pain that had burst the minute Paige had smiled at Azzi. She knows Paige means well, and it’s taking everything in her to ignore the part of her that’s secretly enamoured by how hard the point guard is trying finally, but Azzi just can’t do it again. She can’t let Paige in again and then spend every other second scared that Paige will run away again. 

The whistle blows and Charisma gets ready to inbound the ball. The play call had been to just get it to Azzi but it’s clearly one that UConn had anticipated, because she finds herself swarmed with Paige and Muhl both trying to make sure she doesn’t get the ball. Instead, it’s Kiki who gets the ball and the countdown starts, as Azzi fights to get herself free, running off of screens, to get herself open on the three point line. It takes too much time and they don’t have any more timeouts left. Kiki throws it inside to Lauren who misses the layup but gets her own rebound and somehow the ball finally finds its way into Azzi’s hands. And with barely a second left to go, and Paige’s hand firmly in her face, Azzi throws up a prayer. The arena goes deathly silent as the ball hits the back and then circles every inch of the rim before spilling over the edge and falling straight into Edwards’ hands. 

The crowd erupts in deafening cheers as the UConn bench rushes to the court, jubilantly hugging each other with Paige in the middle. Azzi blinks rapidly, refusing to be caught shedding a single tear on camera. Her teammates look distraught and Azzi feels disappointment curling into every crevice of her skin she’d almost had it. In the grand scheme of things she knows that, that shot would have only guaranteed overtime and not a win but still, it wouldn’t have meant a loss. And she knows this one isn’t completely on her either but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel the burden of it on her shoulders any way. 

But despite it all, seeing Paige’s bright smile stretch all over her beaming face as she celebrates with her team, soothes the sting of the loss just a little bit. Azzi still remembers late night calls and Paige’s broken voice too well, her brain imprinted with the misery of a girl who had just wanted to play the sport she loved and couldn’t. And even if everything between them resembles the remnants of an earthquake, Azzi can’t help but be just a little bit happy for Paige. 

The handshake line is better this time around with no one being unnecessarily hostile. One team is too happy to care and when Muhl briefly hugs her, Azzi can’t help but be a little shocked by the affection. Her team is too despondent to be mad, and Angela briefly nods at Paige when shaking her hand, and gets a reassuring grin in return. Azzi has to force herself not to run away, if only for decorum’s sake, once she and Paige finally get to each other. Trying to keep herself steady, she reaches out her hand to counter Paige’s outstretched arms. The smile falls a little bit from Paige’s face as a more resigned expression takes its place. 

“Good game Bueckers,” Azzi manages to muster out. 

The last name stings but Paige does her best to not let it show, “good game Az.”

***

When there’s a knock on the door to her hotel room a little bit after 10pm, Azzi knows exactly who it is. The look that Charisma gives her as she goes to open it, suggests that she does too. 

“Oh thank fucking god, I thought maybe y’all left already,” and there it is, Paige voice echoing through her room and from where she’s perched on the edge of bed, her feet dangling over the side, Azzi catches a brief glimpse of the UConn point guard. 

“Had a little bit of a transportation issue. We’re not leaving til tomorrow morning,” Charisma explains, “what are you doing here Paige?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously at the doorway, peering over Charisma’s frame in the doorway to catch sight of Azzi, “can I talk to Azzi?”

“First you kick my ass in the final four, and now you wanna kick me out of my own room?” Charisma asks, voice light but there’s an edge of seriousness to it. 

“I-uh-” 

“Az,” Charisma turns to Azzi with a questioning look, and Azzi sighs at having all the attention on her, “you wanna talk to her?”

Say no. Say yes. Her head fights with itself. And for the last few months, Azzi’s done well with listening to the logical part of her brain, diligently sticking to letting go. But that had only been easy to do because Paige hadn’t actually been there. Now that she is, with bright hopeful eyes fixed on Azzi, well, this time the emotional side wins out. She nods her head in yes at Charisma and Paige seems to glow all over. 

“You’re lucky it’s me and not Angela or Kiki or any of the other girls,” Charisma warns, “but I swear to god Bueckers if I come back and there’s a single tear-”

“Then you have my permission to fucking murder me,” Paige vows, her face a paragon of sincerity. 

Charisma nods once, stepping aside to let Paige in. The Bruin’s point guard looks at Azzi once more for confirmation and then, satisfied by the small smile Azzi shoots at her, she leaves the room, letting the door shut behind her. And then it’s just Paige and Azzi and the myriad of unspoken thoughts that seem to always linger between them. 

“Hi,” Paige says softly. 

Azzi stares up at her with tired eyes, “shouldn’t you be celebrating or something?”

“Still one more game to go. Gotta lock in for that first.”

“Then go do that. What are you doing here?”

Paige flinches at the harsh tone and Azzi feels a wave of guilt come over her. She doesn’t mean to be so hostile but she’s scared that if she gives in just a little, all of her will go tumbling down. 

“Sunday is the most important game of my life,” Paige says quietly. 

“I know- I know it means a lot to you.”

“It does,” Paige nods, as she takes a step forward, hesitating for a second, before she drags a foot stool over, so she can sit right in front of Azzi, “will you stay for it?”

“That’s not-,” Azzi sucks in a deep breath, her senses muddle by having Paige so close to her again, “I thought I was clear about- about us.’

“You were but I thought I was clear with my texts,” Paige counters. 

“Paige please.”

“I just-,” Paige pauses, leaning forward and staring intently at Azzi, “I don’t know how the national championship is gonna go. I don’t know if we’re gonna win or lose but I just- I know that no matter what happens, I want you there. Because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. I just- I just want you there. With me. Always.”

Everything else floats away and for a moment, all Azzi knows is Paige, and the warmth that reverberates through her body at the earnestness in those words. If she could, she’d capture that feeling in a bottle and keep it forever. Because moments are fleeting. And when her brain catches up to her heart, and that voice in her head is back to echoing it won’t last, Azzi feels cold all over again. 

“You don’t believe me,” disappointment echoes in Paige’s voice; she’s always been a little too perceptive of Azzi’s emotions, “you think I don’t mean it?”

“I think you mean it now. I don’t think you’ll mean it forever,” Azzi shrugs. 

Paige is quiet, nerves on full display, as she cautiously reaches for Azzi’s hands with both of her own, an audible sigh of relief floating out of her lips when Azzi lets her. 

“I know I fucked up,” she begins quietly, thumb caressing Azzi’s palms, each trace sending jolts of electricy through the younger girl’s body, “like really fucked up and I get why you think that. I get why- why you’re so scared to believe me. And I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

A teardrop rolls down Paige’s cheek, falling onto their intertwined hands, and Azzi feels herself flinch, her own eyes beginning to glisten. 

“If I could go back in time, I’d change so many fucking things. I’d go back to the beginning- back to your room the night before you went to LA and- and I’d tell myself to shut the fuck up. I’d tell you that I supported you- that I understood that you weren’t choosing UCLA over me- and I’d- I’d tell you that it didn’t matter how many fucking miles away from me you were- we’d survive it. But I can’t- I can’t change the past. I can’t change that we fought. I can’t change that- that I was a fucking idiot for ignoring you for a year. I can’t change that I was a dumbass for leaving that morning.”

Tears are freely streaming from both of their eyes now as they grip each other’s hands tightly. There’s something cathartic about finally being able to cry, about finally being able to mourn the loss of what could have been together.And it feels a little bit like healing. 

Paige looks up at Azzi through watery eyelashes as she continues to speak, her voice wrecked with emotion, “and I’m not gonna make promises about how I’ll never do shit to hurt you again because god knows I can be really fucking stupid.”

They let out simultaneous giggles at that and Azzi can feel something in herself unravelling. 

“But what I can promise is that if you let me, every day- every fucking day that I live- I will try. To not hurt you. To make it up to you. To fix this. To fix us. And I can promise, that I will never ever fucking run away from you again. I know- I know it’s gonna be hard but I swear- I fucking swear- that I will stay right here and face it with you.”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers helplessly. It’s everything she’s wanted to hear and it’s too much. The voices in her head are too loud again, screams of she’ll hurt you, she always does, let her go colliding with shouts of it’s Paige, it’s your Paige, hold on to her. 

“You said- you said you were tired of fighting alone but you never- you never have to do that again because- because I’m here now. Fuck- Azzi I’m here. And I know- I know there’s so much we have to talk about and so much we still have to fucking deal with. But we can do that- we can- we can deal with anything. Because it’s us. Paige and Azzi. We can do anything. Together.”

Paige presses her forehead to Azzi’s, pulling their interlocked hands to her chest. They’re breathing in sync and Azzi can feel the thrum of Paige’s heart beat against her fingertips. Azzi’s eyes close of their own accord, as Paige’s lips brush over hers, her next words coming out in a breathless whisper. 

“Believe in me- believe in us just one more time, please.”

[ferigrieving]

darkroom chemicals.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ in which megumi develops more than just film.

in the heart of tokyo, tucked away in a cosy corner of the bustling city, megumi fushiguro found solace in an old photography darkroom. 

the air was heavy with the scent of chemicals and the soft hum of the tap running filled the room as he worked alongside you, too busy hanging up your prints to notice him.

in the corner of the room, fushiguro wrestled with a new roll of film, gritting his teeth as it refused to open. you stifled a laugh as you watched him fight, and seemingly loose, to his demons.

you gestured for him to move over, taking the changing bag from him and replacing his arms with yours. with practised precision, your fingers found the bottle cap opener and popped the roll open with ease.

“you’re welcome, ‘guro.” you elbow him in the shoulder when he lets out an indignant huff.

“sure. thanks” he bites out, frowning. “i had it.”

“yeah, sure you did, man.” you roll your eyes,opening the developing tank, removing the lids and before popping the roll of film in the reel. 

once the reel ceased the rhythmic clicking, you grabbed the scissors and cut off the excess at the end. placing it back inside the tank, the lid and agitator followed suit after. shutting it tight, you wrangled your arms free from the suffocating bag, wiping them on fushiguro’s jacket sleeve as a thanks. 

“shut up.” his voice lacks the usual snark it has, face flushed as he looks away from you, taking the bag and removing its content.

the room falls silent for a moment, save for the sound of the running tap and the occasional buzz of the light bulb. he looks down at his tank, mumbling a “..what’re you developing?” in an attempt to forget the moment that happened.

when you tell him its a secret ! he rolls his eyes, shifting his weight as he pushes in his stool. “y’know, usually when someone says that, its almost always embarrassing.”

“you’ll find out eventually, ‘kay? they’re just drying.” you push him playfully, taking his tank and putting it in with the rest in the designated drawer. “you're so impatient!”

“maybe i’ll just have to peek when youre not lookin’.” fushiguro’s tone is sarcastic, but the glint in his deep green eyes tell you otherwise. “you can’t do that, asshole. thats cheating.” you retorted, forwning.

he shrugs, taking another step towards you. his demeanour is more playful than anything, and you didnt know how long he would keep up the act until the jaws of the trap that is megumi fushiguro slam shut once more. 

“pretty please, let me see one of your prints for just five seconds?” he begs, in a dramatic whine, as if he were a little kid asking for another cookie. you didnt know how to feel about this side of fushiguro, but you werent necessarily complaining. he’d have to do a little more begging, though.

you chuckled at his theatrics, the corners of your lips curling up in amusement. “five seconds, huh? you drive a hard bargain, fushiguro.” you hum, wagging your finger at him playfully as you take a seat atop the counter.

“c’mon. just a quick peek. i promise i wont take long.”

you pretend to mull it over, tapping your chin thoughtfully as if you were considering his request. “well, i suppose i could make an exception just this once, just for you, ‘guro.” you grin, grabbing his hand and walking out of the darkroom and out into the light. 

with what you can only decipher as a ‘grin’ ghosting over fushiguro’s face, he crossed the distance and plucked one of the prints that was drying above you.

“oh.. huh.” he mumbles,  eyes scanning the negative. trying to comprehend what he’s seeing– and why you decided to develop this photo, of all things.

“its– me?” his voice trails off after a moment, his brain working on overdrive. “...why?”

you shrugged, cracking your knuckles absentmindedly. “you looked nice.”

“i looked nice?” fushiguro echoes quietly, still not able to fully believe what he was seeing. he feels his face heating up, scanning the picture once, twice, trying to see it the way you do.

“you’re the second person since… a long time, i guess, to tell me that.” he murmurs, eyes moving away from the negative and back to you. he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to disguise how warm he felt. when he speaks again, his voice is quiet, tinged with uncertainty. “you really think that im…nice to look at?”

“you’re real pretty, ‘guro.” you frown, stating it matter of factly. “why cant you accept that?”

“..’cause im not.” he states bluntly, tone flat and defensive. its almost as if he’s certain you're just trying to humour him, but theres a sinking feeling in his stomach that you might, just might, be genuine. “just.. drop the subject okay? ‘m not pretty.” you winced when his voice breaks at the end, as if it physically hurt him to be complimented.

you nod, apologising and hauling your legs up to press them against your chest, resting your chin against your knees as you watched him keenly.

fushiguro takes a deep breath, the tensin easing from his body. even though he’s certain you were merely being kind, it felt nice to hear someone compliment him, for once.

“hey, uh,” he looks around nervously, eyes locking in on a random corner. “when you’re done developing this roll, you’re gonna keep the negatives.. right?”

“–why wouldn’t i?”

“for reasons like,” his voice trails off once more, lost in thought. “...what if one day we– we lose touch with each other? what if we dont talk anymore?” he shrugs, tone remaining nonchalant, as if he wasnt bothered by the concept at all. “wouldn’t the negatives be the only way for both of us to see the pictures again? to remember?”

“why the fuck is that your first thought?”

“....’cause its a very likely scenario?” the question makes him tense up, his expression shifting to what you could only describe as defensiveness. “what, you think we’re still gonna stick around and be years on end? if a curse hasn't killed us before graduation, anyways.”

“we’ll still be friends. and alive.”

fushiguro goes quiet for a moment, a flicker of discomfort washing across him. the statement made him.. uncomfortable, despite it being something he’s thought about for hours end. it makes him feel uneasy to think about how everything he knows is temporary.

“...what makes you think that?”

“you really dont wanna be friends that badly, huh?”

fushiguro grits his teeth, wanting to argue further but refusing to make himself any more vulnerable than he already is. the idea of admitting that he wants to talk to you for years on end made him feel like an idiot. “what i meant was, i think we’ll drift. you and i; we’ll drift off as we get older, and eventually, we’ll forget each other.”

“even if we drift apart, i’ll never forget you, fushiguro.”

“...yeah? you’ll never forget about me? how touching.”

“pinky promise.”

he rolls his eyes, locking his pinky with yours, holding it a bit too tight for what was meant to be a simple promise. you’re not sure why he holds it so firmly when it’s such a small gesture, but you can assume he just wants to be reassured one way or another.

“and you better remember. no matter how many years go by, remember me, got it?” he adds, the usual gruffness back in his tone. once you nod, he slowly releases your pinky finger, before ushering you back over to the developing station. 

“then go develop that roll, ‘kay?” he states curtly, a ghost of a smile still on his lips. “i don't wanna hear anythin’ about it until the photos are all done.”

you salute him, giggling an ‘on it boss!’ and scurrying back off into the darkroom, leaving fushiguro in the classroom by himself.

he sighs, shaking his head as you disappear into the darkroom. he cant help but smile as he watches you go, wondering how you could be so damn pretty and annoying at the same time. finding a spot by the window, he takes a seat on the sill, trying desperately to make his simile smaller, but it just wouldn't bude. he remains there, unable to take his mind off the idea that you actually wanted to take a picture of him because you thought he was ‘nice’? 

it was insane– and he couldn't get it out of his mind.

fushiguro stares out the window for a while longer, thinking nothing but the image of you taking a photo of him. he’s trying hard to focus on the more logical reasoning behind why you’d use your expensive film on a photo of him, of all people. 

he stays by the window for what feels like forever, lost in his own thoughts and trying to convince himself that what you did was a waste of film. he’s lost in the train of thought when he’s snapped back into actuality by the sound of the heavy steel door opening, then closing. he quickly goes to see what you’ve developed. yet, once he’s pushed through the door and the thick black curtain, he freezes up.

on one of the table rests multiple developed photos, all different shapes and orientations. some were completely blank, others too dark, or too light, but they all seem to have one running theme; him. every single photo is a candid shot of fushiguro, all twenty four negatvies.

his breath catches when he realizes this, picking one up to double check if it was truly him, as if anyone else had such unique hair as his. it was one of him crouching down in front of a fire hydrant, snapping a picture of the graffiti that covered it. it was so perfectly composed, he wanted to throw up.

at first, he’s intrigued by the thought, but as his eyes scan over each and every photo of him, he has never felt more uncomfortable in his own skin. he’s suddenly on high alert, noticing all the little quirks and mannerisms he has when he’s not paying attention. fushiguro lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his arms as he leans against the table. 

he’s thinking. a lot. everything here is making him uneasy. 

the fact that you developed so many pictures of him,

the fact that you wanted to stay friends,

the fact that you called him pretty.

he frowns, shaking his head. its stupid– what is he so paranoid over?

fushiguro finds himself growing increasingly more anxious as he examines the pictures. he’s suddenly noticing everything about himself, all the ugly and stupid things about his appearance that he hates. 

he’s thinking about every little detail when the sound of the door opening and shutting startles him, and the sight of you emerging from the curtains, wet strands of hair sticking to your face, makes his stomach do a backflip.

“looking someplace you weren’t supposed to, huh?”

he glances up at you, trying to keep his composure in one piece. “...you developed all of them?” he asks, a hint of panic seeping through his voice, his nerves rattling more and more with every movement you make.

“why, dont like ‘em?”

“i didnt say that, asshole.” he rolls his eyes, trying to maintain a flat, even voice. he’s unsure of what to say, so he decides to choose the bluntest route. “why me?’

“why not you?”

fushiguro goes quiet for a bit, not truly wanting an answer to his question. the last thing he wanted to hear was an answer that’d confirm whatever he’s currently thinking.

“i just.. dont get it.”  he sighs, expression relenting into something a bit more sombre. “ you could’ve taken pictures of anythin’ else– why did you want so many pictures of me?”

“you’re a very good muse, fushiguro. whether you know it or not.”

he goes silent, his breath catching as he hears your words. he can’t help but feel a small tinge of pride swell up in his chest, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. the fact that you think he makes a good muse.. it fils him with conflicting waves of pleasure and discomfort. he grits his teeth, not wanting to admit that what you’re saying is making him feel weirdly happy.

“...whatever.” he grumbles, his tone going back to the cold and emotionless one you’re familiar with. he’s embarrassed and he’d rather not let you know the extent of it. so, he’s trying to stay as stubborn as possible. he grits his teeth, still staring at the photo of him, not bothering to look up at you. 

you’re humming a tune he’s unfamiliar with, taking the pictures one by one to hang up on the drying rack, seemingly unbothered by his actions.

fushiguro tries to ignore the fact that you’re practically oozing with relaxed air while he’s over here, fighting the urge to hurl all over your chest.  he rubs his eyes, trying to ignore each and every photo you hang up.

after a few moments, he glances over at you, hands digging into his pockets as you ignore him. he’s silent for a moment longer, taking a moment to process everything thats been thrown at him so far. even though he can say he feels wholly uncomfortable with the pictures, he also cant deny that looking at them made him feel… happy. 

“why didnt you ask me before you took the pictures?

“because if i did, you’d look the exact same in every photo,” you huff. “stiff, frowning, looking away from the camera.”

fushiguro remains silent, though he can feel his cheeks flush in embarrassment once more. while he’s trying to look as nonchalant as possible while talking to you, you’ve managed to hit a weak spot. the realisation that he looks unhappy to the point you can predict what he’d looks like makes him feel a little uneasy.

“what makes you think im unhappy all the time?”

“im not sayin’ you’re unhappy all the time, im just sayin’ that if i told you i was takin’ a photo, you’d be frownin’ in all of ‘em.”

he grits his teeth, trying to stop the small smile that wants to break through. he’s trying desperately to stay mad, not wanting you to catch onto the fact that he’s happy right now.

“so you took advantage of the fact that i didnt know you were takin’ pictures of me, huh? is that how you justify it, by sayin’ ill be upset in every photo ? what’s next, you take more photos when im sleepin’ or something?” he asks, voice laced with sarcasm.

“maybe.”

he goes silent at your blunt, honest response, his eyebrows furrowing as his mouth pulls into an awkward smile despite his efforts to stay mad. “...maybe??” a small laugh escapes his lips, although it sounds like more of a garble. the whole thing makes him feel strangely flustered, and you’re only making it worse with each of your responses.

“yeah, yeah, real funny. you’re seriously fucked up in the head, you kn[

‘ow that?” he says, his tone going back to its usual grumpiness.”

“why, what’d i do !!” you pout, pulling up a stool from under your enlarger to criss cross apple sauce on it.

“are you actually this dense?” he starts, before waving you off and sighing. “nevermind, just forget i said anything.”

“‘m gonna go take a break. dont touch anything at my station unless you want me to summon mahogara when you’re sleeping.

he gives you a short nod, before heading off to take his ‘break.’ right now, he just needs to get away from you, even just for a little bit. his mind is working too quickly for him to be around you; he’s just too prone to giving into his impulses when he’s like this, and he hates it.

fushiguro exits the darkroom again, heading off to his usual spot in the courtyard of the first year building. he’s already been here a thousand times and over again, and it’s become some sort of ritual; whenever he needs to calm down, he always comes here. he doesnt even know why he does. he just does. its just the way things are.

his thoughts are still racing as he sits down facing the windows. why are you so interested in taking photos of me? why are you so nice to me? why are you so… pretty?

he remains silent, rubbing his temples as  he sits. he feels himself getting pissed off simply because he feels so vulnerable around you. he’s feeling weak and stupid for getting angry over your harmless interest.

he’s trying to stop his thoughts. he’s trying. but the moment he closes his eyes, all he can see is your damn smile.

fushiguro grits his teeth, staring at a spot in the corner of the stairs. the whole thing makes him so incredibly nervous– you being so undeniably interested in him. its something he’s never experienced before, and its making him feel so odd.

he’s annoyed with you. at the whole situation. the fact that you make him feel so weak just by looking at him.

this is absurd. stupid. insane. he’s pissed off for no reason, and he cant seem to make it stop. he’s mad at you, mad at your photos, mad at everything– especially the fact that you’re so fucking friendly to him for no apparent reason.

he stays silent as his thoughts continue to run wild with anger, trying to convince himself that the reason he’s simply annoyed with the situation and not because he’s feeling

weak.

he’s feeling really fucking weak. his anger stems from the weakness he feels whenever he thinks about you, talks to you, looks at you. you’re the one who’s made him feel so goddamn vulnerable.

as if on cue, you waltz out of the photography darkroom, apron-less. “‘guro?” you call out, peeking in and out of the hallways that made up the school. “i made some tea.”

fushiguro jumps a bit as you call out his name, his eyes scanning the area before settling on you. the moment he sees you, he freezes; the last thing he expects to hear is you calling him by that god-awful nickname he has to tell himself that he hates.

as soon as you spot him, you grin and wave as best as you can with the cups in your hand, taking a seat awfully close to him for all the empty space around. “...why?”

“–why ? why not, ‘guro?”

“i can get my own cup of tea, y’know.” he huffs, tone still sharp and blunt. he’s trying to regain his usual composure, but it’s proven to be a bit difficult in your presence. he’s trying hard not to let his emotions show– his irritation, his anger, his bashfulness– because he doesnt want to admit to himself what you’re doing to him.

“well, right now you dont gotta. unless you want me to give the tea to itadori–”

before you could finish the sentence, he takes his cup from your hand, the one you had ‘forced’ him to make with you when you were trying pottery. its a short, white cup, with a long handle that you added yourself because you thought it’d be funny when he wasnt looking. theres nothing on it except the imprint of a paw.

“why– why do you care so much?” he says, voice unusually small.

“why wouldnt i, fushiguro?”

he scoffs, looking away again. the fact you seem so unbothered by his behaviour is… odd. “just.. why? why do you insist on being so damn nice?”

you frown at his words, wondering what you did to make him upset this time. was it the pictures? maybe the tea ? or all of it. probably all of it. “i didnt.. mean ta’ make you upset.” you murmur, looking away, watching the clouds go by instead of looking at the boy in front of you.

“how do you want.. me to answer that? honestly?” you try, looking at him hopefully. he returns it with a blunt ‘i dont know.’

“i just… want to know why someone like you cares about me, out of all people. why would you waste time with someone like me? theres so many other people that are smart, better looking, stronger, and more.. interesting than me. why waste your time with me, huh?”

you roll your eyes, placing down your cup, a black one to match fushiguro’s, before pulling him abruptly into a hug.

he tenses for a moment, surprised by the sudden gesture. for a moment, his thoughts and emotions are quiet, for once. he doesnt know how to react. gojo taught him how to deal with every single curse in the book, how to pop your bones back into place, how to wrap a wound, but never something like this. he’d have to ask. 

after a moment, he hesitantly hugs you back, as if you were a bomb prepped to explode. he’s overwhelmed with how close you are to him. when did he let you get so close? you smell like strawberries. he hates strawberries.

his thoughts are a mess as the seconds pass, he doesnt even have a fraction of an idea on how to handle this. all logic and reason are lost to him, the only things he had going for him. 

all he knows for sure is that his heart is beating out his chest, and his body has grown warm, and that he’s sure that you’ve noticed both. you havent said anything.

“....does that answer the question, fushiguro?”

“yeah.. yeah, it does.” he’s hesitant, voice much softer than it usually is. he lets out a quiet sigh as he continues to hug you. he’s finding more comfort in the silence than he’d like to admit. 

“can i tell you something that ive.. never told anybody before? his tone is hesitant, curious, like he wants to believe you’d be understanding, that you wouldnt judge him for it.

you nod, running your fingers through his dark locks. his hair is soft, you think. i should ask him for his hair routine. and eyelash while im at it.

“can i trust you? with this?”

“cross my heart and hope to die. stick a needle in my eye.”  you grin, and although he cant see it, he can just imagine the stupid shit-eating grin on your face right now.

“this might actually sound stupid. and it probably is, but its been bothering me lately and i just..” he pauses, sighing. “have i ever told you.. that i get really, really fucking nervous around you?”

“...no, you havent.”

“well,” fushiguro frowns, voice going blunt again. “i do. i get really nervous around you. like… a lot more than i should, i guess.”

he sighs, trying his best to stop his heart from pounding out of his chest. he’s still holding you tightly in a hug, like he’s afraid as soon as he lets go, you’ll disappear. he’s scared of you finding this strange, or being repulsed by his sudden honestly. god knows he is. he doesnt want to push you away because.. who else would treat him the way you do?

fushiguro stays silent for a moment, taking in a deep breath as your lack of an answer rattles his nerves again. he’d be lying if he said he was okay right about now. 

“yeah i get– i get real nervous around you. its almost,” he sighs again, swallowing nervously. “its almost embarrassing to admit.”

you’re frozen, caught off guard by fushiguro’s unexpected confession. his words hung heavy in the air, echoing in the silence of the auditorium. you wouldnt be surprised if the plants were listening in, at this point. your voice was barely above a whisper, your heart suddenly too big for your chest. “i do too. i get– i get awfully nervous around you. my heart starts beatin’ all fast, and i want to throw up and cry and scream all at the same time whenever you’re around. its becomin’ a problem, honestly.

fushiguro stays silent when you admit that you too, get nervous around him. without thinking, he reached out, hand finding yours and intertwining his fingers as you too shared the hug. in that moment, all doubts and uncertainties melted away, replaced by a newfound sense of.. something indescribable. 

“nobara told me it’s cause i like you,” you continue, thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “i still haven’t figured that part out yet myself.”

after a moment or two of silence, just holding each other in the middle of the school, you speak again, voice quiet. “you dont gotta say anythin’ you dont wanna, ‘guro.”

“but,” his stomach drops as he hears you say this, and he hesitates before trying to speak. “but i feel like i should. i need to tell you the truth–i do have feelings for you. at least i think i do.”

“i have feelings for you. a lot of the,. you make me feel.. lightheaded, and my heart feels like it’s goin’ a million miles an hour when you’re around. and.. and–”

“i like you too, i think.”

“you… you do…?” fushiguro murmurs, voice barely audible. “you’re not jokin’ right?”

“why would i joke about that, fushiguro?”

“i dont– i dont know. i just.. didn't think you’d ever like someone like me.” he pauses, sighing. “you’re– you’re beautiful, and smart, and kind and.. and everything anyone could ever want in a person. and yet you chose me?”

you pull back a bit to caress his face lightly, thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek, smiling as he continues to babble on. “you probably see something in me that i don't even see myself.. and ‘m so god damn grateful for that but i– don't understand it. and probably never will.”

“why is it so hard for you to accept that you’re loved, fushiguro?”

you know the answer to that. it was a stupid question. you both know it. he could write you a whole book on why he doesn't think he’s worthy of love, starting at the ripe age of six. he shakes his head, thinking back to all the people who were supposed to care for him but didn't. all he had going for him was some white haired man who basically adopted him when he was a teen.

“i’ve never had someone care for me before. not really.” he confesses “they never did– not really. they just liked to say they did. and when they realised i could be of use to them in terms of power, influence, or status..” 

“do you really think i’d do that to you?”

fushiguro hesitates, thoughts suddenly filling his head to the point it was difficult to think. “ i dont.. i dont think you’re that type of person. youre not like anyone ive ever met before. more genuine, more honest. its easy to tell that you care. i guess.”

“plus,” he continues, a small smile forming on his face. “you haven't given me any reason to doubt you. everything you’ve done, its always felt real.”

“i think i... actually like you a lot," fushiguro murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying the weight of a confession long kept hidden. he closed his eyes, leaning against you, seeking solace in the warmth of your embrace. in that moment, he wished he could stay there forever, cocooned in the safety of your arms.

"and I want to keep hanging out with you more often, because..." fushiguro hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he gathered the courage to voice the truth. 

"because I think I'm falling a little bit in love with you."

your breath caught in your throat, surprise and joy mingling in equal measure as you processed fushiguro’s heartfelt confession. "really?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart soaring with hope.

"really ," he confirmed, his own lips curling into a shy smile as he met your gaze, his eyes alight with emotion.

unable to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions, you grinned, pressing a tender kiss to fushiguro’s jaw before pulling him into a tight embrace. "i love you, megumi" you whispered against his ear, the words carrying the weight of a promise.

megumi’s heart skipped a beat at your declaration, a rush of warmth flooding through him. "o love you too," he murmured in response, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

he felt his face flush with heat as your lips brushed against his jaw, a rush of euphoria washing over him. he stayed silent, savouring the warmth of your embrace, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over him like a gentle wave. With you, he felt safe, accepted, and loved—a feeling he never wanted to let go of.

he’s never felt like this around anyone before and it feels… nice. it feels like home, almost.

you feel like home to him.

[aphroditesmoon]

Hi! I’m not sure if u do smut or not but I was wondering if u could do a Legolas smut with fem!human!reader, like a enemies to lovers kind of thing. Maybe hate sex? <3

too close

legolas greenleaf x reader

summary: legolas has his doubts about who you really are, but is that really why he can never meet your eyes with anything else but anger in himself.

warning: afab reader, nswf, smut 18+, etl, legolas being a jerk, probably bad description of mirkwood

a/n: soo sorry i took ages, I've been taking new meds, also i havent written smut for a while so im a bit dusty, hope u like it<3

○○○○○○

Summer is barely a real season under the protective courts of Mirkwood, you could barely feel the heat or see the sun through giantic starfall tree and at night, the chill through the strong winds gives a hint of winter in its air.

You loved it. Training at night feels easier when your not already sweating through your tits ten minutes in warm ups. And the quiet around you, save the crickets and owls hooting, gave you the solace you seeked for each existing day you lived through.

But despite finding everything well with want you asked for, the universe seems relentless with making sure you'll always be keeping your guard up and your annoyance up higher, with the ever consistent appearance of Prince Legolas Greenleaf.

He stands by the corner near an entrance to the castle, watchful of you while thinking he's quiet. His lack of trust in you makes him believe that you somehow lack in the specialties of elf abilities, like for example, your keen hearing.

"I could hear you for a mile away, prince." You also caught onto his snort, before his footsteps sounds louder. "How did you lnow it was me then?" He asks, less snobby than usual.

He must be drunk, you tell yourself.

"You have that pompous, all knowing kind of stride, it has its own beat when you walk." You expected him to roll his eyes like he usually do, belittling you like a child being reprimanded. But suprisingly he laughs. "That sounds a lot like you're projecting, after all, only pompous, all knowing arseholes are the ones who isolate themselves and train alone."

Ah, there it is. He's sobered up then.

"And what humble, kind enough of an elf, would waste his time stalking other people just to throw insults like a 7 year old?" You snapped.

If he had found your irritants amusing before, now his smile fades altogether,  and he looks the same as when he's about to pull an arrow on an orc.

"The kind of an elf who's trying to protect his kingdom and father." You laughed honestly yet mockingly before dropping your sword altogether to look at him. "You think your doing the king a favor? His majesty has his own mind, he trusts me, so I'd suggest you drop your savior facade and trust him." He shook his head and looks away for a second, as if deep in thought. "My father doesn't trust anyone, let alone random rogue elves who comes out of nowhere."

You raised you brow at his bravery in speech. 'This random rogue elf is the reason your father is alive, if I had even a glimpse of malice in me, I wouldn't have done nothing but serve him well for the last 10 months." You say matter of factly.

And before he could argue again, you wave your hand at him annoyed, and turn your back at the prince. "I practise better when im alone, and now you've ruined my peace, if you don't have anything new or smart to say-"

"You are a witch." He speaks. You actually freezed for a moment, forehead frowned in confusion. "Excuse me?"He repeated his impossible words. 

"Im a witch...because i saved your father's lives?" You ask him, slowly. He looks more frustrated then ever, as if you're the one patronizing him.

"No, you are a witch, because you have bewitched him." You could laugh if you didn't want to punch him. "And how have I bewitched him?" You almost yell. "I don't fucking know!" He yells first.

"My father has never trusted anyone, except for me, yet i see he'd put his life in your hands if he has to. And you know that, you know what you are doing. How you win his praise and trust when you fight, and when you put yourself over him, over the other shooters, martyring yourself."

Your mouth was wide open, your brows furowing, but no words escape you as he continues, inching closer with every word, untik you're both a step away from eachother.

"And you know exactly what you do to me." He was hovering over you, with a glare so intense you've never seen from the mirkwood prince. "I've done nothi-" He cuts you off when you've just gained enough control to speak. "You've bewitched me."

His breath was steady even in such anger, fanning your face gently as he inhales and exhales.  "I don't trust you, and i shouldn't care too much of another fighter in our army, another stranger i shan't waste my time on. Yet one glimpse of you, and you're stuck in my head, like a memory i can't seem to forget."

he was silent after the last confession ends, and you have the stubborn urge to answer to him. "That sounds like a you problem, not mine." He gives a short bitter laugh, looking up to the sky for a second, as if praying to the stars for guidance. "What have you done to me, cruel enchantress."

The rage seemed to lessen in the glare he still holds at you, but something more hungry lays in his gaze. "I've done nothing. Im no witch." You answer, so over all of this cat and mouse game. "And if I was, I wouldn't waste my time on someone so frustrating like you, and your stupid perfect nose, going around acting like you're-" He cuts you off, closing the small space between the two of you with his lips.

It was persistent, the way his mouth pushed over yours, like a strong wave crashing over sands, forcing it to feel the same surge it's being held againts.

When your hands finally found its strength, you place them againts his chest, pushing him off, he startles and moves a step, eyes locking with yours.

His hands that were once on each sides of your face, falls down to his side, fingers flexing as if too empty now. "I hate you." He says. His eyes saying the opposite. Your mind repeats over and over of what he had done and you tell yourself that it can't get any worse or better than this, so you took a move yourself forward, standing on the ground he was on a second ago.

"Then why don't you show me how much."

You don't hesitate to pull his face towards yours, recreating the similar scene as before. His hands move to wrap around your waist, while yours tangle themselves in his untied long white hair.

You gasp when his tongue licks over your bottom lip, giving him what he wanted, your tongues clashes as you two continue kissing eachother like you're out of air. You don't flinch when he backs you up until your back meets the flat of a wall.  His right hand starts to fliddle with the laces tying your leather top on. You help him take it off before your own fingers helps him take his breeches of while he moves his lips to your neck.

"I like you better with your hair down." You manage to gasp out while he's sucking on your neck. "And I like you better with your mouth shut."  Legolas replies before his hands easily turns you around your face meets with the wall.

You barely hold on to the wall when his grip on your hips tighten, your own training tights pulled down before you felt him againts your back.  You squirm and let yourself grind againts his hardness when one of his hands move to your front to squeeze your breasts, flicking your nipple, gently moving lower then from your chest to yoir stomach, grazing your scar filled abs until it gets lower to where you want him the most.

He's still squeezing your left hip while rubbing his hard cock againts your ass.

Finally as he sinks into you without notice,  receiving  a loud whimper from you, his hand over your hips move to grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back againts his chest. His right wandering fingers were still againts your front, rubbing circles on your thighs.

You're too speechless, feeling yourself filled up to the brim by him. He doesn't move at first, head laying low by your neck, hot breathing againts your cheek. You almost cry when he slowly pulls out, until he pushes himself in again, harder tham the first thrust.

He doesn't stop them, pushing into your hole repeatedly, his hands moving up from your thighs to your clit, rubbing over it with a pace that wanted to make you scream.

Legolas finally regains enough strength to start biting and sucking on your neck, marking you, while he doesn't stop pounding into your wet cunt.

The fullness of his cock and pressure of his fingers makes your cunt tighten againts him, he lets out a growl you've never heard if the elf prince before he bites down your sweet spot harshly, making you scream out his name. "Fucking hell." He groans out, fucking out all his pent up anger and tension over you.

.Your hands feels slippery againts the wall, gripping againts nothing while he takes you like a ragdoll, manhandling you take his cock over and over, watching you turn into a crying and moaning mess.

"Legolas, please- uh." You mewl out to him He hears you, pleased he is as he lets out a grin againts your neck. "Please what, my love?" He asks huskily.  Love, thats a new one.

"Need to come-" You beg out to him.  And Legolas, for all his false pretense of hostility before, could never say no to you.

He pushes your face againts the wall again,  both of his palms now back to each side of your hip, tightening againts them as he plunges himself harder inside of you as you scream out his name, shameless of who could've heard them. Your nipples grazes againts the hard bumpy walls, oversensitive to everything now,  you clench againts him so tightly that you could hear him curse out in elvish as he holds on to your bruised sides.

You feel tears brimming in your eyes as he continues fucking you while you explode all over him, your orgasm leaking out of your cunt, all over his leg. "Argh- im going to-" He doesn't finish his words as he finally cums after you, his hot cum leaking into your hole and then lower lines on your arse.

His head leans on your back, his breathing rapid and sweat glistens you both.

Legolas pulls you back by your breast, letting you rest on hus chest while the two of you try to regain some air. His fingers grazing the valley of your tits, head stuck on the side of your forehead. Once you've calmed down from your high, you tilt your head towards him, relishing his warm arms around you.

He leans forward, letting your forehead meets. You let out a small smile.  "Now what?" Your voice gentler then expected. "Now-" He answers, voice hard. "-I'll take you to my chambers, and I'm fucking you again."

[magniloquent-raven]

Billy and El's relationship headcanons?

Yessss!! Always more than happy to talk about these two

I love El just kind of deciding that her and Billy are friends now. Billy gets no say in the matter.

She spends a lot of her time after Starcourt hanging out in his hospital room. Like, sitting in the corner quietly reading or practising her penmanship, anything that'll keep her occupied while Billy lays there and pretends to watch whatever's on TV. They don't really talk much. So Billy kind of figures Max put her up to this, keeping an eye on him. Or she's doing it out of some kind of obligation because he sort of saved her life.

The reality of it is that she doesn't feel quite at home living with the Byers yet, so she's finding any excuse to be elsewhere. And it just so happens that she wants to keep Billy company. It's a win-win.

When Billy gets out he figures he won't see her anymore. She's got her nerds to hang out with, she doesn't need to waste any more time on him now that everyone's pretty sure he's not gonna die.

Except the day after he moves into the tiny little apartment that some government stooge picked out for him, El shows up at his door with a gift bag in hand (Joyce introduced her to the concept of a housewarming present, and she was very excited about trying it out). It's already weird enough being on his own, trying to figure out how to live in his own space while he's relearning how to use his own body. He's navigating a lot of uncertainty, and then this kid comes along and he doesn't understand this either. It's a lot. He's going through a lot.

So he's a little too blunt when the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She doesn't seem to notice the tone. Doesn't care that he's being rude. She just holds up the bag and smiles. "Making your house warm." She explains in careful, clipped sentences, that Joyce told her it's a thing friends do. That's the only part he really hears. Friends.

When he stepped between her and the Mind Flayer he didn't expect to get a friend out of it. He didn't expect anything but the pain that followed. The blood. The plan was to be a temporary shield for someone who deserved to live more than he did. He did his job. Max has never thanked him for it, why should anyone else.

He's not sure why her declaration makes his eyes well up. He doesn't really want to think about it that hard, if he's perfectly honest. It's awkward enough trying to blink away tears while some kid he barely knows intently watches him pull wads of tissue paper off a lumpy pile of...blanket? There's a fuzzy green throw blanket at the bottom of the bag, and he's not sure if that's going to make him laugh or cry some more.

By the time Mrs. Byers shows up that evening, he's feeling a little less emotionally unstable. A little. She spent the day helping him shelve all the books he never bothered unpacking after Neil moved them to Indiana. Every so often she'd ask what one was about, and always with refreshingly unbiased curiosity, never why do you have that or I wouldn't have expected you read something like this.

He knows a little about where she's from, memories the Mind Flayer left behind, impressions and echoes. He knows enough to understand why she is the way she is.

It occurs to him after she leaves that she knows just as much, if not more about him. The realization gives him vertigo, the bottom of his stomach dropping away. But despite that, he wonders if it's a good thing. They don't have to explain themselves to each other, they can just. Be friends. Might be nice.

bonus tidbits:

Billy lets El have a beer one time and she deeply regrets asking for one, because it's gross. She has to use his mouthwash twice and she's still making disgusted faces about it like an hour later

El's canon habit of dressing like people she spends a lot of time with. She hangs out with Billy for like two months and ends up getting a Joan Jett rocker shag. She steals a jean jacket from Jonathan. She likes his earring but when he tells her how ear piercing works she gets really upset because needles scare her. So he buys her some clip-ons

Max hates how much time they spend together, at first. She's jealous that they're so close. Both of them are people she's really wanted to like her but initially rejected her, and now they're just automatically each other's BFFs? How is that fair? But it's hard to stay angry when Billy seems so much happier nowadays, and she knows El has trouble making friends

It takes Billy a long time to get comfortable around Joyce. When she comes by to pick El up she's always so friendly and. Mom-like. One time she gave him a little pat on the shoulder and said she hopes he's doing okay all alone up here, before she left with El, and he spent the next ten minutes sitting on the floor in tears

Personally, I've always HCd El as a lesbian, I just think it would take her SO much to actually figure it out, because her relationship with Mike is kind of the first thing she latched onto after leaving the lab, so it would be hard to come to terms with what that attachment really is. But I like toying with the idea of her being introduced to the idea of what queerness even is via Billy's memories. She's scared to bring it up for a long time, it was something she only saw because he had so many memories of being made to feel bad about it, she doesn't quite understand all the shame and the anger, but it makes the idea of being gay scary. After she looked into Billy's memories she started to notice the things people say in real life, the attitudes they have, now that she's got context for what that kind of stuff means. And she doesn't know who to talk to about it other than Billy. Which would not go well at first, because it's Billy. But after they talk it out he'd be soooo much more protective of her, like. Insisting on driving her any time she wants to go somewhere, glowering at literally everybody who looks at her funny. Kinda hovering around waiting for there to be someone to beat the shit out of for her.

El being made aware of queerness being a thing might make her more likely to notice Will's gay too tbh, and then she'd be super protective of him. El ends up at Billy's place super agitated one day and ends up telling Billy the things she heard people saying about Will, and Billy's like, oh, well. I may have to run some kids over, okay.

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 16: Mother knows best

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Puke / Panic attack / Talk about murder and torture [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

The DA meeting back from the winter holiday brings the first real smile to your face since Christmas. Everybody's buzzing with energy and ready to learn new spells. 

At the point of practising the new defensive spell on your own, Hermione corners you. "Is it true?", she whispers, casting the defective charm on a target.

A hot flush shoots through your body. She couldn't possibly know about Theodore and you... right? "About what?" You try to keep it cool and cast another spell.

"About you and Harry... before Christmas?"

You feel your cheeks heating up and glance at Harry, who’s at the other end of the room helping Neville. Like he feels you watching, his head snaps up and your eyes meet. He sends you a wide smile before quickly looking back at Neville.

Hermione giggles and looks at you in glee. "How did it happen?"

Now your whole face is almost as hot as a fireplace. "We were discussing going home for Christmas and that I didn't want to go because..." You stop yourself just in time before you can reveal the location of Voldemort. "Because at home isn't the best atmosphere right now. And one thing led to the other and..." You trail off and twirl your wand in your hands, biting your bottom lip.

Hermione giggles again and clasps a hand over her mouth. "Did you enjoy it?"

"He's quite a good kisser, actually." The phantom feeling of Harry's warm hand slides from your cheek to your neck. Your hand reaches out and touches the spot. "What did he say about me?", you ask mildly panicked, the sudden realisation that Harry told something to Hermione — and possibly also Ron!

Your eyes flicker over the room and spot Ron. But he's busy laughing with his brothers to notice you. So Ron knows too? You know you shouldn't care what the boy's opinion is about you. But it hurt when someone calls you a Death Eater while you try your darndest to be anything except what your family expects you to be.

"Well", she begins with a head twitch, "he did tell us it was 'wet', but he said it was nice." Hermione stops to assess your reaction. "Ron made fun of his terible snogging. But he has the emotional range of a teaspoon, so he shouldn't talk."

A smile makes its way onto your face. So he did think it was nice. Good. Great even. Despite everything, you thought it was nice too. And at least you know that you're not too bad of a kisser. But then a face flashes across your face. The same that made you break up the kiss.

"What's wrong?"

You're not sure if you can even tell Hermione. Sure, you're friendly to each other. But are you friends? 

It's like she can sense your turmoil, she grabs your hand. "You can tell me anything." And she says it so sincerely, that you believe it.

You move to the side and wrap your arms around yourself. "I feel so guilty", you whisper. "I like Harry. And I liked the kiss. Really, I do. But…"

"Theodore Nott." Hermione gives you a sympathetic look.

You look with wide eyes towards her. "H-how?"

Hermione lays a comforting hand on your arm, her smile turning soft. "I see the way you look at him. With so much guilt in your eyes that it only means you care deeply for him. And he does the same when you're not looking. He has grown dull since the summer holiday. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but it's obviously hurting the both of you."

You blink at the wise words of the Gryffindor. Your eyes flick towards Harry. If it's so obvious, then why did Harry kiss you? Shouldn't he be shaming you for liking a Death Eater's son?

Like he knows what you're thinking, she says, "boys are as dense as the castle walls."

That makes you laugh. You turn back towards her and grab her hand. "Thank you, Hermione. For being a friend."

She smiles back at you. "It's no problem at all."

You wake up with a yelp. You kick the covers off of you and clutch your arm. Ripping the bandages off, you almost cry out at the pitch-black snake wriggling all over your arm. It feels like someone's repeatedly stabbing your arm. 

Biting on your lower lip, you try to keep your noise to a minimum to not wake up your roommates. Between gritted teeth, you cast muffliato to the heavy velvet drapes around your bed and you let out the first cry.

Your nails dig into your flesh as your left hand contorts in pain. The burning stops after a while and the metallic taste of blood hits your tongue. 

You lay staring up at the ceiling, scared of what you'll see when you close your eyes and go back to sleep. So, as it is almost breakfast time, you get up and get dressed to make your way to the Great Hall. By the time all students are munching on their cereal or sausages and the mail comes, you're almost finished with your toast.

People flock to each other, all looking at the Daily Prophet in students' hands. You roll your eyes. Probably some false accusations about Harry and Dumbledore again.

But as you stand up and make a move to your first class, a hand on your wrist stops you. You look down and Draco wordlessly hands his copy of the Daily Prophet to you. You frown not caring at first but the headline catches your attention.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

And below is a moving photograph of your mother, screaming and trashing against the chains shackled around her wrists. She looks absolutely insane. 

Blood drains from your face as your hands tremble. No no no NO NO. This can't be happening! She's supposed to be locked up! Azkeban is supposed to be the most secure wizarding prison on the planet!

Bile rises up in your throat. You throw the newspaper down and sprint out of the Great Hall. You burst through the door of the first toilet you encounter and make it just in time before you puke out your breakfast. 

You're sobbing at this point, not knowing if it's because of the puking or because Bellatrix Lestrange is a free woman once again.

You hear the doors being thrown open and a familiar voice calls out your name. Another sob wrecks through your body before the second wave of nausea hits you like a shit ton of bricks.

A pair of hands collect your hair and hold it out of your face, rubbing comforting circles over your back. By the time you finish puking, a mixture of snot and tears runs down your face and you're white-knuckling the porcelain of the toilet bowl.

Looking up, you meet the concerned brown eyes of Theodore. A whimper escapes your lips as he conjures a glass of water and a handkerchief. As you drink up the water and get rid of the foul taste in your mouth, he helps you off the floor and wipes your face clean.

Theodore crouches down as you sit on the toilet lid. He rubs circles over your knees with his thumbs as he asks, "still nauseous?"

You shake your head, sniffing. "No. It's not like I've got anything left in my stomach to spew out." A humourless chuckle leaves your numb lips.

The silence is thick as your eyes are trained on your hands while Theodore's are on you. 

"I felt it happen." Your voice breaks as you look up, a guilty look on your face.

Theodore frowns, not understanding.

"I woke up with i-it burning and it was dark, almost pitch black. It was like he wanted me to know what he has done." Your eyes flick towards your left arm, which is covered by the sleeve of your emerald green sweater.

Hesitantly, Theodore's fingers push up your sleeve and slowly undo the too-tightly-wrapped bandages. You do not dare to look at Theodore's reaction, your bottom lip trembling.

You feel his thumb trace the skin around it, steering clear of the mark. They slide downwards, tracing the lines of your hand before lacing his fingers between yours.

The action makes your head snap towards the dark-haired boy. "I just wanted to protect you", you whisper broken, memories of the day coming back. "He said that because we were courting I am old enough to 'prove myself'."

You rub comforting circles on Theodore's thumb, trying to steady yourself. "He kidnapped a Muggle. I knew him. He used to work at the diner. He was a kind soul. I tried to stop it. But it was no use... The Muggle is dead and I am a..." You choke over your words with a sob. 

"A-and I knew that that would be your fate if I won't obey his every command. He won't kill you, but he's not above torturing loved ones."

Theodore pulls you toward you, wrapping his arms around your trembling body. He holds you tightly against his chest. A hand weaves into your hair as he keeps you close to him. 

It feels safe, to be in his arms. He is warm and inviting and just feels right.

"I can take it, don't worry." Theodore grabs your cheeks with both of his hands to look into your eyes. "I can handle whatever the Dark Lord will throw and you and me and us, just to keep you safe."

You profusely shake your head. "No... I can't let you do that! The Cruciatus Curse is-is the most horrible thing I've ever experienced..."

It takes a few seconds for your words to dawn on Theodore. "He crusio'd you?" The three words are said with so much hatred and venom that you flinch away. Theodore's hands slide from your face to your upper arms, holding you tightly. He rests his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry", he whispers.

You shake your head. You clutch tightly onto his sweater as he raises from his crouching position, helping you onto your feet. 

"Let's get you cleaned up and into bed, okay?"

The way towards the common room is a blur. You only remember Theodore cleaning your face with a wet washcloth and him leaving the bathroom to give you privacy to change. Theodore also makes sure the bandages hide the Mark without hurting you.

As you crawl under the covers, you look up at the brown-haired boy whose kindness you don't deserve for treating him like shit since summer.

"You try to sleep, okay?", he says, petting your hair and planting a kiss on your forehead. "I'll talk to Snape and say you've got a stomach bug or something and that you're not well."

As he turns around to leave, you grab his wrist. He looks at you with raised eyebrows. You cash your eyes down and let go of his wrist. You want to ask him to stay. To stay until you're asleep. Actually... you want him to come lay down next to you and hug you tightly. But you can't ask that of him.

"Thank you, Theo. You didn't need to do it."

Theodore smiles softly, something unfamiliar flickering in his eyes. "Anytime, Darling."

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry  @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore​ @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what

[tabitha42]

Stars

“You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love, beyond run-of-the-mill physicality.” “EEWWWW, are you going to try to teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what?” “...Well, actually, I was thinking of poetry.”

Gale helps Karlach write a poem for her love, and realises a few things about himself along the way.

Word count: 1,938

Karlach x Wyll, one shot, fluff

“You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love, beyond run-of-the-mill physicality.”

“EEWWWW, are you going to try to teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what?”

“...Well, actually, I was thinking of poetry.”

“Oops, sorry. Although, now that I think of it… is mage hand especially hard to learn?”

The blue, ethereal hand shimmered, its translucent surface showing a distorted reflection of the wide grin on Karlach’s face.

“Yess!!” She celebrated, throwing her hands into the air in triumph. 

“Perfect!” Gale complimented, proud of both her for being able to learn it, and himself for being able to teach it to someone with next to no prior experience with magic. “That's the hard bit done. Now that you can summon it, you just need a bit of practice controlling it, and you'll be well away.” 

She waved her hand and watched it move similarly. The movements were awkward and stuttered, unlike Gale's mage hand which moved with the same grace and control of his own practised gestures, but she was sure with a bit of practice she'd have it down in no time. 

Eventually she dismissed it with the dismissal gesture he'd shown her previously, thrilled to see that that worked as well. 

“Thanks, Gale. I can't wait to try this out!”

“You'll have to let me know how it goes. Within the limits of your own privacy, of course.” 

“Heh, I don't mind telling you anything. Wyll might not appreciate that, though.” 

“Very true. I will leave it to your discretion, and I will leave you to practice. Unless you'd like me to stay to offer any further advice I may think necessary to improve your casting technique?”

“Actually… there was another favour I was going to ask you for.”

His eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“My time is yours. What do you need?” 

“Well… I was thinking, maybe it would be nice to write a poem… but I can’t write poems for shit. If you don’t mind, maybe you could help me write one?” She looked a bit awkward as she asked, worrying she’d already taken up too much of his time, but his eyes lit up at the request. 

“‘If I don’t mind’? Karlach, first you ask me to teach you a spell, then you ask me to help you write a poem. This is quickly turning into my ideal evening!” He said excitedly. 

“Wow, you and I have very different ideas of what makes an ideal evening,” she laughed. She liked Gale, but there was so much about him she could never get her head around. 

“As we should. If we were all the same life would be quite dull. Now,” he produced, seemingly out of nowhere, a small book and a quill, and sat down cross-legged, “where shall we start?” 

She sat down with him, chuckling to herself. 

“Do you always keep an emergency book and quill with you?” 

“At all times. So, what sort of poem shall we go for? Metre or free verse?” 

She gave him a blank look. 

“...Do you want it to rhyme or not?” he asked instead, deciding to start simple given the look of complete bewilderment on her face. 

“Oh, well it's a poem, it has to rhyme!” 

“Heh, not at all, there’s no requirement of a poem for it to rhyme. But we can certainly make it rhyme if you’d like,” he said, seeing the slight hint of disappointment in her face at the mere suggestion of a poem that doesn’t rhyme. “Now, for the metre. I’ve always been partial to the common metre myself, though I do like a bit of iambic pentameter. Or we could go completely wild and choose something like-”

He stopped as he saw the blank look turn increasingly to one of confusion, starting to borderline regret. 

“You know what? Maybe I should worry about that. You just tell me what you want to go in the poem,” he said, much to her relief. She still wasn’t sure what the answer was, but she at least understood the question.

“I’m not really sure, to be honest…” 

“Well, why don’t we start with what you like about Wyll?” 

It didn’t take long before fond words of praise and adoration were falling from her lips, filled with her excitement, her enthusiasm, her love. She spoke about how she’d become so used to being surrounded by devils she’d forgotten there could be people as selfless as him. The conversation moved to what she wanted to do with him, how she longed to hug him, kiss him, dance with him… and other activities, of course. They spoke of her time in the Hells, her struggles, the pain, the loneliness, the endless fight to survive, the hope of escape that she never gave up on. She told him about the first night after they’d been taken, before she’d met any of their group, completely unable to sleep as she stared up at the stars, crying with happiness. She’d spent every night imagining them, longing to see them again, and now here they were. Of course, she’d spent every night imagining other things too, and now she was desperate to make those dreams a reality, to make up for the years of her life that she’d lost. 

It ended up being a very emotional evening, more so than Gale had expected. He’d known about her past, of course, but they’d never discussed it in such great detail, and seeing such raw and painful emotion from her led to more than a few tears shed on both sides. 

Eventually the poem was nearing completion. A few last tweaks, a final copy on a new page away from the scribbles and scattered ideas of the previous page, and it was ready. 

“It’s done!” he said proudly, handing the book to Karlach. “Or at least, a first draft is done. We can edit or alter anything you wish. Also I’m afraid it may not quite be factually accurate in some places, such are our syllabic restrictions.” 

She had no idea what a syllabic restriction was, but she didn’t ask for now as she took the book and began reading. As her eyes ran over his neat handwriting, she found tears starting to well in them once more.

3000 days I burnt inside,  Fire in my scars,  3000 days spent trapped below,  Dreaming of the stars.  Every night I longed to touch,  Each night I yearned to love,  And every fight I longed to find  Escape to life above.  Now finally I find I'm free,  Salvation came at last,  And now I sit beneath the trees  And look up at the stars.  But where before the love I sought  From anyone would do,  Now I find that in my mind  There's only thoughts of you.  Your kindness and your bravery,  Your courage and your wit,  Remind me there's good in the world, And you're the source of it.  These scars of isolation burn,  But your touch holds the cure,  The hugs I've missed, a stolen kiss,  They fill my dreams and more.  3000 days I spent alone,  But these dreams will soon be ours,  And when they are we'll dance my dear,  Underneath the stars.

“Gale…” she whispered, in shock. She couldn’t believe how well he’d captured how she felt. “This is… incredible…” 

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head in a small bow. “I’m glad you like it. I hope you feel it’s accurately captured how you feel,” he added in a slightly softer tone. Writing a poem from someone else’s point of view wasn’t easy, especially someone who had been through so much. Though he did have some of his own experience of isolation that he could draw on… it was very different from hers of course, though there had been the odd thing she’d said that made him realise they had more in common than he’d thought. 

“It has,” she assured him. “Wyll is never gonna believe I wrote this,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head. 

“Well, tell him I helped you. Say we workshopped it,” he offered. She chuckled softly and looked at the poem again. 

“I can’t believe you wrote it so quickly,” she commented. 

“Ahh, well, I’ve had a lot of practice. Poetry has always been one of my favourite ways to express how I feel for the one I love,” he said, casting his mind back to the hours he’d spent on his balcony, writing poetry about whoever had captured his heart at the time, filled with love and inspiration. 

“Yeah? Your partners are very lucky, this is so romantic!” 

“Hmm, some were more appreciative than others,” he murmured, thinking mostly of Mystra, who’d never been interested in such things. He’d quickly given up writing any poems for her, she was far more interested in his magic. 

“Well anyone who doesn’t appreciate it isn’t worth your time,” Karlach decided firmly. Gale went very quiet for a moment. He still didn’t know how he felt about Mystra… up until getting abducted he was still firmly in love with her and desperate for her to return, but since this little adventure started he’d found Mystra occupied his mind less and less, his thoughts instead turning to someone new. 

“Perhaps you’re right…” he said quietly, though it wasn’t a revelation that came easily to him. 

“I am right. You trust Mama K on this,” she told him with a warm smile that he couldn’t help but return. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, touched that someone found his poetry to be worth appreciating. Karlach looked down at the book again, her eyes running over the words once more. 

“Hmm… maybe there is one bit I can change, you know, to make it more me ,” she said, holding her hand out for the quill. He gave it to her and leant over as she wrote, curious to see what change she would make. He watched as she crossed out the last line and replaced it with “Til you’re seeing stars”. 

“Perfect!” she declared happily. He had to chuckle slightly - he preferred his version from a poetic standpoint, but he had to admit, this was version definitely more Karlach. 

“Can I borrow this book?” she asked, looking over at him. “Til I’ve memorised it.”

He waved for her to give the book back to him. She did so and he carefully ripped the page out and handed it to her. It was certainly not something he’d normally do to a book, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured into trying to memorise it as quickly as possible to get the book back to him. 

“Thanks again, Gale,” she said, smiling as she looked at the page. “Once I can, I’m gonna give you a big ol’ hug for this!” 

“I can’t wait,” he said sincerely. “I’ll let you get going, then. I expect a dramatic reading once it’s memorised.” 

“You got it,” she said with a grin, then stood up and headed off. 

He stayed there for a bit, just the gentle sounds of the rustling leaves around him as Karlach’s words echoed in his mind. He’d honestly forgotten how much he enjoyed writing poems after getting so out of the habit of it during his time with Mystra. Maybe it was something to pick up again… especially if he had someone who would appreciate it. 

He looked down at the book, quill in hand, a small smile on his lips as he began writing an ode to the kind adventurer that had pulled him out of that portal not so long ago. 

[duskspring]

Fire Alarm - Ifrit/Mist

Domestic December - Day 12

Summary: The newly summoned Ifrit tries to impress Mist

Content (do let me know if I forgot anything!): Painfully awkward crush

Word count: ~1.2k

“And this is where you’ll be staying,” Terzo’s hands dramatically gestured to the first door in the hallway reserved for bandghouls, “Don’t mind the few still packing up their stuff, they will be out of your way and to the retirement wing soon enough.”

Ifrit looked into his newly assigned room. It was bare already, except for the essentials of a bed, desk and guitar stands.

“Awesome.” He said casually, putting one of his thumbs up.

“For any further questions you can refer to our senior ghouls.” Papa nodded conclusively, making his way back to his office.

Ifrit watched him walk away, his back towards the hall he stood in the middle of.

“Excuse me.” A monotone voice rang out behind him.

The fire ghoul turned around, confused for the half a second he didn't see anyone before turning his head downwards to find who had spoken to him.

In front of him was a short ghoulette, a guitar case slung over her shoulder and a bag in her hand. Ifrit felt his face heat up a little at the way her wavy dark blue bop framed her face and her crop top showed her stomach.

“Can you move?” Her face was stoic, though not unkind.

Ifrit felt like he was suddenly shaken awake, “Are you leaving?” Was the first thing that flew out of his mouth.

“I mean… yeah. I’m retired.” She explained.

“Well, I’m new! Ifrit-” He moved to lean against the wall clumsily, it having been further away than he’d expected, “Fire.”

“Mist, water.” She put out her hand. He tried to not hurt her his hold, but was caught off guard by her nearly crushing grip. It almost distracted him from how cold her hands were.

“I’m sure you could show me…” Without another word, the ghoulette walked around him and out of the hall, “around.” leaving him to ponder that failed interaction on his own.

Even after meeting all of his new bandmates, Ifrit’s mind didn’t stray from the water ghoulette. There was just something about her. She seemed so unbothered. So cool.

The next day, practice was on immediately. The new summons had to learn their instruments and the tour’s set list in record time. Regardless of the hurry, the fire ghoul couldn’t help but keep looking over at Mist, who was helping the new water recruit Dewdrop learn about the bass.

Alpha snapped his fingers in front of Ifrit’s face, “Focus. Play that again.”

Ifrit saw Mist look up at her old colleague’s stern voice. He flustered, “Yessir.”

Not too long after, Mist and Dew seemingly decided to take a break. Ifrit moved to put his guitar down and go talk to her again.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Alpha’s voice was almost threatening.

“Just, uh. Taking a bre-”

“If you want a break, you’ll have to play it all at least semi properly first.”

Ifrit wanted to argue, but Mist seemed to have already left the room. He sighed, sitting back down.

Alpha kept him practising without a break for the rest of the day. No one else was forced to keep going for that long, but the older fire ghoul wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if he just wanted the best for the band, Ifrit wasn't happy.

By the time he was finally allowed to leave, the sun had long set. He ran his way to the retired ghoul wing in the abbey, hoping to at least get a few words in.

He himself wasn't sure why he was so set on talking to, or even just seeing, Mist. Perhaps it was just because she’d been the first other ghoul he had met after his summoning. Maybe it was just the effortlessly cool vibe she exuded. Either way, he just wanted to hear her speak to him again, even if he was being ridiculous.

To his luck, she was just making her way back to her new room.

“Hey, Mist!” He jogged up to her.

She turned around with the same blank stare, “Hey.”

“I, eh… How are you doing? Good day?”

“Yeah,” She truly wasn’t trying to be rude, but Mist really, really struggled talking to people she didn’t know well, “Dew learns fast.”

“Nice..!” Ifrit had no clue what to say either. He’d never struggled this much talking to anyone. He internally blamed it on the topside atmosphere, looking for any excuse at all.

The two stood in the hall in a deafening silence for a moment. Both were screaming at themselves to come up with something, anything to say.

Mist looked over her shoulder at her door, “I think I’m just gonna go to bed-”

“Wait! Uhm…” He still didn’t have anything to say, just as long as she didn’t walk off, “The topside, huh? Yeah. Yeah, weird place. Weird humans. Can’t even… have powers. Do our powers work here? They better, I’m great with them!” He rambled along, finally deciding to show off a bit. He closed his eyes and focused on the awareness of his body.

“Ifrit, don’t-!” Before Mist could stop him, the fire ghoul had called upon his element, turning his focus and last remaining energy into the shape of glowing snakes around his arms.

At least, that’s what was meant to happen. Instead, after just a few seconds, a loud beeping came from the ceiling and the two ghouls were suddenly drenched in water, extinguishing the enchantment.

“Great.” Mist sighed, not personally bothered by the water, but knowing everyone else was gonna throw a fit. Although she was bothered by the insistent ringing, covering her ears immediately.

“What’s going on?!”

“Ever heard of a fire alarm?” Mist raised her voice to be heard. Ifrit shook his head, “I was afraid not.”

“What the hell..!” Alpha rushed out of his room, groaning when he saw Ifrit.

“Can we turn them off?” Mist asked him, immediately looking for a solution.

“I’ll handle that. You just get that moron out of here.”

Without talking back, Mist grabbed Ifrit’s arm and pulled him away. They walked all the way down to Ifrit’s bathroom in the basement, not saying a word the whole way there. The fire ghoul had finally been shut up, caused by defeat, embarrassment and the distraction of her tight hold on him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled as she passed him a towel from the cabinet, intimately aware of the place’s layout.

“Don’t be. You didn’t know that would happen.”

“I don’t even know why I did that.” He laughed awkwardly, looking at the floor.

Mist would have none of it, grabbing his chin and making him look at her. He had to resist the shiver wanting to move down his spine at her cold skin, “One piece of advice,” She pulled her hand back, making him miss it immediately, “you don’t have to try so hard. Just have fun and people will gravitate towards you automatically.”

“Are you talking about performing or just… being?”

The ghoulette shrugged, “Perhaps a bit of both. Just trust me on this, alright?” Her mouth quirked into the slightest smile, making Ifrit think he’d suffer a heart attack. She turned around to leave him to his own devices, “Oh, and one more thing… avoid Alpha for a little while. He’s not a bad guy. Just takes some time to warm up to people.

“Like you? I don't know why I said that.” The fire ghoul cringed at himself. He had no right to speak of her like he knew her. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize again, she beat him to it.

“Smart guy.” The little smile was still there and it stayed with her even when she left the room, leaving Ifrit stumped once more.

[My Main Masterlist | Domestic December Masterlist]

[imagineanime2022]

It's A Date

Tetsuro Kuroo X Reader

Word Count: 816

Requested: No

Kuroo didn’t realise that you were friends with Kenma when he first started trying to get your attention, he had noticed that you kept to yourself and made sure that you were the most unnoticed in the room, he’d always hear you pen scraping across your paper as you took notes or the small intake of breath when the teacher called on you for an answer in the lesson, you were never wrong but you always sounded scared as you answered.

That was why he wasn't surprised when you made that same noise when he softly called out your name. “Huh?” You finally asked as you looked up at him for a second before looking away from him as if you were struggling to keep eye contact, he smiled at that sitting in front of you on the chair. “Is there something I can help you with?” “Well actually I just realised that we never talked but we’ve been in the same class for over a year.” He answered, you looked at him and frowned. “Is this because of Kenma?” You asked. “Kenma?” Kuroo asked. “You know Kenma?” “Yes I do know Kenma.” You laughed and his eyes widened. You had never laughed in front of him before but he wanted to make you do it again “I play games with him all the time.” “I didn’t know that…” He scratched the back of his neck, “I did actually just want to talk to you.” “Oh well then talk.” You urged him on.

That afternoon Kenma had been sitting in his bedroom, he once again skipped practice for an event you had informed him about, you were on the end of a call half reprimanding him for not going to practise although your scolding fell short when you managed to pull a character you had been trying to get, you were mumbling about what build you were going to give them when his door slammed open causing him to jump. “Kenma!” Kuroo yelled. “I’m sorry I skipped practice.” He said, even if he didn’t mean it he didn’t want Kuroo lecturing him for the next hour, hopefully the apology would cut it down to maybe 30 minutes. “We’ll talk about that later, I want to talk about your cute gaming friend.” Kenma’s eyes widened as he reached back to mute his mic before you heard anything more. “Wait, are they-?” Kenma nodded “Did they-?” Kenma nodded again, reaching back to unmute the mic. “I wouldn’t worry, they were talking about how cute my volleyball friend was.” He smirked as he heard you make a noise through your mic like you choked. “Are you okay?” He asked but between a frozen Kuroo and a choking you, he wasn’t sure who the question was directed at, in response he heard you bang your hand on the table a signal that you were still alive but hadn’t quite caught your breath yet, his eyes moved to Kuroo who was looking at him. “What?” “She’s okay?” Kuroo asked. “Yeah.” Kenma answered, he nodded as turned back towards the door. “Don’t skip practice again.” He ordered before he disappeared out the door. “I think we broke him.” Kenma said as he turned back to his computer. “I think you broke me.” You informed him in a strained voice that was followed by a harsh cough as you still tried to get your throat to feel even a little normal again.

The next day you were sitting in your homeroom in your normal seat expecting a normal morning except Kuroo sat down in front of you “about last night.” He said quickly, he looked nervous and you smiled at him as you put your hand up for him to stop. “There’s nothing to talk about, it’s nice being called cute.” You winked and he groaned, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Did you really call me cute?” He asked and you looked at him and decided that you had nothing to lose. “Actually I called you hot.” You answered leaning your cheek against your closed knuckles, his eyes moved to you as they widened. “You did?” He asked, now you were seeing the normal Kuroo, a smirk stretched across his face as he leaned closer. “I did.” You answered, picking up your phone and tapping a few things before turning it so that he could see the text to Kenma, you did call him hot. He pushed the phone away from your face and moved closer still. “You wanna watch practice today?” He asked. “Now why would I do that?” You asked. “Once practice is done we can go get something to eat.” He suggested. “Like a date?” You asked. “If you want a date.” He answered and you nodded, he smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of your head before walking over to his desk. “I’ll see you there.”

Request Here!!

[opossumjournal]

Mullet Love

This is far from polished, but wanted to share this little scene I had an Idea for between Marlene and Peter

Peter's mom cuts his hair, and usually, by the time she gets to the back, she's feeling weak and can't move her arms as high. Peter told her she could cut the back later if she wanted, but it wasn't during the summer; from her letters, she only perked up in October. She told Peter not to worry; it wasn't his fault, but Peter decided he would cut his hair from now on. He does his best, but not being able to see the back, well, he gives himself an unintentional ducktail.

Marlene eventually grabs him one day after class and asks if he really wants a mullet because it's a lifestyle, not just a haircut. Peter isn't sure what she's talking about. He didn't think the back was that long. But he can't really see it, so he agrees. Marlene sighed, rubbing her eyes. Peter guessed that just like all the professors, Marlene was aware he was slow and lying to save face. Marlene pushed him onto a chair and told Peter to sit. He does; he is really only sure what's going on once she starts cutting his hair. She gives him a cute ducktail, not the scraggly look he had going on before. They complete the haircut in complete silence.

The following month, Marlene makes the scissors-snipping gesture at Peter, and he subtly nods while they take their seats for transfiguration.

Peter meets Marlene at their spot, and the first part is silent again. Peter can't help but burst out part way though, the questions about Marlene's intentions bubbling up his throat.

P: You know, you don't have to do this if you don't want to.

M: I told you that having a mullet is a lifestyle, and you weren't keeping up with it.

P: I'm sorry.

M: *sighs* Don't be. I’m sorry for being so harsh. Sometimes I forget you aren't like them.

P: What do you mean?

M: You aren't a tosser like the rest of them. James thinks the sun shines out his arse. Sirius is the prancing prince of all tossers. And Remus thinks he's too good to talk to anyone except you lot.

P: And me?

M: Well you're you, aren't you?

Peter doesn't figure out what she means by that, doesn't want to ask to find out in case he was supposed to understand, and starts trying to trim his own hair, keeping it about the length Marlene had it. It gets choppy, but he doesn't want Marlene to think he isn't trying, and he doesn't want to have someone cut his hair for him. He doesn't know what Marlene meant with that last conversation and isn't sure he wants to spend more time with her.

Marlene finger snips at him a couple of weeks later, and Peter is too nervous to refuse. He isn't sure Marlene would do anything if he said no, but he doesn't know if he wants to find out. What he gets at home is plenty, thank you.

Marlene brings an extra pair of scissors and is transfiguring a couple of mirrors when Peter arrives, late due to anxiety.

Marlene teaches Peter how to cut his hair using reflections from the mirrors behind and in front of him. P extremely nervously asks if Marlene will show him the mirror spell. He doesn't ask the marauders for help because Marlene is right. They are jerks at times, especially when he's practising magic they are already comfortable with. Marlene, however, is rough but patient when she teaches him, going over it again and again until Peter's mirrors don't look like they belong in a fun house.

After that, Peter still goes to their spot to cut his hair. Marlene joins him one day.

M: I can see why you like it here.

P: What?

M: Its more roomy then the dorm bathroom, no one interrupting or rushing you, its nice here. Peaceful.

P: Yeah it is. 

This is the first time he realised it. He had been going because he didn't want the boys to see his shoddy transfiguration. It's hard when you're a c/d student, and you're rooming with literally 3 of the 10 smartest people in your year. But he realizes now that he also liked that time alone, other than his new friend.

[pooma-education]

NINE PSYCHOLOGICAL WAYS TO BE HAPPIER

Happiness can seem like an elusive concept, something that’s always just out of reach.

According to psychology, however, the road to happiness can be simpler than we often make it.

The trick is to understand that happiness is a choice, and there are certain habits and routines you can establish to make that choice easier.

In this article, I share with you 9 simple ways to be happier in life, as backed by psychology.

These aren’t just empty platitudes or vague ideas, but concrete steps you can start taking right now. So, let’s dive in and find out how to make your life a little bit happier!

1) Practice gratitude

Attitude shifts can make a world of difference, and one of the simplest ways to improve your happiness is to practice gratitude.

According to Harvard Health:

“In positive psychology research, gratitude is strongly and consistently associated with greater happiness. Gratitude helps people feel more positive emotions, relish good experiences, improve their health, deal with adversity, and build strong relationships.”

Gratitude helps us focus on what we have rather than what we lack. Instead of dwelling on the negatives, we start seeing our lives through a lens of positivity and abundance.

Start by keeping a gratitude journal where you write down three things you are grateful for each day. This helps train your brain to look for the good in every situation.

It’s not about denying life’s challenges but about acknowledging the good that exists alongside them.

Practising gratitude is a small change that can lead to big improvements in your overall happiness.

So why not give it a shot? After all, what do you have to lose except maybe a bit of unhappiness?

2) Incorporate exercise into your daily routine

Believe it or not, the link between physical activity and happiness is quite strong.

Multiple studies have shown that regular exercise can increase your mood and decrease feelings of anxiety, depression, and stress.

In fact, I can personally attest to this. A few years ago, I was feeling particularly low. My mood was often gloomy, and I was constantly feeling stressed. It was then that I decided to incorporate exercise into my daily routine.

I started off small, with just a 10-minute walk around every morning. Slowly but surely, I began to notice a change. My mood started lifting, and I felt less stressed. Over time, I increased my exercise time and introduced more activities.

Today, I can’t imagine my life without daily exercise. Not only am I physically healthier, but my mental health has significantly improved as well.

So, if you’re looking for a simple way to boost your happiness, try moving your body more. It doesn’t have to be anything strenuous – even a quick walk can make a difference!

3) Get enough sleep

Sleep is often overlooked when we think about happiness. But getting a good night’s rest can significantly impact your mood and overall well-being.

When we sleep, our bodies undergo various processes that promote physical health, including tissue repair, hormone regulation, and brain function.

But it’s not just about physical health.

A study from the University of Pennsylvania found that people who were limited to only 4.5 hours of sleep a night for one week reported feeling more stressed, angry, and mentally exhausted.

When they returned to a normal sleep schedule, their mood significantly improved.

The researchers concluded that adequate sleep is crucial for maintaining a positive mood and overall emotional health.

Ensure you’re getting enough ZZZs each night. It’s not just good for your health – it’s fundamental for your happiness too!

4) Connect with others

We humans are social creatures. We crave connections and thrive on healthy relationships. In fact, connecting with others is one of the most effective ways to boost our happiness levels.

Building strong bonds and maintaining social ties can enrich our lives in many ways. It can provide emotional support in tough times, offer joy and companionship, and even improve our sense of self-worth.

An 80-year Harvard study found that the quality of our closest relationships is the biggest predictor of happiness.

These relationships do not need to be many or complicated. A simple conversation with a friend, a warm hug from a family member, or even a friendly exchange with a stranger can greatly enhance our mood.

Therefore, take the time to nurture your relationships. Call an old friend, spend quality time with your family, or make an effort to meet new people. You’ll be surprised how these connections can light up your life.

5) Find purpose and meaning

Happiness isn’t just about feeling good all the time. It’s also about feeling that life is good, worthwhile, and meaningful.

A study found that when people feel like they have a purpose, they’re more likely to feel happy feelings like being content, relaxed, excited, and joyful.

They’re also less likely to feel bad stuff like anger, worry, tiredness, or sadness.

Plus, they generally feel more satisfied with their life and just feel better overall.

Purpose gives us a reason to get up in the morning, fuels our motivation, and helps us overcome challenges.

This could be anything – from your profession to a hobby you’re passionate about to volunteering for a cause you believe in. The key is to find something that resonates with you and aligns with your values and passions.

Take some time to introspect. What drives you? What makes you feel fulfilled? Once you find it, pursue it wholeheartedly. Not only will it bring you satisfaction, but it will also guide you on the path to genuine happiness.

6) Practice kindness

In a world where you can be anything, be kind. It’s a simple phrase, but it holds a profound truth. Kindness is a universal language that transcends borders, cultures, and languages.

A published review of decades of kindness research found that people who were kind tended to have higher well-being.

When we perform acts of kindness – whether large or small – we’re not just helping others, we’re also helping ourselves.

Helping others triggers the release of serotonin in our brains, a hormone that gives us feelings of satisfaction and happiness.

But the beauty of kindness is that it doesn’t have to be grand gestures. It could be as simple as complimenting someone, lending a helping hand to a neighbour in need, or just sharing a smile with a stranger on the street.

These actions might seem small, but their impact can be enormous. They create positive ripples that spread outwards, touching lives in ways we might never fully comprehend.

So go out there and scatter kindness around like confetti. Because in the end, it’s not just about making others happy – it’s about creating a happier world for all of us to live in.

7) Learn to let go

Holding onto negative feelings like resentment, anger, or disappointment can be like carrying around a heavy backpack. It weighs you down and prevents you from moving forward.

I learned this the hard way. I used to hold onto grudges and dwell on past mistakes, constantly replaying them in my mind. This didn’t just rob me of my present happiness, but also affected my future.

It was only when I made a conscious decision to let go and forgive – forgive others and more importantly, forgive myself – that I truly began to feel happier.

The process wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. By letting go of the past, I freed myself from its chains and opened up space for positivity and peace.

Susanna Newsonen MAPP explains why in Psychology Today that happiness is not about being happy 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s about having the full human experience, including positive and negative emotions.

We all have the power to release these negative emotions. It might not happen overnight, but with patience and perseverance, it is possible.

And trust me, the feeling of freedom that comes with letting go is incomparable.

8) Spend more time in nature

There’s something incredibly calming and rejuvenating about being in nature. The fresh air, the greenery, the peace and quiet – they all contribute to a sense of serenity and happiness.

Psychology research supports this, too. Studies have found that spending time outdoors can lower stress levels, reduce anxiety, and enhance mood.

Whether it’s a walk in the park, a hike in the mountains, or just sitting in your backyard, spending time in nature can do wonders for your mental well-being.

So make it a point to disconnect from the digital world and reconnect with nature. You will not only feel more relaxed but also more attuned to yourself and the world around you.

9) Embrace self-compassion

At the end of the day, the most important relationship you have is with yourself. Therefore, it’s crucial to treat yourself with kindness and compassion.

Higher levels of self-compassion are linked to increased feelings of happiness, optimism, curiosity and connectedness, as well as decreased anxiety, depression, rumination, and fear of failure.

Self-compassion involves acknowledging your own suffering, failures, and inadequacies, and responding to them with kindness and understanding instead of harsh self-judgment.

It’s about accepting that you’re human and it’s okay to make mistakes. It’s about being patient with yourself, especially during tough times.

When you learn to treat yourself with the same kindness you would treat a dear friend, you create a nurturing space for growth and happiness.

So remember to be kind to yourself. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s more than enough.

Final thoughts: Happiness is a journey

The quest for happiness is as old as humanity itself. It’s a complex, multi-faceted journey that can often feel elusive and out of reach. But psychology has provided us with valuable insights into how we can navigate this journey more effectively.

Each of the strategies I have explored – from practising gratitude and kindness, to connecting with others and finding purpose – are stepping stones on the path to happiness. They are not quick fixes or magic solutions, but rather habits and mindsets to cultivate over time.

It’s important to remember that happiness is not a destination but a journey. It’s about embracing the highs and lows, learning from our experiences, and striving to create a life filled with joy, fulfilment, and well-being.

As renowned psychologist Carl Rogers once said, “The good life is a process, not a state of being. It is a direction, not a destination.” This holds true for happiness as well.

So take these strategies, apply them in your own life, and embark on your unique journey towards happiness. Remember, it’s your journey, and every step you take brings you closer to creating the happy life you desire and deserve.

Cosmos Ennu Kwaw

Ghana, West Africa

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Healing Ties - Chapter 45 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

They moved a lot faster now that Harrison was with them.

He set a mage on each of his broad, hairy shoulders and his long stride greatly increased their pace.

Yore followed in wolf form.

Everything hurt but he was determined not to be the one slowing them down.

Life had been painful before but it felt different now with the promises Fanner had made him in mind.

One day, be it months or years from now, he might once again know what it was like to lay in a lover's arms, truly relaxed and free of pain or worry.

Well, pain, anyway.

He would still have his responsibilities and they made having no worries a distant fantasy.

That was fine, though.

Worries and responsibilities had their place in life and he was well practised at managing them.

It was Fanner and Duran who were the ones to finally ask to stop for sleep, though Yore had been teetering on the edge of it himself for some time.

They'd been up nearly a full day and night by this point.

They couldn't keep going forever with no rest.

They found a lake to set up camp next to and while the rest of them were still gathering sticks for a fire, Harrison plunged himself into the water and started hunting for fish.

They seemed to mistake his shaggy fur for a good place to hide and as soon as they felt safe, Harrison would plunge one of his paws in, skewering them with his claws.

He ate the first few whole and raw while still standing in the lake but then he seemed to remember the rest of them and reluctantly started tossing a few up onto the bank.

With the fire started and Harrison wading up the river that fed into the lake in search of more fish, Yore dove into the water to clean off and try to loosen out some of his joints.

The latter was a fool's errand in cool water, perhaps but he just knew that as soon as he was still for too long every joint in his body would start locking up.

He could hear Fanner and Duran talking, hear Fanner bring up, in his own coy way, that he was going to join Yore in the lake.

Duran assured him that his eyes would be aimed elsewhere.

Yore kept his back to Fanner as Fanner waded into the lake, giving him the opportunity to conceal himself beneath the water.

Yore had been naked this entire time, of course.

Nudity was normal for him and by this point the mages seemed to have gotten used to it as well.

Fanner's history was more complicated, though.

What that would mean for him, Yore didn't yet know but he had to assume the situation was a delicate one.

Yore turned just as Fanner reached him.

The setting sun set Fanner's golden hair ablaze.

His body was slender and soft and his eyes were a bright, light blue, filled with uncertainty at war with determination.

Fanner placed a wet hand on Yore's chest and watched the water that trickled down.

"What do boyfriends do?"

"That's... a broad question. I'm not sure there's a simple answer to it."

"Duran says it's just like being someone's friend, except you also have sex."

"It can be that, I suppose," Yore said. "That's certainly an aspect of it. Personally, I'd describe it more as a partnership. An agreement that the two of you are a team, tackling life together."

"Oh. Yes. I like that."

Fanner scooped more water up just so that he could trickle it down Yore's chest.

"They didn't really teach us about anything like that at Milaine House. Partners were the last thing we were meant to be. Or well. I guess we were taught to be good at being whatever someone else needed? Maybe I am qualified. Maybe the only difference is that we were taught to expect nothing in return."

"I'm not sure that's quite the same thing. You're not supposed to change yourself to be what someone else wants. Just, you know. Be yourself while supporting and being supported by, your partner."

"I'd like to be your boyfriend. I don't know if I'd be a very good one but I'd like to try. If you haven't changed your mind."

"I haven't changed my mind. I'd like that very much."

Fanner nodded.

He was silent for a long moment, just staring at Yore's chest.

"So. That means you can do whatever you want."

Yore's head tilted to the side.

"Do whatever I want?"

Fanner lifted his arms out of the water and gestured to his body.

"Ah, I see. No, that isn't how that works. Your body still belongs to you. Even if we were married, that wouldn't change. Nothing happens unless we both want it to. Unless we both give consent."

"Oh. Is it bad that I've been touching your chest, then?"

Yore let out a quiet huff of laughter.

"No, you're fine. You can touch my chest all you like." "

Okay," Fanner said. "You can also touch my chest."

Yore rubbed his palm on Fanner's chest.

"Thank you."

"Hmm," Fanner said. "A good Companion would be passive and wait for instructions unless told to do otherwise."

"Yes."

Fanner looked up at Yore.

"Can I kiss you, Yore?"

"Absolutely," Yore said as he leant down.

Fanner's lips met Yore's, soft and careful, moving with a flow that stuttered and fell apart as soon as Yore challenged it.

Every time Yore let him take the lead, he brought them back to the steady, practised rhythm, so Yore stopped pushing.

If that was where Fanner felt safe, there was no need to force him away from it before he was ready.

Leaning down was starting to get uncomfortable, so Yore sat instead, dragging Fanner onto his lap.

The water reached their chests, murky enough to mostly conceal anything below.

Fanner let out a shaky exhale as he broke away from the kiss.

"Can I touch you? I mean, you know, can I..."

"Yes."

Fanner's hand ventured under the water and snuck between them, finding Yore's cock.

Not counting the last time Fanner had touched him and Yore really did not want to count that this was the first time another person had touched his cock in years.

He let out a long sigh that ended in a groan as Fanner slowly stroked him.

Fanner's gaze was intent on Yore's face.

"What does it feel like?"

"Would you like me to show you?"

Fanner nodded.

Fanner jolted slightly at the first brush of Yore's fingertips and Yore froze, worried something was wrong but after a moment Fanner squirmed his hips and Yore tried again.

This time he didn't move away, but his ass clenched where it rested against Yore's thigh and his hand gripped Yore's shoulder.

"Sensitive?" Yore asked.

Fanner nodded.

"Maybe I should have tried masturbating first. I forgot I'm allowed to."

"You're allowed to like you're allowed to breathe. It's nobody's place to tell you that you can't or even that you can. Nobody has any authority over that except for you. Your body is yours."

Fanner's hand squeezed down on Yore's shoulder as Yore gave his cock a long, slow stroke.

"I think I like sharing it."

[clethos]

day two of @mcyt-yuri-week! prompt is au/post-canon so i went with a classic coffeeshop au except kath is a monster hunting vigilante

fic under cut

Shelby really hates her job sometimes. The just-above-minimum-wage salary isn't quite worth the long hours and the occasional rude customer- but she's got to get by somehow , and they're the only ones who would even consider her after her disastrous stint at the Academy. The one that she's trying not to think about, actually.

So she grits her teeth and smiles wide and she just- keeps going.

Tonight, as usual, isn't too busy- although Evermoore Café is hardly bustling by day either. Its only claim to fame over the Critter City Bakery across the street is that it stays open all night, and even that is a questionable brag considering how few people are up at this time.

But, again- it's the only place that'd take her. And as a college dropout with no social life and a barely-there sleep schedule, it's not like she has anything better to spend her time on, besides obsessively poring over textbooks in the hopes that one day, maybe, the Academy might take her back.

Ha. Like that 'd ever happen. Stratos would freeze over before the Academy would ever deign to let Shelby set foot on campus again.

Okay, that's enough self-pity for the day , she thinks, shaking her head. Wallowing in sadness isn't going to help her situation. And neither will scrolling on her phone, but at least it won't make her feel like shit.

She opens her message app with all the bravery of a cow walking toward the chopping block, and is immediately confronted with dozens of notifications from Joey. Ugh . It's probably something stupid. With Joey it usually is, really-

Someone clears their throat, so unexpectedly and so close to her that she flinches. Her phone slips through her fingers and falls with a thump to the floor.

"Sorry!" Shelby says, quickly picking up her phone and tucking it into her pocket, an embarassed flush rising to her cheeks. "Uh, how can I help you?"

She looks up to see her customer and. Oh. Yeah, she's definitely blushing now.

The woman standing in front of her is tall and muscular, with black lipstick and a long scar across her nose and thick kohl smeared around her eyes. But the smile she offers Shelby is so sweet and genuine it makes her weak at the knees. She feels like she's about to cry.

Jesus, Berry. Get a grip.

"That's alright," the woman says politely. "Can I get- just a black coffee, please?"

"Sure." It's nice to get a break from 'golden caramel honey latte machiatto with two pumps of milk and one of sugar, hold the cream'; her memory's never been great. "That'll be 6.99."

The pretty lady doesn't even blink, just hands over a couple crumpled bills. Shelby turns on the coffee machine and, feeling brave, shoots her a grin. "Can I ask why you've got nothing better to do at-" she peeks at her watch- "1:15 in the morning than buy overpriced coffee?"

"Uh." The woman stutters a little. "I- I don't..."

Shelby, taking pity on her, asks, "Couldn't sleep?"

"Yes! Yes, that's it, that's exactly it. Sleep is for the weak, you know?"

"Sure," Shelby says. The machine beeps; in a few practised motions, she grabs a cup, fills it near to the top, and caps it. She spins it onto the counter with a risky little flourish that would have gotten her in trouble if her supervisor wasn't currently slumped over a table in the back room.

"Can I get a name?" she asks, taking a pen and fiddling with it. This part really isn't necessary right now, but- 

Yeah, Shelby does want to know more about this mystery whirlwind of a woman who swept into Evermoore Café in the middle of the night like something right out of a fairytale. Sue her.

"Katherine," the woman says, then immediately claps a hand over her mouth. "I mean- yeah. Katherine. That's me."

Shelby writes Katherine on the cup as neatly as she can. Their fingers brush when she hands her the coffee. And as Katherine takes the cup, wrapping her large, scarred hands around it, Shelby is hit with a sudden desperation- a need to keep her in the café, if only for a moment longer.

 "I haven't seen you around before," she offers, a lame attempt at keeping the conversation going.

"Oh, yeah, I'm from out of town. Just stopping by." Shelby's face falls, and Katherine must notice because she hurriedly adds, "I'll be back, though! Really soon, actually, I really like it here, I come to Evermoore every day- I mean, every night, for... reasons."

Shelby quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. "What reasons?"

"And," Katherine continues, tripping over her words with how fast she's talking, "this coffee is- so good. Just so good." She takes a sip, and her face immediately flickers through varying states of despair before settling on a slightly strained grin. "So good that I might come back here. Like, tomorrow night? Are you working here tomorrow?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I am." Shelby did not even know it was possible to feel such an immense joy at such a small thing. She really needs more friends.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Katherine calls over her shoulder. "Maybe then you could finally tell me your name."

Did she just wink at me?

Shelby watches, dumbstruck, as Katherine waltzes out and the bell on the door jingles and, a few minutes later, a 6.99$ coffee drops into a trash can somewhere.

[shoyoist]

“should I plant a baby in you?”

Pro athlete Shoyo sneaking in to your apartment whenever he gets jealous.

content: fem!reader. jealous!hinata shoyo, heavy breeding kink, slightly possessive themes. good timing, anon. i was just editing one of my shoyo fics so i was inspired to do this quick for you <33

pro athlete hinata who hasnt been able to spend as much time with you as he'd like, practises and games keeping him too busy :((

you're not dating, you've only just had sex a few times, so shoyo has no good reason to go and pull you away when he sees you out with some other guy.

you're smiling at the asshole, walking with him down the street, stretching your pretty lips (that belong around shoyo's cock and nobody else's) in a cute smirk that makes his heart pick up pace — except right now, his blood runs fast with anger. you're not really his, but you are— hinata loves you, and whenever he loves something, he makes sure, one way or another, that he claims ownership of it.

but still, he cant get in your way right now. so he just stands there, watching till he loses sight of you in the crowd, fist clenched and eyes lit.

then, that night, he shows up at your door. completely nonchalant, conversing with you sweetly and telling you about his away games over a shared dinner together. doesnt let you catch a single hint of what's going through his mind.

later, though, he's got your knees pressed to your chest, overstimming both you and him as he cums into you for the third time, still heavily thrusting in and out of your slick cunt, determined to put a baby in you (anything, to make you love him only, and stay with him).

tells you how much he's missed you, how good you feel, how much he loves you, how badly he wants to fuck you full of his cum 💞

he's so nice, so doting with his praise and his kisses even while he's throwing your legs over his shoulders and stuffing you all up, the tip of his fat dick hitting you just right. you dont know nothing. and you're already out of your mind, anyway, eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open as you try to answer his questions of "you can take more, mhm?"

"i love you so much, gotta love me back the same way, okay?" he rasps, and you nod, nod mindlessly when he asks you if you want his kids, if you want to stay with him forever, if you really love him. "yes, shoyo, fuck! yes, yes, yes!"

and he laughs, determined to fuck you so dumb and full you forget everyone else, and only have his name on your tongue. "good girl, such a good girl. my good girl."

[yandere-daze]

Congratulations on the 1400 followers! I'm really a fan of your writing;; May I request the devil, death and strength for Tsukasa please ??

I can´t overstate just how happy each of these little messages make me, it´s just so nice to hear that people genuinely enjoy the writing I´m putting out here on tumblr 🥺💕

I´ve already done the devil for Tsukasa here!

tw yandere, discussions of death and killing reader ( but not actually happening, mention of starvation, obsession, mention of kidnapping

Death - Would this yandere ever kill their darling? If not, would this yandere “kill” undesirable traits of their darling?

Oh heavens no! Tsukasa wouldn´t even dream of it, the mere thought alone is blasphemous! How could he ever live without his dearly beloved? Killing his darling is completely out of the question in his mind, he doesn´t even want to consider it honestly.

Accidentally killing his darling is extremely unlikely as well. Tsukasa doesn´t carry any weapons around with him aside from when he´s training in the archery club. You would literally have to jump right in front of him as he was shooting his arrow and it still most likely wouldn´t be lethal. And Tsukasa would be very careful if you were watching him practise anyway, exactly so an accident like that would never happen

Dying of neglect like for example from starvation wouldn´t happen either as Tsukasa makes sure you are properly taken care of and won´t be missing anything. It´s almost overwhelming with how many luxuries you are awarded.

“Killing” undesirable traits of his darling is not very likely to happen either because they are already the epitome of perfection to him. Why else would he be so obsessed with them? He just hopes they won´t protest too much in case he decided to kidnap them but he wouldn´t try to punish them for it, moreso try to win them over with gifts and affection

Strength - How outwardly passionate is this yandere around their darling?

Oh, unbelievably passionate! Tsukasa is one of the most obvious yanderes when it comes to how much he adores his darling. You would have to be blind to not see just how smitten he is with you.

He praises you endlessy, every word he speaks as sweet as honey. It doesn´t matter who is listening, there is not a minute where Tsukasa doesn´t mention you in conversation. His unti is probably pretty fed up from having to listen to him talk about how amazing and wonderful you are time and time again.

Of course, you are no exception to that rule either! He compliments you on every little thing you say or do that it might even be a bit creepy. But he really means every thing he says! He just can´t help himself when he is around you, the words just keep coming out of him. He wants you to know how much he cares about you! He adores you! Please just look at him!

Due to coming from a rich family, Tsukasa would have no problem with spoiling his darling with gifts either. His family has put him on a budget because otherwise he would just keep spending tons of money without a second thought just for the chance of being praised by you for once as well.

Please praise him, he lives for it! Let him know that he´s being good!

Also? Blushing.

I swear, he blushes so much around you, you could literally just glance at him and he´s already on cloud nine. He´s been raised to be a respectful gentleman so he´s a bit shy when it comes to physical contact but you can just feel from his gaze how badly he just wants to jump into your arms and have you hold onto him.

He´s so obsessed with you and literally everyone can see it