#translates this into: -he wants attention-

[chleem]

One shot: bf!rafe cameron x gf!reader

Summary: rafe teaches you golf

Genre: flirty/sexual tension + lil verbal fight at end (read at own caution

⋆.˚ dont copy or translate my work pls!

♡⸝⸝ russian roulette with rafe

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Rafe wasn’t sure why you decided to join him at the country club today. 

He remembers you calling golf the “most boring thing ever,” practically mocking it the last time the subject came up. 

But here you are, standing beside him on the manicured greens, your eyes scanning the course with a look of curiosity. 

He’s trying to keep his attention on the game—Topper lining up his shot, the sound of the club meeting the ball—but his eyes keep drifting back to you, walking over to the golf cart. 

The golf skirt paired with the pink polo you wear gives the perfect balance of sporty and feminine, suiting you perfectly. 

And whenever you move, the skirt hikes up just enough to expose your ass cheeks. 

He doesn’t know whether it’s the outfit or just you, but it’s definitely distracting.

“Aw, shit,” Topper mutters under his breath, the ball flies off the mark, heading straight for the trees. “I can’t catch a break today.”

Rafe remains motionless; eyes focused as you rumble through the bag of clubs. 

You have no idea which one to grab, but the way your fingers move with confidence makes it look like you’re in control.

“Rafe, your turn,” Kelce’s voice breaks through the moment, pulling Rafe back into the game.

“Wait! Lemme try,” you butt in, your voice light but with a hint of determination.

Rafe’s eyes flick back to you, a little surprised by the interruption. He watches as you step forward, confidently grabbing the club you had been fiddling with earlier. 

But before you can even get ready, Rafe steps in, stopping right in front of you.

“That’s… uh, not really the one you want,” Rafe says, his voice lowering slightly, but there's no mocking in it—just genuine concern.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing yours as he takes the club from your hand and holds it up for a moment, inspecting it. 

9-iron. 

He glances up at you, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, his gaze flicking down your frame before landing on the club again.

Yeah, your 165 ass isn’t using that one. 

He steps away for a brief moment, and comes back handing you a different club—a 7-iron, lighter and a little more forgiving.

“Here,” he says, the briefest smile on his lips, “this one’s better for you. Trust me.”

“Thanks babe,” you smile, your tone warm and easy, the words slipping out naturally.

Rafe watches you, his eyes following as you walk toward the ball (the one Rafe previously hit), but then his expression shifts—he notices the way you're positioning yourself.

You're totally off, standing at the wrong angle, about to take a swing in a way that's definitely not going to work. 

His brows furrowed as he watches, a mix of concern and amusement crossing his face. 

He hears the quiet, muffled laughter of his friends and shoots a glare their way, silencing them instantly.

Stepping in once again, he lines himself behind you, his body pressing tightly against yours as he adjusts your posture. His broad shoulders come around, and he reaches forward, his hands settling over yours. 

He’s practically hugging you from the back. 

The proximity sends a slight pulse of awareness through you—his body so close, his presence solid and sure.

“You’re holding it- completely wrong,” he murmurs, taking your hand. 

Through the rough texture of his gloves, you can feel the warmth radiating through as he steadies your grip, guiding you to the perfect hold on the club. 

Rafe then lines your arm up to the ball, but not before his hand slips briefly to your lower stomach.

“Arch your back,” he instructs softly, his breath near your ear, making the moment feel more intimate than it should.

You do- and it causes your ass to further curve into him. 

A light groan escapes his lips, the sound somewhere between a chuckle and a soft exhale. “From your hips, babe, not your waist.”

“Oh,” you reply, your voice laced with a mix of realization and a little embarrassment. You quickly adjust, shifting your weight back from your hips like he said. 

“Good,” he mutters, his voice low, lips brushing against your cheek. “legs shoulder-width apart, and knees bent.”

As you settle into position, you feel your body anchor itself, grounding you in the stance.

“This feels weird,” you comment, the unfamiliar grip suddenly feeling heavy in your hands.

Your words slip out of Rafe’s mind, his mind consumed with this position of you. The way you have it all backed up into him- it’s making it hard to keep the dent forming in his pants under control. 

“Rafe? How do I swing it?” you ask, interrupting his thoughts.

“We should try this tonight,” 

Rafe whispers to you, his voice dropping to almost a possessive tone. 

It sends a chill down to your spine, and you turn your head over to him, meeting his blue eyes. They stare lazily into yours, the color sparkling just enough for them to reflect.

“What? Golf?”

His lips twitch into a smile, not playful, almost smug. 

His gloved hands tighten its hold around yours. 

“…sure,” he murmurs. 

Taking a breath, Rafe then shifts his focus back to the sport. 

“Right,” he says, his voice a little raspier than before. “First, rotate your hips as you swing. Don’t just use your arms.”

He moves along with you, guiding you as you raise the club to the height of your waist, your arms moving in sync with the flow of the motion.

“And follow through, keep your head down and eyes on the ball.”

His lips are near your ear, voice low and steady, guiding you like he's teaching you more than just the swing.

He takes a step back, eyes scanning your stance.

You feel the space between you widen, and for a second, you almost miss the warmth of his body. 

You take a breath, focus on Rafe’s voice in your ear, rotate your hips, eyes on the ball.

The club swings down, and there's a sharp, satisfying thwack as the club hits the ball.

The ball takes off, flying straight and clean.

There’s cheers behind you from his friends, but all you focus on is Rafe’s expression. His eyes locked on you, lips slightly parted, a look of quiet approval in his gaze.

You can’t help but smile, feeling that warmth spread through you.

“That’s my girl,” he says, his voice soft but full of pride.

“She’s better than you, man,” Kelce teases. 

You play along, turning slightly and giving an exaggerated bow. “I’m a natural,” you say with a playful grin.

Rafe chuckles too, but his eyes never leave yours, affection still clear in his gaze. “Yeah you are," he mutters, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The next one up is Kelce, and once you return to Rafe’s side, he casually slips an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer to him. It’s a natural move, but the closeness sends a warm jolt through you.

“You think I’ll be this lucky next round?” You ask him, leaning onto his shoulder. Your eyes glue to the side of his face, watching the way his jaw tenses ever so slightly.

Rafe’s lips curl up into that half-smile of his, the kind that makes your stomach flutter. “That wasn’t luck,” he starts, “purely you…and this great teacher you have.”

He tilts his head slightly toward you, giving you a side glance, his expression playful but with that underlying intensity you’ve come to know so well.

You roll your eyes at him, earning his throaty laugh. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cameron,” you say flirtatiously. 

But before you can add anything more, Rafe leans a little closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “You’re driving me crazy.”

The comment is soaked with horniness, and your thoughts are confirmed when the hand around your waist slips underneath your skirt, kneading the soft fat there.

You can’t help but let out a soft, surprised whelp—louder than you’d intended. The sound catches the attention of his friends, eyes on you again. 

Flushing, you push his hand away playfully, trying to cover up your flustered reaction. “Nothing- there was a spider," you lie, mumbling shyly. 

They laugh lightly, and that’s when you notice Kelce was done with his turn. 

“Hey y/n—” Rafe pauses, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on the side of your forehead, his arm naturally wrapping around your shoulders as he pulls you back in. “How ‘bout a private sesh?”

His friends, already finished, start heading over to their golf carts, clearly ready to move on. But Rafe doesn’t seem in a hurry to follow.

You glance up at him, seeing the playful yet lusting spark in his eyes. 

He’s too easy to read, honestly. 

You bite down on your lower lip, trying to suppress the eager smile threatening to break free. “…no funny business,” you tease, while your hand gives his clothed crotch a light pat. 

Rafe’s smile deepens, taking your hand and interlocking it with his. 

He peers over your shoulder, yelling back at the guys, “You guys go ahead, we’ll, um…”

The group pauses, looking between the two of you, and then Rafe glances down at you with that familiar, devilish smirk, “don’t wait for us.”

As if on cue, the group doesn’t need another word. They exchange a few amused glances, rearranging the carts (leaving one for you two) before heading off. 

The faint chatter and laughs echo away, leaving just you and Rafe on the opened golf course. 

Rafe wastes no time, leaning in and kissing you hungrily. 

Both of you drop your clubs, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. You feel the rough glove wrap around the back of your head, angling your face so his tongue dives deeper into you. 

It’s a sloppy kiss, but one that only gets more passionate by the second. 

“Shit,” he mumbles against your mouth, hands slipping under your skirt again. He kneads your ass again, another hand going to undo the buttons of your polo. 

But you hurriedly stop him, almost panicking as you pull back. 

“Not here, Rafe-“

“There’s no one here-“

“Cameras, and people over there-“

“Let them watch-“

“No, Rafe,” your voice finally cuts through his, and distance is created through the both of you. Your chest rises and falls, from both the breathless kiss and the sudden rush of energy. 

Rafe’s smirk fades slightly, but his eyes stay locked on yours. “You sure?” he asks, voice low, a hint of challenge in it.

You hesitate for a second, your pulse hammering in your ears. “Yeah, I’m sure,” you reply, steadying your breath. 

You glance around, and you were right- someone drives by on their cart. 

“You couldn’t be patient for a couple of minutes?” You scold lightly, picking up the two golf clubs from the floor. 

Rafe’s eyes flicker briefly to the cart passing by, then back to you, the realization of you being right settling in. 

“I can,” he says, following you as you make it to the golf cart. “But you sure as hell make it difficult.”

Once you're at the cart, Rafe casually takes his gloves off, tossing them somewhere inside without a second thought. Before you can even react, he’s already taking the clubs from your hands, placing them back into the bag. 

“Just sit down already,” he tells you, a flicker of frustration in his voice. 

Somehow, he’s irritated again, the short fuse of his temper flaring up. 

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, you hop into the driver’s seat. 

“Fuck, and you know where to go?” he asks, his voice laced with snark.

You shoot him a look, before scooting over to the passenger side. You cross your arms, deliberately not engaging with his mood.

Rafe sits down, resting his hand on the steering wheel, his eyes flicking to the wide field, as if he's suddenly noticing how much of a dick he's being.

The silence stretches between you for a moment, and then his jaw tightens, like he's working through something. Finally, he exhales sharply, glancing over at you.

Tapping his fingers against the wheel, he says, “I didn’t mean to snap- get angry like that.”

The words hang in the air, but you don’t respond. Instead, you keep your body angled away from him, building that invisible wall between the two of you.

Rafe notices, his gaze darkening as he watches you, his lips pressing into a thin line. 

With his mood swings and your stubbornness, things can easily spiral south, and he knows it.

“C’mon, don’t do this,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you, “I- I’m not even mad to begin with, c’mon babe.”

His voice drops to a softer tone, and his hand wraps around your thigh. The touch is soft, almost like a silent plea for forgiveness. 

You turn your face back to him, and meet the desperate, pretty eyes of his. 

“Just drive, Rafe,” you murmur, your voice soft but resolute, an unspoken surrender.

He pulls his hand back reluctantly, resting it back on the steering wheel. His gaze lingers a moment longer on your face, studying your features. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, a little defeated, “I’ll drive.”

He starts the cart, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. 

As he drives off the grass and onto the paved road, Rafe’s hand slides over yours, forcing it onto the wheel. His fingers curl around yours, covering your hand completely, holding it firmly in place.

When you don’t pull away or argue, he takes it as a win. 

Even more so when he feels you scoot over slightly, your head gently resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but the subtle shift in your proximity softens him, a hint of relief washing over his features.

“…you really think I did good today?” 

You whisper over at him, and he glances down at you. 

His lips curl into a small smile, “yeah.”

He then adds on more firmly, “Yeah, you did. Join me next time.”

“Okay,” you softly whisper, the quiet affirmation slipping from your lips like a promise.

Maybe golf can be the most interesting thing ever, if you do it with Rafe. 

Plus, there’s most definitely a bonus at the end, which is, three rounds of orgasms flowing out of you. 

As soon as the two of you got back to the main building of the country club, Rafe wastes no time in fucking the brains out of you, of course, with your skirt on. 

And now, almost every time he’s on the course, you’re there with him.

-------------------------------

word count: 2.4k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: ngl, relationship with rafe is: mood swings. and its mostly rafe's. one moment he could be very loving, and then boom, he gets a bit annoyed (but thats just imo

but hope you enjoyed...whatever this was! its so fun to write about rafe

other | russian roulette w/rafe

[sporadicallyanenthusiast]

It's interesting, because I'm reading a Brazilian Portuguese translation and I've been finding some differences from the English one, which I suspect may be truer to the original Greek. For example, in Portuguese, Menelaus is described as a blond instead of a ginger, and Athena is described with green eyes instead of gray. So I think that's the reason there might be a misconception on my part, since in the scene when Menelaus tells Telemachus what he knows about Odysseus, he says Proteus told him so after Menelaus captured him, instead of it being a dream.

I mean, if it had been described as a dream, it'd be very understandable why he wouldn't say anything! That's not trustworthy information you just go sharing out of nowhere, indeed. But since it was a prophet God that told him that (in the book I'm reading, at least), I thought it was a bit jarring he didn't try to warn anyone, you know?

Especially after he told Telemachus he liked Odysseus so much, he'd empty the island of Ithaca and relocate all of its inhabitants to Laconia, make a whole new kingdom for Odysseus there, just so they could rule nearby each other. Which is why I made the gay joke, by the way haha It's my first time reading Ancient Greek mythology and I admit I was caught off guard by such an earnest expression of Menelaus' love for his friend. Honestly, I get it, I would do the same for my best friends! Haha And I agree, I don't ship them either (even tho I haven't read the Iliad yet - yeah, I know 🥲) and I think it should be more normal to express how much we care about our friends the way Menelaus does.

Regardless, you are right the poor man had enough on his plate already.

And when you put it like that, indeed it's an awkward letter lol

Still, maybe I'm projecting too much here, but if I were in Penelope's or Telemachus' place, I'd like to know something, anything. As useless as the information may sound. They knew Odysseus didn't die in the Trojan War, so what happened? I'd find some semblance of comfort in knowing someone heard my loved one is still alive and he wants to get back to me. I can understand where Menelaus would be coming from, if he thought knowing wouldn't help Penelope of Telemachus at all, but if it were my husband or my father, I'd be furious no one told me.

And maybe it's wishful thinking on my part, but who knows, Penelope might have had some leverage to hold the suitors back in that scenario. It would be extremely disrespectful to try for the Queen's hand if there's a chance the King's still alive. And maybe then Telemachus would have had a chance to prove himself earlier, to show he is already a man and capable of taking over the throne, if he had traveled to look for his father sooner. I mean, Athena herself goes to Telemachus and essentially asks him "Why don't you finally kick those men (the suitors) out of your palace? Why don't you go try to get information about your father?". So maybe having a lead earlier on may have had saved them some of the trouble. At least that's what I was thinking when I read that scene.

And yes, you're right! There is a chance Menelaus did try to send a letter and it never arrived. And maybe he thought he ought to "repeat" the whole story to Telemachus, since the poor boy went through the trouble of getting to Sparta and asking him about Odysseus in person.

Well, at the end of the day, you are the scholar here, I'm just reading those myths for the first time hahaha. To be honest, I wrote the og post as a silly joke when I was half asleep, I didn't expect it to get any attention at all. So I apologize for any misinformation I may have spread on accident!

Telemachus is so much stronger than me for real. Cause if I had traveled for days, by sea AND land, arrived at the palace of my father's friend and my mother's cousin to humbly ask if they know anything about my missing father and instead of just fucking telling me already, this mf started a monologue about how gay he is for my dad and about the time he captured a God that granted him wishes three, I'd already be telling him to Hurry The Fuck Up. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY.

But if the same motherfucker then turned around and told me that he had known FOR YEARS NOW that my dad is trapped on an island AND THE MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T TELL ANYONE!!!! NOT A SINGLE LETTER!!! I would have already strangled Menelaus with that fucking blond hair of his in front of his wife and children, unhelpful son of a bitch.

[cupidbedsy]

୨୧ unpredictable ; cb98

➪ summary: chicago weather is unpredictable, but connor and y/n always make the best of it.

➪ warnings: none !

➪ word count: 0.8k

➪ cupid's notes: it has been way too long since i've written something for connor and i am so grateful that a nonnie sent me this idea i was able to write a small little blurb for him. and yes, it is totally fucking freezing in here, please save us

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

Early mornings with Connor were always her favorite thing. Soft sunlight streamed through the cracked-open curtains, the radiator hummed softly, and Connor’s arm thrown across her stomach as he buried his head into her shoulder. 

The peaceful bliss the two were both encompassed in was soon disrupted by her phone's blaring ringtone. She blinked her eyes open slowly, raising her hand to her face to wipe the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached over, clicking accept on her call as she brought it to her ear, “Hello?”

Connor groaned from beside, trying to shove his head further into her to escape the muffled voices. 

Soon enough, her hand was running through his hair and her phone was thrown back on the nightstand. He let out a soft sigh in content, pushing his head into her hand as she spoke, “I’m off today. No school, no work.”

“Like I would’ve let you go in sub-zero weather.” 

She said nothing, settling back into the comfort of the bed and continuing to play with his hair. However, the sleep Connor desperately wanted to fall back into left him and now his eyes were wide and his mind was awake. 

He scooted down the bed just far enough so he could rest his chin against her stomach, causing her to look at him curiously, “What’re you doing?”

“Cuddling you,” Connor stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world as he wrapped his arms around her torso and rested his head flat against her belly. 

She couldn’t help that escaped her mouth, returning her fingers to his hair and going on her phone, most likely starting her doom scrolling of the day. 

It was a few minutes later when he spoke again, his words murmured from his current position, “What do you want to do today?”

“I do have a few things to finish for class but other than that, whatever.”

He shoots her a grin, one that’s both comforting and filled with mischief that makes her stomach queasy, “What?”

“What?” He replies coyly, sitting up and pushing himself back so he’s resting against the heels of his feet, towering over her slightly. 

She takes the opportunity to climb off the bed and head towards the closet where she’s left things in case something like this ever happened, Chicago weather was always unpredictable. 

It doesn’t take Connor long to come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him so her back is flushed with his chest. He watches as she picks out a shirt, one that they both know is actually his, before she moves on to pluck a pair of sweatpants from the drawer.

“Connie?”

He hums in response but he’s too busy pressing kisses along her shoulder and up her neck to pay attention to what she was saying. She sighs, both of pleasure and annoyance, as she sinks back into his warmth, letting her hands find his.

He reluctantly pulls away when he recognizes the silence she’s taken on is tainted with the slightest bit of irritation. He spins her around, smirking when her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “What is it baby?”

“I really need to finish this thing for class and then I promise I’m all yours. Why don’t you go make breakfast?”

And how could he say no to the adorable, innocent eyes she was giving him? He sighed, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead and cheek, before finally planting one on her lips before murmuring, “Fine.”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Both breakfast and her assignment didn’t take long to finish up which left the two of them snuggling up on the couch as they watched Desperate Housewives, a show the two had accidentally stumbled upon after a late night of searching high and low for something to watch. 

“I feel like I need to restart this because if I’m totally honest I don’t remember anything that happened in the first season.”

Connor’s eyes flicked over to y/n, “Good because me too. It’s been so long since we’ve actually had time to do this.”

She smiled, curling into him. His left arm wrapped around her shoulders, bringing her closer to his side, her head against his chest and hand absentmindedly tracing shapes across his lower torso. He took the remote from her other hand, navigating his way to the Disney+ app so he could put the show on, “I’ve missed this.”

“I’ve missed this too,” she peered up at him, kissing his jaw before settling back against him as the first episode played across the TV.

Chicago weather was unpredictable, but whether it was cold or hot, it seemed to work out in their favor.

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@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @petite-potato4 @absolutelyhugh3s @dyslecticdutchman @this-ass-is-eikonic @winterbarnesblog @fantillisgirl

CB98 MASTERLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST

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[juniperskye]

Pornstar.

Based on the following ask: If you have listened to the song Pornstar by Nessa Barrett awesome if you haven’t please do because I want my ask to make sense. I want a Reader x Aaron Hotchner fic based on that songs specifically because it’s just spicy and smutty honestly. Even the song Do it for me by Rosenfeld works too. They are just good songs, and they are spicy and when I hear them all I see is Aaron Hotchner – Honeyyyy these songs were SPICY! So, I really liked the beat at the beginning of Pornstar – I ran with that, and this takes place at a club.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

SMUT

Word count: 1456

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, SMUT, Age gap (non-specified), one night stand, sex with a stranger, alcohol consumption, sex while intoxicated (not drunk), explicit language, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description other than female anatomy, use of pet names, fingering, semi-public sex, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this), choking, pure filth tbh…let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

He couldn’t believe he was here right now. The last time he was in a club…for something other than a case, was never. He had never been the clubbing type, but the BAU had been on back-to-back-to-back cases for the last six or so months, so the team decided it was time to let off some steam. With some mandatory days off, the team finally had the time. Thankfully they were all passed the point of judgement with one another, having spent as much time together as they all had over the years.

Tonight had started that way too. A silent agreement amongst everyone that no matter what happened, there’d be no judgement, and it wouldn’t be spoken of ever again.

That’s why he hadn’t hesitated to order a third whiskey and boldly sent a vodka soda to the woman across the club, sitting in a booth with her friends. When she glanced in his direction after the waitress had delivered the drink, she blushed and send him a smile.

He couldn’t exactly remember what happened next, because one moment you’d been sitting with your friends and the next, the two of you were making out in the back hallway.

--

You were nothing but a mess of tangled limbs and clashing mouths as the two of you kissed fervently in the hallway, hoping to move things to a more private space.

He had one hand gripping your hip while the other held your jaw in place as he allowed his tongue to explore your mouth. You’d tasted like the vodka he sent you along with something inherently sweeter, vanilla lip-gloss maybe?

He pulled back to look at you, your lips were kiss bitten and your skin was glowing as the lights in the club flashed red. The bass of the music had been so loud you could feel it in your chests. It just added to the rush you were currently feeling.

He grabbed your hand and dragged you to the bathroom, quickly locking the door behind you, before pressing himself against you. His hands encased your jaw, holding you in place and your back arched against the door. His lips pressed to your for a second before they trailed down, burning into the skin of your neck.

You let one of your hands pull at his hair while the other pressed against his strong back. You needed to feel him, and you felt like you couldn’t get him close enough. You were desperate at this point.

--

He tugged at the strap of your dress, pulling it down enough to reveal the tops of your breasts. He kissed, bit, and sucked at the skin there, easily eliciting whines from your mouth. You moved your hands to begin unbuttoning his shirt, allowing them to roam over his broad chest. His skin was warm, and he was this solid wall of muscle in front of you…you’d never felt luckier than in this moment. To have captured his attention was your greatest accomplishment.

You hadn’t noticed the shift in his hand placement until it had slipped your panties to the side and gently caressed your heat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He groaned.

All you could do was gasp. Your hips bucking forward to press further into his touch. He’d pulled your dress down more, revealing your breasts completely, swiftly attaching his lips to your hardened nipples, alternating from one to the other. He sucked harshly, sure to leave marks…not that you cared one bit.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He growled in response to your moans.

You reached your hand down to rub at his prominent bulge, trying to signal that you were ready for more. He took the hint. Grabbing you by your hips and spinning you around, his movements were precise and fast…it was almost dizzying. He lifted you up, so you now rested at the edge of the counter, his finger slipping into your heat as he bit onto your collarbone.

Your head fell back in ecstasy. Your hands busy stroking him through his slacks and pulling at his now tousled hair.

“Oh my – Fuck it feels so good.” You cried.

Another finger slid into you as the heal of his palm pressed deliciously into your clit. Your body was moving of its own accord now, grinding into his palm desperate to find your release.

“That’s it baby, use my hand.” He demanded, thrusting his fingers with a newfound speed.

It only took another moment of this before you were screaming out, allowing your climax to take over you.

--

As you calmed your breathing, you pulled at his belt, needing nothing more that to have his cock splitting you open. With his belt undone, you tugged his slacks open and freed his throbbing member.

You couldn’t even be embarrassed at the fact that you were obviously gaping at his impressive size…the man that stood in front of you was gorgeous in every way.

“You’re beautiful.” You whined.

You could see a hint of a blush rush up his neck, but he didn’t let that overtake the dominance he’d been portraying.

“I want to ruin you.” He whispered, nipping at your earlobe.

“Then do it.” You gasped.

--

His cock slammed into you in one swift motion, taking your breath away. The scream that escaped you was animalistic. One that was reserved for pornstars…not everyday people.

Your hands gripped him tightly, nails dragging down his back, causing a hiss to escape him. His hips snapped into you with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. You were loving every fucking moment of it.

“S-so big. You’re so b-big.” You stuttered.

“You’re gripping me so t-tight. Fuck.” He exclaimed.

His hand slid up, fingers digging into the sides of your jaw as he forced your gaze to his own. You had to force your eyes to his…having a difficult time doing anything other than letting them roll to the back of your head.

You brought one hand up to his, shifting it down to your neck. Pairing it with a subtle nod permitting him to make his next move. He allowed his fingers to press ever so slightly into the side of your neck, restricting your airflow the slightest bit.

This new position had your upper back pressed back into the mirror, ass hugging the edge of the counter, while he stood in front of you pistoning his hips into yours over and over again, his hand still wrapped around your throat as the other was bruising your hip.

You were sputtering out gasps with every thrust that met your cervix. His movements refusing to let up. You were filling the bathroom with his grunts, your gasps and the sound of skin slapping skin. The whole experience was euphoric.

--

Things continued this way a bit longer before you felt that all too familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. The coil tightening too much…just waiting to snap.

“Jesus, fuck. Are you gonna cum for me?” He huffed.

“Yes. God yes!” Your eyes finally rolling back.

Your orgasm came crashing over you with a strength you’d never experienced before. Your entire body was trembling against his. He let his hand slip from your throat, wrapping behind you and gripping onto your shoulder, chasing his high.

“That’s it. Fucking fill me up.” You whispered.

“Nghhhh Fuck.”

His hips began to stutter, slowing as he pumped his cum into you, filling you completely. He rested his head against your shoulder and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.

--

After cleaning yourselves up, readjusting your clothes, and assisting one another to smooth out your hair, you made your way out of the bathroom. Not without noticing the glare you were getting from the blonde, who’d clearly been waiting.

“So, um-”

“Did you-”

“Sorry, you go ahead.” You offered.

“I was just going to ask if perhaps you’d like to continue this evening elsewhere.” He suggested.

“I’d love that.” You smiled. “Let me just go let my friends know I’m leaving.”

“Yeah, I should do the same. Meet back here in a few?”

“Okay!”

The both of you moved back toward your respective groups, your girlfriends cheering for you and giggling at all the marks currently littering your neck and chest. While his colleagues gave him knowing looks and smirks at his uncharacteristic behavior. You blew your friends a kiss while he waved his friends off. Coming face to face with you in the spot you’d just been.

“You ready to go?” He asked.

“Yes! But first…what’s your name?” You blushed.

“Oh shit, it’s Aaron.” He laughed sheepishly. “I guess we never really got around to introductions.”

“It okay!” You giggled. “Nice to meet you Aaron, I’m – ”

Tags: @seraphenaadria @bernelflo @pastelpinkflowerlife @just-moondust

[scarletdreamers]

Hannibal & Fashion I

How to dress like: Hannibal Lecter (but feminine) > An explanation to the essentials and character of his iconic style.

We all know that Hannibal is nothing short of an absolute fashion icon. His outfits are always perfect, down to the details. He knows how to blend shape, colour and patterns in an old-fashioned yet innovative way like no other. Which is, for many, very refreshing in a world of hoodies and light wash jeans.

For Hannibal's style there are a few key characteristics I had to keep in mind. If I had to describe his style in a few words, I would say it's elegant, sharp, formal, expressive and aristocratic.

All his suits, shirts, trousers, are perfectly tailored. He pays a lot of attention to silhouette and the way his clothes accentuate the lines of his body. His suits have a sharp and intimidating yet smooth and refined shape. The shoulders, trouser-legs and ratio of his ties, waistcoats and lapels are geometric. They are razor-sharp, while around his waist and thighs the suits are much softer. They draw attention to his body. Hannibal is a proud man who isn't afraid to show his good qualities off. His body is one of those and isn't afraid to get his clothes perfectly fitted, so that they reveal everything and nothing at the same time.

Hannibal isn't afraid to incorporate feminine touches into his outfits, so I imagine if it were to be the other way around, there would have to be traditionally masculine touches like suits, overcoats and old school uniform-ish aspects.

Inspo:

So, if you want to copy his silhouette, it's important to work with the ABAB ratio, as I like to call it. Wide at the shoulders, tight at the waist, wide at the hips and slim from legs down. The contrast between a refined waist and a top that's big, pointy or puffy around the shoulders is perfect.

Hannibal's look is all about elegance and generational wealth and standard (he is a count, after all). In his day-to-day outfits we often see him incorporate traditional, royal details in his outfits. He wears all kinds of top quality fabrics (loads of great wool, linen, silk/satin for his ties, velvet and even leather). Texture is very important in his style. And so is detail. At operas, fancy dinner parties and other elite gatherings we often see him wear cufflinks, which are beautiful pieces of jewelry that still have a masculine feel and can be worn even by men who usually don't wear accessories. At one dinner party Hannibal wears an ASCOT TIE! (second picture above) Which is really revolutionary, because even though they were very common with the aristocracy and other high society in the late 19th century, almost no one wears them anymore, let alone styles them right. Hannibal however takes these pieces and makes them WORK.

Inspo:

If you translate this to key aspects for your style, at first looking for high quality fabrics is important. They are more expensive (most of us are not anywhere near Hannibal's budget range), but they are worth it because they make you more conscious of what you buy and will still be good pieces after years. As I mentioned, go looking for wool, silk, linen, etc.

Also, what would a Hannibal Lecter inspired wardrobe be without patterns? My top picks would be: pinstripe, monochrome plaid, subtle houndstooth, and of course classic floral patterns or even paisley like his ties! Anything that looks like a Victorian era wallpaper will work, to be honest. (Our king of classy patterns)

Inspo:

The cufflinks and dramatic ties made me come to the conclusion that a more feminine variant of that would be elegant and noticeable yet fitting jewelry. A statement bracelet or necklace, for example. The same goes for bows and neck scarves. A bow or a neck scarf could be a good solution if you're not a fan of ties. (Neck scarves are amazing, I own multiple in different patterns and they can make the most plain outfits interesting!)

Hannibal wears a lot of very formally appropriate clothing, even in his casual outfits. Despite his style being 'exotic' and noticeable, it still is very neat and modest. He wears suits and nice long sleeve shirts always buttoned to an appropriate point even during summer. You would never catch him in shorts. Some people compare the way S3 Alana dresses to the way they imagine Hannibal would dress if he was a woman, however, I think that Alana dresses too bold for Hannibal. Her colour palette is too bright and she wears a lot of lacey, almost lingerie-ish tops. Hannibal's palette contains more muted colours. A lot of different colours and patterns, yes, but they are always in muted/darker shades. Even the whites and light browns he wears aren't really ''light''. The only thing really vibrant I remember him wearing are his beloved, spotless white shirts.

Inspo:

So, personally I'd go with longer skirts or straight leg/slim trousers. Not too wide. Suit jackets that don't reveal too much and slim and notable but appropriate shirts. Maybe a turtleneck here and there. Nothing Hannibal wears is really ''baggy''. When he is wearing a looser shirt he pairs it with well fitted pants (the cooking scenes). There's always balance.

Don't wear obvious logos! Yes, Hannibal wears loads of luxury brands, but you would never catch him buying a Gucci tie that actually has the Gucci logo on it. Brands can cheapen the look of a product, despite popular beliefs. And plus, with Hannibal it's all about the piece of clothing itself, not about the tag it comes with.

There's a few small and specific things that you should 100 percent incorporate in your wardrobe if you want to dress like him, which are:

A pair of nice leather gloves

A white button-up

Leather shoes (oxfords, loafers, anything with a classic academic and italian feel to it. There's plenty of beautiful loafer heels on the market, I own a vintage italian pair and they're the most comfortable heels to ever walk in)

A good knit sweater for casual wear! Brandless, though Ralph Lauren has some that really fit the vibe

A classy watch with a slight vintage yet modern feel

And a transparent murder suit of course, but I suggest you are a little more careful buying that ;)

Colours are also quite interesting. Go with a lot of deep, jewel-toned colours. Loads of greys, browns and whites, but not too much black. Try to stick to deep greens, royal blues, burgundy & wine. A lighter pop of colour such as light blue, coral or purple are also appreciated, as long as precise thought has been put into the colour palette. Colour theory works in clothes, too!

Before we round it all up, I would like to talk about his truly formal looks, as well. I'm talking opera and such.

It's nothing other than social etiquette for a man to wear a tuxedo to a black/white tie event. Opera and high-class parties often automatically classify as one of those. Hannibal is a man of etiquette, he wears his tux. However, it's the details that make him stand out. When everyone else wears black, he wears deep blue or green velvet. He wears mother-of-pearl cufflinks on french cuffs and patterns on his (bow)ties. His truly formal style is minimal, but still special because of the fabrics and details he choses. He makes sure there's always these little elements that make him stand out from the crowd.

Inspo:

So, if you were to imagine this in the form of dresses, you should go for dresses that are minimal in details, but classy and a little vintage in shape. Maybe a jewel as detail here and there, but it's mainly about the fabric and the shape. About an asymmetrical neckline, an unusual way of draping, gloves, just something extra. Don't go for anything too sexy or revealing. Instead go for chic and sleek, maybe bare shoulders and no straps. This draws attention to the collarbones instead of the breasts. Look for dresses that expose, for example, your neck or your arm. It makes an outfit classy and mysterious.

No matter how good his clothes look on him, Hannibal's style will never not feel a little out of place in modern society. Because honestly, who (except for Parisians and New Yorkers) wear such formal three piece suits to get groceries? Hannibal's style feels a little too vintage, a little too royal, and a little too pretentious to not be noticed on the street, but then again, Hannibal likes standing out. He isn't a trend follower, he's a trend setter. He has his own personal style and what he wears only makes him more charming of a personality. He's a fashion muse, certainly in his circle of highly cultured friends. So, don't be afraid to draw attention! I like to think that Hannibal and Oscar Wilde share the same opinion on overdressing: which is that you can never be too overdressed or overeducated. One of the most important aspects of Hannibal's style is that he doesn't follow the mass. He wears what he feels best in, and his clothes reflect the confidence and power that comes with that.

So, dress stately! Dress elegant, dress like you're a member of the royal family, take that button-up you reserve for special occasions and make it a daily statement! The most important thing when dressing like Hannibal is confidence. Your clothes are a way to show off your style, intellect and originality to the world, because we all know Hannibal is far less intimidating in his prison jumpsuit than his own clothes ;)

Should I make this into a series? Is there any interest in other characters?

Anyway, thank you for reading <3

[almostwisegalaxy]

Under a grey sky

Bonus part

Older men oc x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story and is in his twenties

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: DtMF_bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando de tuve. Debi darte más besos y abrazos. Las veces que pude...

Translation : I should have taken more photos of when I had it. I should have given you more kisses and hugs. The times I could. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Sensitive souls please refrain. Sensitive subject. Death, cancer. I'm not making fun of anything. I'm just writing a story. As they say on Wattpad : I am responsible for what I write, you are responsible for what you read

..................................................................................

It was an evening like any other. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Y/n, apprentice baker, was finishing her day. She had spent hours crafting chocolate éclairs and apple tarts, her mind lost in the dream of owning her own bakery. But that night, her thoughts wandered. Too absorbed in calculating her savings, she hadn’t noticed the man crossing at a poorly lit street corner.

The screech of brakes. A thud.

Horrified, Y/n hurriedly got out of her small car. The man on the ground was still breathing, but a thin cut marked his forehead. She immediately called for help, her voice trembling with panic.

Armand opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. A dull ache pulsed through his head, and bandages covered his face. Yet what caught his attention was the young woman sitting by his bedside. Y/n was curled up in a chair, nervously twisting a tissue in her hands.

“You’re awake… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her pleading eyes fixed on him.

Armand, a 39-year-old interior architect, looked at her curiously. Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Don’t worry… It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? I ran you over…”

“And yet, you’re here watching over me,” he replied lightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/n flushed deeply, but he continued, his gaze gentle:

“Go home. I’m fine, I promise.”

She hesitated but eventually obeyed. Yet the image of his comforting smile remained etched in her mind.

A few weeks later, as Y/n was decorating pastries in the bakery where she worked, the doorbell chimed. She glanced up briefly to greet the customer, but her gaze quickly returned to the tart she was preparing.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

She abruptly looked up. Standing before her was Armand, well-dressed, his bright smile hiding the slight scar on his forehead. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

“Do you have croissants?” he asked with a disarming ease.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” she replied, turning toward the display.

As she placed the croissants in a paper bag, he observed her with a hidden tenderness. She seemed more at ease here, in a world that felt made for her.

“You have a real talent,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, surprised by the remark.

“Thank you… But how can you tell?”

“It’s obvious,” he said warmly. “I can see it in your movements.”

She blushed again, uncomfortable with such a sincere compliment.

Armand became a regular customer. Every morning, he stopped by for a coffee or pastry, finding excuses to exchange a few words with Y/n. He was interested in her work, her dreams.

“So, you want to open your own bakery?” he asked one day, taking a bite of a financier she had made.

She nodded timidly.

“Yes… But it’s still a long way off. I need to save, learn, and find the right place.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with conviction.

His encouragements touched her, but she never dared to ask him personal questions. She was too shy to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Armand found himself increasingly fascinated by her. Her passion, her reserve, and even her clumsiness made him smile.

One evening, as he worked on an architectural project in his office, Armand found his thoughts drifting. He realized he looked forward to seeing her every morning. But he couldn’t ignore the age gap between them.

“She’s in her twenties,” he murmured to himself. “She has so much to live, so much to discover.”

Yet he couldn’t deny the emotions growing within him. Every smile, every exchanged word gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

One day, as he waited in line at the bakery, he placed a book on the counter. It was a French pastry manual, thick and adorned with vibrant photos.

“For you,” he said with a smile.

Y/n stared at him, puzzled.

“Why…?”

“Because I believe in your dreams,” he said simply.

She clutched the book to her chest, moved by his gesture.

“Thank you… It’s… it’s a lot.”

For the first time, she looked up at him and held his gaze a little longer. An invisible butterfly stirred in Armand’s stomach.

Their relationship evolved slowly, like dough rising under a damp cloth. Y/n found herself waiting for his visits, listening for the bell to chime. Armand, for his part, took his time, respecting her pace, admiring every facet of her personality.

One day, as they shared a brioche fresh from the oven, he softly murmured:

“Y/n… You’re like this brioche.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soft. And… you bring a warmth that isn’t always noticed at first, but it lingers long after.”

She blushed, lowering her eyes, but this time, she didn’t look away completely.

It was the beginning of a fragile yet sincere love, built on glances, gestures, and shared dreams. A love that, like a good pastry, required patience and care.

---

Weeks Passed, but Armand’s Ambition Remained Intact

Weeks went by, but Armand’s ambition remained unshaken. He was a determined man, always immersed in his work, pushing his limits day after day. His architectural projects consumed more of his life than he cared to admit, and every minute of inaction felt like wasted time. Yet deep inside, something grew stronger every time he crossed paths with Y/n: love.

But he was caught in a spiral. He saw their age difference as an undeniable obstacle he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want Y/n to get lost in a relationship that, in his mind, had no future. She was young, full of dreams, and he… he was already in a different phase of life. He had made choices, sacrificed moments of leisure to achieve his goals.

One evening, after an especially long day, Armand went to the bakery as usual, hoping for a light conversation, a little comfort in Y/n’s small gestures. But something wasn’t right. The stress of his job, his grueling hours, the constant pressure, and lack of sleep weighed heavily on him. He entered the bakery, heading toward the counter, his tired gaze fixed on her.

“Hello,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips as always. She didn’t know he’d had an especially difficult day.

“I need a coffee, strong,” he murmured, his tone sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t respond, simply preparing his order with calm concentration. When she handed him the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and he felt a dull tension rise within him. She was so gentle, so calm. She seemed worlds away from his own turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to talk about his job, his frustrations. But instead of responding, his words came out more abruptly than he intended.

“Why do you always worry about everyone? Don’t you have anything better to do? It’s not your job to take everything on yourself.”

She flinched, her eyes widening at his harsh tone. He immediately realized his mistake, but he couldn’t seem to regain control of the situation. He had acted impulsively, without thinking. The fatigue and stress had overridden his usual gentleness.

Y/n remained silent, her gaze lowering. She didn’t know what to say, but the hurt was clear on her face. Normally so understanding, so kind, she now felt deeply wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long pause. “I… I just wanted to offer you a little… comfort.”

He looked at her, ashamed of his words. He shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but his nerves were frayed. Watching her retreat in silence made his heart ache.

The next morning, Armand arrived at the bakery earlier than usual, his mind tormented by the events of the previous evening. He had spent the night reflecting on his behavior, knowing he owed her an apology. But seeing her behind the counter, arranging the morning pastries, he realized he couldn’t bear to hurt her any further.

He waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he approached cautiously, a bit hesitant.

“Y/n… I’m sorry about yesterday. I was… I was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. He knew his words had deeply hurt her, and the thought gnawed at him.

“It wasn’t about you,” he added, his tone calmer, almost gentle. “It’s just… it’s hard for me to balance everything I need to do.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze, as if his apology wasn’t enough to erase the sting of his behavior. But instead of retreating into her usual silence, she offered a small gesture of understanding.

“I understand,” she said softly, but with a gentleness that instantly eased his heart. “It’s just… sometimes, we forget to rest. And that hurts you too, doesn’t it?”

Armand stood in silence for a moment, surprised by her insight. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized how much the tension was hurting him from the inside.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, his voice rougher than he intended. “Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I want to accomplish that I forget to stop, to breathe.”

She nodded slightly, a timid smile brushing her lips. She understood what it meant to be swept up in dreams and ambitions, forgetting to care for oneself.

That evening, Armand went home replaying their conversation in his mind. He knew he was still far from understanding everything that was happening between him and Y/n. But one thing was clear: he loved her, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of his own shortcomings.

He also knew he had to change. Not for her. But for himself. And perhaps, in that process, they could learn to understand and love each other in a healthier, gentler way. Because Y/n deserved to be cherished, with no room for anger or exhaustion.

And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if finding balance between his dreams and his feelings was the true key to his happiness.

---

Armand’s project had consumed every fiber of his being. For months, he had poured his heart and soul into it, investing his time, ideas, and ambitions. He had imagined, designed, and created with the hope that his work would finally be recognized. He knew the moment was approaching—the moment his project would be unveiled to the public, the moment his name would finally be associated with success. And that moment came.

But it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The day the project was praised, with critics unanimously lauding its quality, Armand felt a strange coldness seep into him. It wasn’t pride. Nor elation. It was emptiness. A void. His superior, someone who hadn’t contributed a single idea, had taken all the glory. His name shone in the headlines, while Armand’s was nowhere to be found.

He was devastated. And yet, he felt nothing. No anger. No frustration. Only an endless fatigue, a deep exhaustion.

He wanted to scream, to overturn everything around him, but his muscles were paralyzed. He couldn’t even move. He couldn’t scream. His mind was blank, as if everything he had lived, everything he had accomplished, had been swallowed by an ocean of silence. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn’t even lift them. It all seemed so futile, so insignificant.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of frustration. He hated himself for not being able to feel the injustice more intensely, for not being able to scream, to fight. Why couldn’t he react the way he wanted? Why did he feel like an empty man, a broken man without the strength to get back up?

That evening, he returned home, devoid of any enthusiasm. He collapsed on his couch, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive. It was as if he were breathing in a space too small, drowning in a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even organize.

It was far too late when he finally stepped outside. He didn’t even know why he left or what he was hoping for. Maybe it was the anxiety driving him out, or perhaps the need to be alone with his thoughts in the silence of the night.

The park was deserted, lit only by a few solitary streetlights. He sat on a bench under one of them and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the city felt distant, muffled by the stillness of the place. He felt so far from everything, so disconnected from reality.

That’s when he saw her. Y/n. She was walking alone in the park, probably after her workday. When she noticed him, she stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised to see him there at such a late hour. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, expressionless. He didn’t have the strength to smile. Nor the strength to pretend.

Y/n approached cautiously, her gaze uncertain but gentle. She seemed hesitant, unsure if she should disturb him. But she didn’t need words to know she should sit beside him. She said nothing, offering only her quiet presence.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but rather… soothing. She didn’t need to ask questions. Somehow, she knew he needed this moment of calm.

And that’s when Armand felt the first tears well up. He tried to hold them back, to stop them from falling, but it was no use. They began to stream down his face, slowly, gently, like a river cascading down a mountain, carrying away all the pain, all the frustration he had suppressed for so long.

The tears wouldn’t stop, one after another, breaking the silence of the night. He let himself go, giving in to the flood of emotions he had ignored for far too long. His body trembled as he leaned toward Y/n, unable to control the shaking.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself lean into her, his face buried in her shoulder, the tears flowing endlessly. There was no shame in the gesture. No pride. Just the need to feel safe, to let go.

Y/n, silent, held him gently. She didn’t say anything, but she was there for him. That was all that mattered. She could feel the pain in his movements, in his cries, and she knew he wasn’t asking for anything other than understanding, support without judgment.

In her arms, Armand allowed himself to completely let go, his heart heavy but unburdened from the weight that had suffocated him for so long. He had finally stopped holding back his emotions, stopped repressing his pain. Y/n offered him the freedom to cry without judgment, without pressure.

Eventually, the tears subsided, though the emptiness lingered. Yet something had shifted. That emptiness, though still present, felt less insurmountable. He knew he wouldn’t face it alone. Y/n had accepted him without demanding answers, without imposing expectations. She had simply offered her heart, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged.

---

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it was soothing. Y/n didn’t move; she stayed there, her arms around him, like an anchor in a calm sea. She understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. She felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease, and she knew that, little by little, he was regaining control over his emotions.

Armand eventually pulled away slightly, his breathing still uneven. His eyes were red, but they no longer held that empty expression. In Y/n’s embrace, he had found something precious—a peace he hadn’t sought but that had found him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice broken but full of gratitude.

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes gentle and reassuring. She didn’t need a response, but her gaze spoke volumes. She wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to fix him. She was simply there, by his side, and that was enough.

“I’m here, Armand,” she said simply, her voice soft but filled with tenderness. Nothing more needed to be said.

A faint smile crossed Armand’s lips, but it wasn’t forced. It was genuine—a gratitude he never thought he could feel so purely.

He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath. The night was calm around them, but something within him had shifted. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had lifted, and he felt lighter, even if only for the moment.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his tone now calmer.

She shook her head gently, a small hint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, I’m fine. But thank you. It’s… nice to be here, with you.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, though he felt a new warmth stir within him. It wasn’t just gratitude. He felt a connection, something deep silently weaving between them, without the need for words to express it. He knew that what he had just shared with her, this moment of vulnerability, could never be forgotten.

They remained there for a little while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the night. At some point, though, the silence became lighter, almost playful.

Armand turned to Y/n, his eyes now holding a spark of admiration he had felt for her since their first meeting. He looked at her, and this time, he didn’t see her as timid, fragile, or different from him. No. He saw her simply as Y/n—the person who, with a simple gesture of understanding, had brought him a kind of calm, a kind of peace he hadn’t known for a long time.

“You know, you’re really incredible,” he said softly, his voice both sincere and filled with tenderness.

Y/n blushed slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She was used to hiding her emotions, retreating into shyness. But that night, something about him encouraged her to be more open.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “But… I think we help each other.”

He smiled at her response. He didn’t need more words. He understood. They understood each other.

The days that followed felt different. Armand woke up in the morning with a slightly lighter burden on his shoulders. He continued to work, but he found himself appreciating the small things around him—things he had neglected for far too long. He spent more time reflecting on his life choices, his priorities, and what he truly wanted to achieve. But more than that, he started considering how he let his ambitions consume him.

And Y/n. He thought of her often. He hadn’t immediately seen her as someone who could help him through his moments of weakness, but he was beginning to realize that she might be the one who had shown him the path to a balance he had never sought before but was now striving to find.

For her part, Y/n seemed calmer too. She hadn’t tried to force her way into his world or immediately uncover the reasons behind his pain. She had simply listened, offering her support without expectations. She had always been a determined, dream-filled woman, but she understood that life had its own rhythm and that sometimes, stepping back was all it took to see things differently.

It wasn’t a fiery, explosive relationship, nor an all-consuming love story. It was gentler, calmer, like a quiet river. A love that grew in small gestures, in shared silences, in quiet laughter, and late-night conversations. They were learning about each other slowly but surely.

Armand knew he still had battles to fight. He also knew his responsibilities would pull him back into the whirlwind of work. But what he knew even more was that Y/n, with her quiet light and her gentle strength, would always be there, by his side. And perhaps, this budding relationship—fragile and uncertain as it might be—would become the key to a balance he had long sought without realizing it.

---

The little bakery, bathed in soft, warm light, was soothingly quiet. The last customers had long since left, and only Y/n remained behind the counter, meticulously tidying up the utensils, her precise movements reflecting her love for her craft. Armand stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets, looking unusually nervous.

He had rehearsed this confession in his head dozens of times. He had written a letter, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case he forgot everything he wanted to say. But now, standing there in front of her, his thoughts seemed to unravel with each heartbeat.

Y/n finally looked up at him, intrigued by his uncharacteristic silence.

“Armand? Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

He pulled out the letter, hesitating.

“I… I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

He placed the letter on the counter, but as he was about to hand it to her, his hand accidentally knocked over a cup of coffee left nearby. The brown liquid spread across the paper in an instant, soaking the carefully written words until the ink became a blur of illegible smudges.

Y/n, initially surprised, watched the scene before bursting into laughter.

“Oh no… You really planned everything, didn’t you?” she said, her playful smile lighting up her face.

Armand, initially panicked, began to laugh nervously too.

“Yes… Well, not exactly this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Y/n’s laughter faded gently, but the smile remained. She looked at him, curious, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. So much for the letter. There was no escape now.

“Y/n… I’ll be honest—I’m terrible at expressing how I feel, especially about something this important. But I’m going to try.”

She stood still, her hands folded on the counter, her eyes fixed on him.

“For a while now, I… I’ve been struggling with how I feel about you. Not because I doubt what it is, but because I doubt… myself.”

She furrowed her brows slightly but said nothing, giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“You’re young, Y/n, full of dreams, talent, and life. You have your whole future ahead of you. And me… I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word, but none came.

“I’m already in a world where I’m fighting just to stay standing. Where I work too much, where I’m always tired. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m just… an obstacle for you.”

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her gently.

“Wait, let me finish, please.”

She nodded, though her gaze softened.

“For the longest time, I told myself you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give you everything you deserve. Someone who could make you happy in ways I can’t. But every time I tried to let go of that idea… I couldn’t. Because the truth is, I want to be that person for you. Even if I’m imperfect. Even if I’m not the obvious choice.”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before.

“I love you, Y/n. Not in some grand, dramatic way, but in a simple, honest way. I love you because you’re you—with your shy smiles, your passion for what you do, your way of always seeing the best in others… And I know I’m clumsy, that maybe I don’t deserve this, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Y/n, her cheeks slightly flushed, seemed to be searching for the right words, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You know, Armand,” she murmured, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What I love about you isn’t some perfection you think you have to reach. What I love is you. Your clumsiness, your seriousness, the way you look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never wanted someone perfect. I just want you.”

This time, it was his turn to be speechless. She leaned slightly over the counter, reducing the distance between them.

“I love you too, Armand,” she added, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you’re incredibly clumsy sometimes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved, and this time, the laughter was pure, sincere, full of a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So… you’ll have me, despite everything?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

She nodded, her smile widening.

“Yes. But only if you promise never to write letters next to a cup of coffee again.”

They laughed together once more, and in that shared moment of joy, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. It wasn’t a perfect confession, nor a scene straight out of a romantic movie. It was clumsy, sincere, full of laughter and shyness. But it was them. Just them.

---

The months had flown by, and their relationship had blossomed in a quiet, unexpected way. Armand and Y/n had found their rhythm, balancing Armand’s busy workdays with the long hours Y/n spent in her bakery perfecting her recipes. Their love was sincere, built on small daily gestures and shared silences that spoke volumes.

They had celebrated Y/n’s victory in the pastry competition together. That day, she had climbed the stage, trembling but radiant, to receive her trophy. Armand had watched her with unwavering pride, as if she had just reached for the stars. They spent the evening laughing and celebrating in a way that felt simple and true to them.

But a few weeks after that moment of glory, their happiness was brutally interrupted.

Y/n had begun feeling pain in her lower abdomen and a fatigue she could no longer ignore. At first, she thought it was due to stress or overwork and delayed seeking medical advice. But one day, Armand insisted she see a doctor.

The diagnosis hit like a thunderbolt: terminal cancer, already too advanced to treat.

When Y/n walked out of the consultation room, her legs trembled. Armand, who had been waiting in the hallway, stood up immediately upon seeing her expression.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed his.

“I… I only have a few months left,” she finally murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Armand felt his heart shatter, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. But he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that simple gesture could shield her from everything.

The shock of the diagnosis changed them. Y/n, initially terrified, found the strength to smile again thanks to Armand. He, though devastated inside, became her pillar of support. Together, they made a decision: they would not let this illness steal the time they had left.

They began crossing dreams off Y/n’s list. A weekend in a small cabin by the lake, where they fished together and stargazed. A day spent at a bustling market, tasting dishes they’d never dared to try before. And, of course, hours spent in the bakery’s kitchen, experimenting with new recipes Y/n had dreamed up.

One evening, as they kneaded brioche dough together, Y/n suddenly stopped, her hands covered in flour.

“You know, Armand…” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I think… even if I’d known all of this beforehand… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Nothing?”

She nodded, a sad but sincere smile on her lips.

“Because meeting you, loving you… it was worth it.”

Armand felt his throat tighten. He stepped closer and gently wiped a smear of flour from her forehead.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

A few months after the diagnosis, Y/n was weaker, but she refused to let it defeat her. It was the day of the event they had planned to share her final pastry creations with her loved ones and loyal customers.

The little bakery was filled with laughter and joy. Armand watched her from a distance, marveling at the way she lit up the room despite her visible exhaustion. At one point, she caught his gaze and walked over to him.

“You know, I saved the best for you,” she said, handing him a small box adorned with a ribbon.

He opened it to find a delicate dessert, carefully crafted.

“I named it ‘Renaissance,’ because… even when something ends, there’s always a part of life that remains.”

He looked at her, moved, and whispered:

“Y/n, you are my renaissance.”

That night, under a starry sky, they sat on the bench in the park where it had all begun. Y/n, nestled against him, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Armand… you’ve given me so much more than I could have imagined,” she murmured.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s taught me everything. To love, to live…”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with love.

“Then promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“When I’m gone, live for both of us. Live so fully that people will say Y/n taught you how to smile.”

Armand felt the tears well up but nodded, unable to speak. He etched that moment into his heart, as an eternal promise.

Y/n couldn’t change her fate, but she had turned their love into a light that would never fade.

---

The months had passed, and Y/n’s condition had worsened. Yet, she tried to maintain her smile, like a shield against the pain—for Armand, and for herself.

That morning, Armand arrived at Y/n’s place with a box filled with croissants he had carefully chosen from a bakery she particularly loved. But when he knocked on the door and she didn’t answer, a wave of worry washed over him.

“Y/n? It’s me, Armand.”

The silence was oppressive. After a few moments of waiting, he pulled out the spare key she had entrusted to him. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of lavender and flour greeted him, but the atmosphere felt strangely still. He hurried upstairs, his heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

In the bedroom, Y/n was still lying in bed. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but something in her gaze had changed. She seemed… distant. Armand approached her, and that’s when he noticed the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. Her once vibrant hair was almost all gone.

She reached a hand to her head, then lowered her eyes to the strands. A faint “Ah…” escaped her lips, barely audible, as if she no longer had the strength to react.

Armand felt a dull pain crush his heart. That indifference, that emptiness in her voice—it was worse than any tears she could have shed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

But she didn’t respond. Slowly, mechanically, she got up to get ready.

He stayed there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty pillow, his trembling fingers clutching the wrinkled sheet. She was moving forward, but he felt her slipping away, like a wisp of wind he couldn’t hold onto.

A few months later, despite Y/n’s obvious weakness, Armand organized a small evening just for the two of them. He wanted to give her a moment of lightness, a little escape.

They laughed. They talked about memories, unfinished dreams, and even joked about how Armand could never bake a cake without burning it.

Y/n, tired but glowing, rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know… I think I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you,” she murmured.

Armand gently stroked what was left of her hair and kissed her forehead.

“You are my life, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Then keep living, even after me.”

That was their last conversation.

That night, Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He preferred to watch her, to engrave every detail into his memory: the softness of her features, the rhythm of her breath in the silence, the fragile warmth of her hand in his.

In the early morning, sunlight timidly peeked through the curtains. Armand opened his eyes and immediately felt something was wrong. Y/n was still—too still.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice filled with a hope he knew was futile.

He touched her cheek—it was cold.

“No… no,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes.

He held her in his arms, gently rocking her, as if saying a final goodbye. Her face was peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep after a beautiful evening. But for Armand, the world collapsed in that moment.

The days that followed were dark, but Armand found strength in the memories they had shared. Y/n had taught him how to love, how to live fully, and he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to drown in despair.

He kept the notebook where she had written her recipes and thoughts, and he worked to keep the promise he had made to her: to live for the both of them.

A year later, Armand opened a small bakery, which he named Y/n’s Light. Each creation carried a piece of her, a tribute to her talent and her brilliance.

And every morning, when he saw the smiles of customers enjoying what she had inspired, he felt her presence beside him. Y/n may not have had all the time she deserved, but her love—her light—was eternal.

---

Days passed, yet Armand continued to visit the cemetery regularly. Under the weeping willow, Y/n rested in the peaceful spot he had chosen carefully for her. He often spoke to the grave as if she were still there, sharing his achievements, doubts, and even the mundane stories of his day.

He decorated the gravestone with care. At Christmas, he brought small garlands and winter flowers. At Easter, he left colorful eggs and sweets he had prepared while thinking of her. The engraved photo on the stone smiled back at him, soft and almost alive.

But one day, something changed.

As part of his new project—renovating an orphanage—Armand immersed himself in his work. He wanted to create a warm, welcoming space where children could feel all the love they deserved.

One afternoon, while discussing the plans with a nun, he passed by the nursery. His gaze was drawn to a group of infants sleeping peacefully, their soft breaths filling the room with a calming rhythm.

That’s when he noticed a little girl, apart from the others. She cooed softly, observing the world with curious but timid eyes. Her cries were gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether she should ask for attention.

Armand froze, his heart clenching. She reminded him of Y/n. Not physically, but in the fragile sweetness she radiated.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The idea of adopting her became an undeniable calling, almost as if Y/n had sent him a sign.

A few weeks later, after completing all the necessary procedures, he finally welcomed the little girl into his home. He named her Y/n, in honor of the woman who had changed his life.

Four months passed. Little Y/n clung to Armand as if afraid he might disappear. Her smile, her clumsy laughter, her first attempts to stand on her tiny legs—everything about her rekindled a light he thought he had lost.

One morning, Armand made a decision. He wanted to introduce little Y/n to her “mother.”

He prepared a simple picnic, packing bottles for the baby and snacks for himself.

When he arrived at the grave, he paused for a moment, his eyes on Y/n’s engraved photo.

“Hello, Y/n,” he murmured.

Little Y/n, nestled against him, babbled softly, her big curious eyes following the willow leaves dancing in the wind. Armand knelt before the grave, spread out the blanket he had brought, and gently placed the baby on it.

“I brought someone to meet you today,” he said, a fragile smile on his lips.

He sat facing the gravestone and placed little Y/n on his lap.

“This is Y/n. She has your name. I couldn’t think of a more perfect name for her…”

He ran a tender hand through the baby’s short, soft hair as she played with a fallen willow leaf.

“She’s incredible, you know. Every day, she reminds me that life can still be beautiful, even after everything.”

He spoke for hours, sharing stories, thoughts, and promises he wanted to keep.

“I’m doing my best to be a good father. It’s not always easy… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. But she trusts me, Y/n, just like you trusted me.”

The little girl let out a joyful cry as she spotted a butterfly fluttering nearby. Armand laughed—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time.

“You see? Even a butterfly fascinates her. She has your way of finding beauty everywhere.”

He leaned forward slightly, bringing little Y/n closer to the gravestone as if to introduce her properly to her mother.

“ Say hi to Mama” he whispered tenderly.

The baby didn’t understand what was happening, but when she saw the photo on the grave, she cheerfully held out a flower she had picked earlier and babbled joyfully. The gesture brought a smile to Armand’s face.

“See, Y/n? This little one already loves you.”

As the sun began to set, Armand rose slowly, holding little Y/n close to him.

"In another life, I hope it's you and me... I beg God that it's still you and me. I hope we will be happy together, Maybe we can love each other and... grow old together?" The little y/n in his arms suddenly lets out a chirp, as if to make her presence felt. Armand laughs despite his tears that threaten to flow. "Yes, and that the three of us can form a beautiful and happy family" he said, playing with his daughter's little hand. "Until then, I'll take care of her for both of us. Promise, my love."

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the gravestone one last time. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

He placed one final flower on the grave before walking away.

On the way home, little Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, walked with a lighter step. That day, under the weeping willow, he felt something shift. It wasn’t a goodbye, but a new chapter—a bridge between the love he had lost and the love he had found.

And he knew he would return to that willow, again and again, to share the joys and sorrows of the life he was building for the two of them.

..................................................................................

Tags list : @elizalabs3

[yara0546]

Nct dream reaction when you cook for them

Pairing:  nct dream x female!reader

Genre: fluff, relationship.

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, because I sometimes use a translator in some sentences.

Mark Lee

Mark is genuinely touched by your gesture. As he takes the first bite, his eyes widen in surprise.

“Whoa, this is so good! Did you really make this yourself?” he asks, a hint of awe in his voice. He can’t stop praising your cooking throughout the meal and might even ask you for the recipe. Mark would definitely want to learn how to cook with you next time—just don’t be surprised if he’s a little clumsy in the kitchen!

Huang Renjun

Renjun is low-key impressed but tries to play it cool. He nods in approval as he takes a bite.

“This is really nice. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” he says, though his expression shows how much he appreciates it. He might jokingly critique the presentation, but it’s all in good fun. Deep down, he’s already planning to return the favor by making you something even better.

Lee Jeno

Jeno is the type to be super encouraging and appreciative. As soon as he sees the meal, his eyes light up.

“This looks amazing! I can’t believe you made this!” he says enthusiastically. He’d probably eat a little too fast because it’s so good, and then sheepishly ask for seconds. Jeno might even take a picture of the food to show off to the other members later.

Lee Haechan

Haechan’s reaction is a mix of teasing and genuine love for your cooking.

“Wow, are you trying to spoil me? Because it’s working,” he jokes, flashing you a mischievous grin. As he eats, he exaggerates his reactions, making over-the-top comments like, “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life!” But beneath the playful teasing, he’s truly grateful for your effort.

Na Jaemin

Jaemin’s reaction is pure boyfriend material. He smiles softly when you present the meal and makes you sit down with him right away.

“You’re amazing. Thank you for this,” he says, giving you his full attention. As he eats, he compliments every single detail, from the taste to the effort you put into it. He might even insist on doing the dishes afterward because he can’t let you do all the work.

Zhong Chenle

Chenle would be absolutely delighted and very vocal about it.

“Wow, this looks like something from a restaurant!” he exclaims, taking a moment to admire the food before digging in. He’d probably hype you up the entire time, saying things like, “You should open your own restaurant!” or “The members are going to be so jealous!” His excitement is contagious, and he might even jokingly call you his personal chef.

Park Jisung

Jisung would be a little shy at first, especially if this is your first time cooking for him.

“This looks really good,” he says quietly, his cheeks slightly pink. As he eats, he gets more comfortable and starts complimenting the taste. “You’re really talented,” he admits, looking genuinely impressed. Jisung might even get curious about the cooking process and ask you to teach him someday.

[motelsnleatherseats]

listen, i love an obsessive, hopelessly devoted to sammy type dean because hello it's right there in your face most of the goddamn time

but i love an equally obsessive sammy who sometimes loses his cool and initiates and is pushy (especially teen sammy) and it translates into him being bratty but it's just cause he wants dean to give him all his attention and y'know, maybe put him in his place.

[everyone-needs-a-hoopoe]

palestinians on this website have been driving themselves out of their minds since october 2023, past the point of heads full of grey hairs in their 20s, past the point of multiple breakdowns, getting gazans' private documents to prove they're real people while exposing and driving off the very few actual scammers there have been. multiple organisations like operation olive branch and gazavetters have sprung up to try and alleviate the toll this takes on individuals while still saving as many people as possible. ahmed 90s-ghost had a news article written about his successful escape to egypt!

those lovely organisations you listed cannot help gazans right now because they rely on getting aid trucks over the borders, which are kept closed by israel (which is ordinarily responsible for letting the majority of aid through) and egypt. the only people who can help gazans are other gazans and people like us with our valuable foreign currency.

and we need to help! even with a ceasefire agreement, children are being splattered across gaza's few remaining walls because israel never honours these things. families are still starving and freezing to death. people still have to pay rent for apartments with no walls or sleep in tents made of blankets in the pouring rain. every hospital in gaza is a bombed out shell, while wounds go septic in streets running with sewage and lungs fail in air choked with the dust of a nearly flattened city. did you know that one of the terms of the ceasefire was that hostile aircraft are only allowed in gazan airspace for a maximum of 8-10 hours per day? can you imagine living most of your day with the incessant buzzing of death above you, never certain when it's going to come for you? can you imagine how bad it was before that this is an improvement that was fought tooth and nail for?

the people sending you asks use the little internet connection they can get per day on esim cards, and the little phone charge they can buy off anyone who's managed by some miracle to keep a solar panel intact through over a year of carpet bombing, screaming into the void in a language they don't know to beg for their lives. they don't know how tumblr works. they don't know who can help them. they need ANYONE to care that they're dying.

and you don't care, so yes, you are being callous. you would not be the people who sheltered jewish people during the holocaust. you are not a good person. by reporting these blogs without rock solid evidence - evidence actual scambusters like kyra45, mangocheesecakes and neeches work their asses off to find - you are actively sabotaging the fundraisers of dying people. i am not exaggerating when i say that kills people. it has killed people. it is killing people.

i really can't emphasise this enough, much less sugarcoat it: if you've reported multiple gazan fundraisers it's very likely that you've killed someone.

the least you can do is ignore them if you're not going to donate. if you want to be a little more than an everyday nazi with the radio up loud so you can't hear the screams from the concentration camp next door, you could start paying attention to what's on each blog. many have "vetted by so-and-so" on them, or "reblogged by 90s-ghost" who as i mentioned is a real palestinian who escaped gaza who can tell at a glance if their arabic is google translated like a scammer would do. you can check out these vetting blogs and see what they do and who they promote. maybe you could even toss a reblog their way! maybe even a couple of bucks!

it's never too late to start caring. my pinned post has a few links to vetting organisations. top of my blog (under this post now) is a fundraiser led by my best friend for a baby with a failing heart who needs treatment TODAY or he's going to die. one of my friends is even offering commissions for it if that makes you feel better! you know, if it makes a woman starving herself to try and afford treatment for her infant son less of a dirty beggar.

you can stop being callous if you want to. if you have followers or money you can save someone's life. i really hope you'll try.

I'm starting to feel callous for saying this:

Please, Please, Please, if you are in a situation where you need money or have a go-fund-me started, DO NOT send people asks about it.

Make a post with places to donate instead, spread awareness through reblogs, but don't go into strangers DMs or Ask Boxes soliciting donations. It makes you look like a bot, not a real person needing help.

The big scam one I'm seeing right now is individuals "in Gaza" asking for donations. Before Gaza they said the donations were because of an illness. Bots/scammers are using Gaza to pull at your heartstrings and scam you.

Donate to places you can trust. Like Amnesty International, Free The Children/WE Charities, UN Crisis Relief, Red Cross, etc. Places you know are credible.

I feel callous for deleting/blocking/reporting asks like that but just know it is a scam. It's using your empathy against you. Do not fall for those asks. Donate to causes, raise awareness, but delete and block those asks/dms because they are not real people. it's the same copy/pasted story on each one. Do your research before donating and be safe online.

[alpaca-clouds]

So, some theories about Coyote and/or Mephistopheles

Alright, I will throw my proverbial hat into the ring in terms of trying to come up with a theory about this. Because I am not exactly sold on the most popular theory right now that old man Coyote and/or Mephistopheles is a new manifestation of Death. The main reason for that is, that Coyote is a bit too important in regards to indigenous mythologies. So having Coyote be Death, who is a fairly one-note villain, would definitely feel quite a bit disrespectful.

Well, y'all know where you are. So of course we will talk about some history. Duh.

Mephistopheles

I think most of us will know that Mephistopheles originates with the Faustus myth. So let me talk shortly about Johann Georg Faust, who was a real person, who lived in Germany around the change from the 15th to the 16th century. (From all we know, he lived from 1466 to 1540, though the dates are not fully certain, as it often is the case with older dates.) Details about his life are really hard to construct, because he became such a popular character in fiction very shortly after his death, that it is just super hard to differentiate fiction from reality. We know, however, that he was an alchemist, astrologist and magician - whatever the latter is supposed to mean at the time. Later people also claimed he was a con man. From all we know (though again, this is not certain) he died by blowing himself up with an alchemical experiment, which definitely is on brand.

If it was just that, we would probably not really remember the guy. Sure, he might have a Wikipedia article still, but hist name would not be recognized by thousands if not millions of people. No, this happened because in 1587 a book was printed, called "Historia von D. Johann Fausten". We don't know the author, just the publisher (Johann Spies). And this story then caught the attention of the Englishman Christopher Marlowe, who made something of a rewrite and translation of it a few years later as the play "Doctor Faustus", which a long while later would then serve as inspiration for Goethe and his interpretation of the story.

The rough outline however is always the same: Faust is a theologist, who wants to acquire knowledge and finds himself limited by the at the time slow advance of science. A devil Mephistopheles shows up, who serves Lucifer, and offers Faust a lot of knowledge and magic in exchange for his soul. Faust accepts. Depending on which version you read, what follows is either tragedy or a lot of magic hijinks, though the moral of the story is always: "Do not be too greedy with knowledge."

Since we do not have any sources referencing Mephistopheles prior to the printing of the Historia, we are fairly certain that whoever wrote that book made Mephistopheles up. Meaning: This figure was not based in prior myths or historical believes. Or to put it differently: Mephistopheles goes back to 1587. He did not "exist" in the real world - not even as an idea - prior to this date.

After the Faust story got so popular, though, other stories definitely picked up on Mephistopheles and put him into a variety of other stories as a trickster demon, who would often seduce good men into doing back things - often with the goal of gaining power or knowledge or both.

Old Man Coyote

Meanwhile, Coyote is a character who shows up throughout indigenous North American mythology, and - as someone has rightfully pointed out - somewhat also in Nahua mythology (Nahua = Aztec, I am trying to use the endonym rather than the exonym).

See, in Nahua mythology there is a god called Huehuecoyotl, and as you might guess: Coyotl indeed means coyote. To be exact the name translates to "Old Coyote", which indeed is quite close to "Old Man Coyote". ;)

Huehuecoyotl is (according to Wikipedia, because I still have not found a good book on Nahua mythology - please, someone, recommend me something) the Nahua song of song, dance, mischief and also of uninhibited sexuality. Because of this, he was - like so many trickster gods - also technically genderfluid, as he could take whatever form he liked. He would often play tricks on other gods and on humans too, at times even cause wars. But like with other Coyote stories, these often would fall back on him.

Which brings me to all those other versions of Coyote.

While Coyote does not show up in every North American indigenous culture, he certainly shows up in many of them. The most well known Coyote myths are obviously of Navajo origin, bout the Navajo are not the only culture featuring Coyote.

Coyote is pretty much always a trickster, and like many tricksters he is generally a positive figure, but also morally grey. While in many myths he is responsible for some creations of the world, he will usually also often cause misery to others and also himself. He also often dies gruesome deaths, but finds then ways to come back from them.

In some myths he will also take up the role of a culture hero, meaning that he will be responsible for bringing the human certain things, like fire or language. Even as Coyote he does at times appear as a shapeshifter of sorts, though this is not always a given.

Coyote shows up in more than 20 different mythologies that we know off. While his general role as a trickster is often the same, the finer details will definitely differ a lot.

So, the Theory

So, the Spanish conquest of the Nahua happened in 1519. And we also know that in general around the turn of the century the genocide in the Americas was so bad that it possibly created a fucking climate change! (It got colder because so much CO2 got sucked from the atmosphere.)

And so my suspicion here is, that Coyote, the trickster (I am not fully sure if it is specifically Huehuecoyotl, or a generic Coyote), went over to Europe after the indigenous cultures were genocided, to exact revenge. And when he went over to Europe, he took up an identity that worked better with the believes of the people in Europe: Mephistopheles.

He might also have taken some other identities in some other cultures.

The reason I do not really think it is Death (even though timeline wise it could obviously also match up, given that the entire Faust thing mainly happened just after the events of the first four seasons) is really that Death was a very one-note villain. And it just would not feel right to me to make Coyote - who is definitely not one-note - as Death.

[dorabellingham]

Boyfriend material

headcanon

characters: jobe x fem!reader

request: yes!

may contain spelling and translation errors

1. King of well-planned surprises

Jobe loves to surprise you, but he doesn't do it in an obvious or cliché way. Instead of flowers at the door of the house, he books a private cooking class because he knows you casually commented on learning how to make typical food from somewhere. He listens to the small details and transforms them into big gestures. And the best? He gets a shy smile, a little embarrassed, waiting for your reaction, as if he didn't know he got it right.

2. He memorises your favourite playlist

Jobe knows all the songs you love. He has a playlist on Spotify called "For Y/n" and whenever he hears a song that reminds you, he adds it. The cutest thing is that sometimes he plays when you're in the car, just to see you sing. And of course, when they are separated, he sends a song from the list with a "I remembered you."

3. He's a great cook (but only for you)

Despite being a disaster in the kitchen when he's alone, Jobe makes a real effort when it's for you. He learns basic recipes and ventures with more elaborate dishes just because he knows you like them. It's always an event: he puts on music, tries to follow recipes on YouTube, and in the end, the kitchen is a mess. But he compensates by putting the food on the table with a proud smile, waiting for your compliment.

4. He is the best listener in the world

Jobe has a special talent for hearing you talk about absolutely anything. If you're talking about a book, about the new series you watched, or even about something you read in an academic article, he pays attention with genuine interest. He asks questions, gives opinions, and you feel like the most important person in the world.

5. He's absurdly affectionate in public

He's not afraid to show how much he loves you in public. Whenever you are walking together, he holds your hand, gives quick kisses on tour forehead or wraps you with his big arm when it's cold. He doesn't care if there are paparazzi around or if someone is watching - he just wants you to know that he is there, on your side, always.

6. He's the type who solves fights calmly (and hugs)

Jobe hates fights and discord, especially with you. He is the one who tries to solve everything calmly and by talking. Even when he is angry, he takes a deep breath, tries to listen to his side and speaks carefully. If he feels that the discussion is too heavy, he interrupts and says: "Let's breathe and talk about it later, I don't want to hurt you." And, of course, he never lets you sleep upset - he always ends the night with an apology or a tight hug.

7. He is super protective, but not in a possessive way

He is the kind of boyfriend who ensures that you feel safe all the time. It is protective in a subtle way - like being careful when they are in crowded places, holding your hand so they don't get lost, or checking the car before a trip. He is never possessive, but everyone knows that you are the love of his life.

8. He encourages your dreams (and remembers the details)

Jobe not only believes in your dreams, but also makes a point of being the greatest supporter. If you have a new project, he is the first to ask how he can help. He also remembers the smallest details, like when you mentioned that you wanted to go back to practising something, and sent cute messages before the first day saying how proud you were.

9. He is very organised, except when he is in love

Most of the time, Jove is super organised: the closet is tidy, the schedules are in place and he follows an impeccable routine. But when he's with you, it all falls apart. He forgets his socks on the couch because they were watching a movie together or leaves the bed untidy because he preferred to sleep a little more to the solo. He always says that you are the only thing that messes up his life - in a good way.

10. He's unbearably cute when he's jealous

Jobe is mature and confident, but even he can't resist a little jealousy from time to time. If someone flirts with you, he doesn't make a scene, but the closed look and the hand on your waist deliver everything. Then, he jokes: "Just for you to remember, you already have a very good english by your side." And of course, you love to provoke him just to see this reaction - which only makes him even more cute and in love.

[pedricos]

You could do one where the reader feels insecure about the attention Héctor receives from other girls and he comforts her Using the translator I hope you understand

Hector Fort – I chose you .ᐟ

a.n: english is not my first language

warnings: slight angst, intentional lowercase, crying (?), eventual fluff

summary: where y/n gets insecure about her boyfriend's fans, so he reassure his loving for her! (1,1k words)

hector sure enough was handsome. not just handsome, he was hot, he played well, he loved and was loved by his family. he's every girl dream.. and that's the problem! because with this many girls cheering for him in the crowd, signs asking for his shirt how can you not be in such distress?

he has such a pretty smile, he's so funny too.. all the girl wanted him! you couldn't blame them, you can't take his eyes off him too.

but it was too much when you came to visit him training. you were already known between the guards, who welcomed you while a warm smile, letting you enter the training camp in the evening.

you didn't have to go that far after the gates to see your boyfriend being surrounded by girl screaming his name, asking to sign their shirts, trying to get a selfie. they were also so pretty too..

you boyfriend saw you from afar, waving his hand on your direction. he excused some fans, trying to make his away in your direction, but when he got off of the middle of various girls trying to snatch him, you were nowhere to be found.

“hector, aquí! sign, please!” the crowd when after him again, trapping him once again, “not now guys, otra vez!” he tried to be as polite as possible, only to hear them boo-ing on his face. (here/another time)

you were already so tired already, you could only make your way to the visits benches, watching his teammates training. gavi was the first to notice your presence, and maybe the only one too, “heyy, ms. fort! que passas?” he tried to be cheerful. (what's up?)

your face didn't tried to hide away your feelings, your shoulders shrinking and you arms hugging themselves, “héctor busy with the fans..” you said, and gavi got the message, nodding his head and pouting his lips, “te dejare descansar, he will be back soon!” he softly taps your shoulder, making you smile with his act of unnecessary kindness and understanding. (ill let you rest!)

hector watched from afar as he entered the training camp running, looking for you. the only thing he saw was gavi trying to be respectful and leave with your thoughts, but for him? how could you ignore your own boyfriend and be so smiley with one of his teammates?

he was the one ignoring your presence now. being weirdly cold about the fact that he's the one who invited you to watch him training, but now, he wasn't even looking at your direction. on his water break he wouldn't speak with you, nor come closer to the benches to give you, his so called, ‘good luck kiss’.

by the dawn, both of you haven't spoke a single word to eachother, being pitty as never. you made you way to the parking lot as he was already getting ready to go home, and so, you waited him by his car. the whole time you were silent, mostly enjoying the sunset in madrid.

“we can go now, no te haré esperar” hector appeared with a cold tone, his keys already on his hands as he pressed the button to unlock his car. he didn't looked at you directly, his eyes so focused on everytime but your presence right now. (i won't make you wait)

you both entered the car in pure silence, it took a long few minutes until both tried to break the silence.

“why me?” you asks.

“why me?" he asks.

both at the same time.

it's impossible to not crack a laugh right now, even with the tension in the air.

“why me and not one of them?” you asks again, firmly. héctor took a second to process the question, frowning his eyebrows and looking at you in disbelief. “them? who's them, bonita?” his hands found it's way to your cheeks, caressing them so lightly. (pretty)

and héctor was always like this. touching you so softly, like you could break if put to much force into your skin. but that's how he thinks loving you is. is soft, it's ease with no pressure.

“the girls in your dms.. the fans..” you said almost in a whisper tone, having héctor to slightly come closer to hear clearly your insecurities.

“why care about them, guapita? do you see me responding to any of them?” he passes his arms through your shoulders, using his hand to caresses the strand falling prettily by your face, “look at you.. i wouldn't want anyone else in this word, pero tu” he plants the softest kiss on your forehead. (pretty girl/but you)

“te amo, and you only” héctor places his own forehead against yours, you instinctively closing your eyes, forgetting about any concern in the world. (i love you)

the golden hour had arrived, when you opened your eyes to look at him he looked majestic. his curls in the prettiest golden brown tone, his eyes turning this pretty honey gold.

in this moment he could only see you. your hair falling down so perfectly on your shoulders, the sun glowing directly into your face making your eyes glow so angelic. you were so his. so made for him to love. ‘how could you doubt his love for you?’ he always thought.

“look at you, mi amor.. how can i not love you?” he asks so sincerely, his heart beating a million times faster. he could cry about how much he loves you.

the truth is: even though many fans tried everything in the crowd to get his attention, he only has eyes for you. the last whistle was blown? he's running to the reserved area to hug you and give you his shirt for the nth time. you came to surprise him in the training field? he's so radiant the whole day, he just can't stop smiling.

“i love you more, mi vida.. please, ser solo mio?” your voice sounds so week, your vocal cords giving up in the last minute while a single thin tear rolled down your cheek, the tear stopped rolled down when meeting his thumb, whose hands were still holding your face. (you're only mine?)

“solo tuyo” he reassures. (only yours)

his lips meet yours as soon as he finishes his sentence. a kiss so sweet yet so full of yearning for eachother, not wanting to let go for one second.

“and you?” he separate the kiss as soon as he feels that both of you need air, keeping his hands running through your hair, “todo tuyo” he comes closer to run his noser softly into yours, getting a giggle out of you. (all yours)

he adjust himself in the driver's seat, grabbing the steering wheel.

“and what was that with gavi?” his tone is suddenly so serious.

“oh, díos mio!”

sorry if it's too rushed.. it's so hot where i live, my brain is meltiinngg

im taking requests for other players!! bye bye, hope u like it 💋

[narutouzumakiarchive]

This is a gem of an interview, and I want to record my thoughts.

Additionally, we have included the latest information about the upcoming movie "THE LAST -NARUTO THE MOVIE", which is scheduled to be released in December.

LOL. I'll get to this later, but it's important to note that this interview was a part of the promo cycle for The Last. Now moving on...

Kishimoto further confirms Naruto and Sasuke were friends as well as enemies during their final battle. You'd think it would be obvious, but a certain fanbase has actually denied both. And I'm not joking.

Kishimoto believed that was the only way to save Sasuke, which makes it glaringly obvious why it was a solo Naruto act and not a Team 7 act like fans desperately wanted — Naruto was the only one Sasuke considered a friend.

Kishimoto also confirms Naruto was the only one who could accept Sasuke. In fact, "only" doesn't quite convey the force of the original JP's "No one else but Naruto." "Even Sakura gave up when she tried to stab Sasuke."

And again, this is nothing new. The original work conveyed the force of Naruto's devotion and love for Sasuke quite clearly. You barely have to do any interpretation because it's all text. But, again, fans who pick and choose the elements of Kishimoto's interviews they pay attention to ignore his interviews and Sasuke's own words to pay attention to Kakashi.

Even though Kakashi has repeatedly been shown to be ignorant about Sakura's true nature. But sure, "Sakura won't cut Sasuke off no matter what." 🙄

Kishimoto gives his input to the controversial debate about who Naruto's best friend is. Surprise, surprise — it's Sasuke! (What a shocker) He also discussed how painful it would be for Naruto for Naruto to lose Sasuke. It's a central topic explored in SNS' bond; when Naruto is confronted by Sasuke about his feelings in 698 the only answer he can give is that he feels pain when he sees Sasuke in pain. It's obvious Sasuke is Naruto's most precious person.

Next comes the most "infamous" part of the interview, and honestly seeing the more accurate translation, as opposed to the mistranslation spread by NH/SS fans, was elucidating and far from the incriminating "anti sns" evidence that it's been misread as.

Kishimoto makes it clear that Naruto and Sasuke's dynamic encompasses friendship. He has continuously repeated (Kana, Entermix) that he doesn't distinguish between friendship, brotherly love, or familial love which is why he compared a specific aspect of Naruto and Sasuke's dynamic (mutual feelings of empathy) to a specific aspect of his relationship with his brother.

Kishimoto believes that relational categories can overlap while still remaining distinct. This overlap of relational categories is a frequent theme that he's has explored in Naruto as well as in his other works.

For example, in Kishimoto's manga Samurai 8, Hachimaru (MC) is in love with Ann.

Yet, it is also revealed that the spirit of Ann's dead adoptive brother, Nanashi, exists within Hachimaru and that his romantic love for Ann is intertwined with fraternal love.

While textually explicit romantic feelings and fraternal feelings co-mingle, Kishimoto still maintains the "fuzzy" distinction between the two relational categories.

Next, Kishimoto talks about Kaguya and explicitly indicates he had no plans to continue Kaguya's origin story, which is funny because it's the entire plot of the Boruto manga. He couldn't have made it more obvious that he didn't have any investment in it.

The other is to solve the mysteries that remain in the world. If we don't find out who Otsutsuki Kaguya is, the final boss of the original work, and where she came from, the world will be struck by disaster again, so it's also a journey to stop that. However, if I explain it in detail, people will think, "Is this still going on?", so I just glossed over it. There are no plans to continue it.

And finally, we get to the discussion of The Last, and this is where it's important to remember that Kishimoto needed to promote the movie.

If you've made it to this point and read through the above interview, you'll notice that everything Kishimoto stated about Naruto and Sasuke's bond was depicted in the manga straightforwardly. Naruto's fear of losing his best friend, Naruto's status as Sasuke's one and only — these are all things that can be proven with direct manga panels from Naruto because Sasuke and Naruto's bond is simply the plot. With NH on the other hand, and particularly during the promo cycle of The Last, you'll notice the opposite. Kishimoto routinely contradicted himself because NH simply had nothing worthwhile.

Kishimoto: I decided on Hinata a long time ago. There was a time when I was torn between Sakura and Hinata, but if Sakura were to change her mind about Naruto now, it would make her seem like a really terrible woman (laughs).

Here, he said he'd decided on Hinata a long time ago and that he was torn between Sakura and Hinata. But in his pre and post TL interviews, he contradicts himself regarding the time he actually decided to make NH endgame and about whether he'd legitimately considered NRSK.

Kishimoto also discusses the theme of "love" in this interview, but there have been contradictions on that front as well as noted [here].

It simply can't be taken seriously. Kishimoto had no devotion or emotional attachment to the NH dynamic, and it shows. It had to be suggested by Stufio Pierrot. There's a reason why when Kishimoto wrote an actual movie script (Boruto) it was only Naruto, Sasuke and Boruto who got any focus which led to SP doing damage control and giving Hinata more relevance in the anime by taking from SNS.

Kishimoto Entermix Magazine interview

Translation from Google Translate, QuillBot and DeepL

本当に終わっちゃうの?

Is it really over?

週刊少年ジャンプ50号にて堂々の完結を果たした『NARUTO- ナルト-」 を記念して、15年に及ぶ長期連載の執筆を終えてすぐ の岸本斉史先生を直撃。 最終回を迎えた現在の心境からラスト バトルに込めた想い、 劇場版の制作エピソードや次回作の話ま で、話題大盛りでいくってばよ!

In commemoration of “NARUTO,” which reached its grand conclusion in the 50th issue of Weekly Shonen Jump, we interviewed Mr. Masashi Kishimoto, who has just finished writing the long-running serialization that spanned 15 years. He talked about everything from his current state of mind after the final episode to his thoughts on the final battle, the production episode of the movie version, and his next work, and much more!

完結の熱と共に、フィナーレは続く 説明不要の国民的人気漫画『NARUTO-ナルト ―』が、11月10日発売の週刊少年ジャンプ50号にて一挙 2話掲載され、第700話をもって15年の歴史に幕を下 ろした。3年以上に渡って連載された第四次忍界大戦の ラストバトルはナルトとサスケの一騎打ち。激闘の末に 迎えたグランドフィナーレは漫画史上に残る大団円との 声も。エンタミクスでは同作への感謝を込めて岸本斉史 先生のインタビューと共に、ナルトの成長の軌跡 イバック。さらに12月に公開を控えた劇場版『THE LAST -NARUTO THE MOVIE』のマ スト情報も掲載。原作は完結したものの次なるプロジェク トの構想が次々と明らかになり、まだまだ『NARUTO ―ナルト―』から目が離せない。

With the heat of conclusion, the finale continues.

The immensely popular manga "NARUTO", which needs no introduction, had two chapters released at once in the 50th issue of Weekly Shonen Jump, released on November 10th, and the 700th chapter will bring the curtain down on its 15-year history. The final battle of the Fourth Shinobi World War, which has been serialized for more than three years, is a one-on-one fight between Naruto and Sasuke. The grand finale that followed the fierce battle is said to be a grand conclusion that will go down in manga history. Entamix is proud to present an interview with Masashi Kishimoto as well as a look at Naruto's growth trajectory. Additionally, we have included the latest information about the upcoming movie "THE LAST -NARUTO THE MOVIE", which is scheduled to be released in December. Although the original work has concluded, the plans for the next project are being revealed one after another, so we still can't take our eyes off "NARUTO".

ナルト VS サスケの最終決戦は 連載開始から決めてました

The final battle between Naruto and Sasuke was decided from the beginning of the series.

-15年の長期連載、お疲れさまでした!

-Thank you for your hard work over the last 15 years of serialization!

岸本斉史(以下、岸本) : ありがとうございます。 実はつい1時間ほど前に最終話を描き上げたば かりなんですよ。 それから少し仮眠して、この 取材を受けているんですが、今頃になってよう やく終わったんだっていうことを認識できるよ うになってきました。

Masashi Kishimoto: Thank you very much. Actually, I just finished drawing the final chapter about an hour ago. Then I took a short nap and now that I'm here for this interview I'm starting to realize that it's finally over.

まさに興奮冷めやらぬですね。 先生にとっ どんな1年間でしたか?

-The excitment is still palpable. How was the past year for you, sensei?

岸本: こういう質問にはこれまで「長いようで短かった」って答えていたんですが、今の率直 な気持ちは「本当に長かった」です(笑)。 この感 覚は連載が終わったからでしょうね。 毎週締め 切りに追われている状態の時は一週間があっと いう間なんですけど、今振り返ってみるとやっ ばり15年というのは長かったですね。

Kishimoto: Up until now, I have answered questions like this by saying "It seemed long but it was short" but now my honest feeling is "It was really long" (laughs). This feeling is probably due to the fact that the serialization is over. A week passes by in the blink of an eye when you're busy with deadlines every week, but looking back now, I realize that 15 years was a long time.

最終話を描き終えた瞬間の感は、どのようなものだったのでしょうか?

-How did you feel when you finished the last chapter?

岸本: 原稿が描き上がったとき、初代の担当編 集さんが花束を抱えてきてくださったんです。 その花束をもらった瞬間に、一気に新人時代が 甦りました。2人で連載を立ち上げた時のこと とか、これまでの苦労とか。 その時は本当にヤ バかったです。アシスタントさんの前だったの で「別に……」って強がって(笑)。泣いたらカ ッコ悪いので、必死に涙をこらえていました。

Kishimoto: When I finished the manuscript, the first editor came to me with a bouquet of flowers. When I received the bouquet, I was instantly reminded of my rookie days, when we launched the serialization together, and all the hardships we had gone through. It was a really bad time. Since the assistants were there I pretended to be tough, so I said “It's nothing...” (laugh). I was desperately holding back tears because it would be embarrassing to cry.

最後のナルトVSサスケ戦は15年の集大成に 相応しい見事なバトルでしたが、この決着はい つ頃から決めていたのですか?

-The final battle between Naruto and Sasuke was a magnificent battle worthy of being the culmination of 15 years, but when did you decide on this outcome?

岸本: 最後はナルトとサスケが戦って終わりにしようというのは、連載当初から初代編集担当 さんと話し合って決めていました。 担当が変わ るときにも「あのラストだけは変えちゃダメだ よ」と言われたのですが、同時に「君の作品だか ら、どう変わっても自由だよ」とも言われて、い ったいどっちなのかなと(笑)。ただ僕の中でも このラストは変えたくなかったので、結局そこ はブレずに貫きましたが、それぞれがどういう 状態で最終決戦を迎えるのかはずっと手探り状 態で、現在のような流れがはっきりと固まった のは3年ほど前でした。 ラストバトルで僕がこ だわったのは、ナルトとサスケがただの敵では なく、互いを友達だと意識しながら戦うという ことです。と言うのも、最後にサスケを救う可能 性があるんだったらそこしかないと思ったんで す。 サスケは色々あって拗ねまくってしまった 面倒くさいヤツなんですよ。自分で描いていて もイライラするくらい(笑)。そんなサスケを受 け止められるのは、めちゃくちゃ器が大きいナ ルトくらいしかいないんです。あれだけサスケ のことが大好きなサクラでも、サスケを刺そう とした際に一度は諦めの気持ちが芽生えていま すけど、ナルトにはまったく諦めがないですか ら。親友を失って終わるのはやっぱり辛いです から、僕自身そんなナルトの可能性に賭けて、 何とかサスケを救って欲しいと思いました。

Kishimoto: I had discussed with my first editor from the beginning of serialization that the finale would be a battle between Naruto and Sasuke. When I was assigned a different editor, he told me, "You must not change that ending," but at the same time, he also said, "It's your work, so you're free to change it however you like," and I wondered which was it (laughs).

However, I didn't want to change the finale, so I stuck to it in the end, as for how each character would be in their final battle, it was always a bit of a trial-and-error process, and it wasn't until about three years ago that the flow of the story we have now became clearly established.

What I was particular about in the final battle was that Naruto and Sasuke would not be just enemies, but that they would fight while being aware that they were friends. I thought that if there was any chance of saving Sasuke in the end, that was the only way to do it.

Sasuke is a troublesome guy who was constantly sulking because of all the things that happened. Even I get frustrated drawing him (laughs). The only person who can accept Sasuke like that is Naruto, who has an incredibly big heart. Even Sakura, who loves Sasuke so much, gave up on him when she tried to stab him, but Naruto never gives up. It's painful to end the story by losing your best friend, so I wanted to bet on Naruto's potential and hope he would somehow save Sasuke.

キン肉ドライバーの兄弟愛 岸本先生がもっとも伝えたかった。友情というテーマをきっちりと描き切りましたね。

The Brotherly Love of Kinnikuman Driver.

The main message that Kishimoto-sensei wanted to convey was the theme of friendship, which he perfectly captured.

岸本 :そこは満足しています。友情”はたくさ んの作品でテーマになっていますが、僕にとって 友情は兄弟愛や家族愛に近いもので、それを失 うことはアイデンティティを喪失すること。 テ ィーンエイジャーにとってもっとも怖いことで、 その様子は作品上でも度々描いてきました。 今 回はその集大成を最後のバトルで表現できたと 思います。

Kishimoto: I'm satisfied with that. "Friendship" is a theme in many of my works, but to me friendship is similar to brotherly love or family love, and losing it is akin to losing one's identity. This is the most frightening thing for teenagers, and I have often depicted this in my works. I think this time I was able to express the culmination of this in the final battle.

ナルトとサスケは最初から最後まで、まさ に双子の兄弟のような関係ですもんね。

From beginning to end, Naruto and Sasuke are like twin brothers, aren't they?

岸本: 実際に僕自身が本当に双子なので、小さ い頃からナルトが感じていたような感覚を持っ て育ってきたんです。 この話は格好悪いのであ んまり話したくはないんですけど、小学生の頃 は2人とも体が小さくて、休み時間になるとよ 弟がキン肉マンに登場するパロスペシャルと いう技をかけられていたんです。別にいじめら れていたわけではないのですが、体が小さいと 何かと技をかけられる時期じゃないですか。 そ んな弟を見ていると、まるで自分が技をかけら れているように痛かったんです。 まあ実際に僕 は僕で、弟の隣でキン肉ドライバーをかけられ ていたっていうのもあるんですが(笑)。 でも変 な話ですが、 そういう時に「俺たちって兄弟な 「んだな」ということを強く感じたんですよ。 弟 との繋がりを意識した瞬間というか。それが高 校生や大学生になると、友達が失恋したり何か 上手くいかないことがあると、小学生時代に弟 に対して抱いた感覚と同じ感覚になるようにも なったんです。そこで「俺はコイツと本当に仲 がいいんだな」って改めて思ったりしました。 だから僕にとっては兄弟愛と友情は同じなんで す。そういう意味では、双子に生まれてきてよ かったと思います。 ナルトとサスケの友情の原型は、まさに僕と弟だったわけですから。

Kishimoto: I actually am a twin myself, so I grew up with the same feelings that Naruto experienced. This story is kind of embarrasing so I don't really want to talk about it but when we were in elementary school, we were both small, and during recess, my younger brother would often get hit with a technique called the Paro Special, which appears in Kinnikuman. It's not like we were being bullied or anything, but when you're small, you tend to get picked on with moves like that, right? It was painful to watch my younger brother as if I was being attacked myself. And I actually was, right next to him, getting hit with a Kinniku Driver (laughs). But, oddly enough, it was at those moments that I really felt we were brothers. It was the moment when I became aware of the connection with my younger brother.

When I became a high school and university student, I started to feel the same way towards my friends when they experienced heartbreak or something didn't go well, just like I did towards my younger brother when I was in elementary school. In those moments, I would think, "Wow, I really get along well with this guy". So, for me, brotherly love and friendship are the same. In that sense, I'm glad I was born as a twin.

The prototype of Naruto and Sasuke's friendship was me and my brother.

This is the screenshot fans often share if you wish to compare translations. The last sentence on the first paragraph doesn't make sense in context and the third paragraph is kinda clunky.

〒699話ではサスケが里を去り、 旅をする 様子が描かれていますが、このように結末を描 いた意図は?

-Chapter 699 shows Sasuke leaving the village and going on a journey. What was the intention behind depicting the ending this way?

岸本 あれだけのことをやってしまったので、 さすがに里で普通に暮らすのは難しいですよ ね。だからひとつは贖罪の旅という意味です。 さらに僕の中にある裏設定としては、世界に残 っている謎を解明するという目的です。原作の ラスボスだった大筒木カグヤがいったい何者 で、どこから来たのかを解明しないと再び世界 が厄災に見舞われてしまうので、それを阻止す るための旅でもあるんです。ただそれを長々と 説明してしまうと、「これ、まだまだ続くの?」 って思われてしまうので、そこはさらっと流し ました。そこは続く予定はありませんから。

Kishimoto: It is difficult to live a normal life in the village after all that has happened. So one aspect of it is that it's a journey of atonement. The other is to solve the mysteries that remain in the world. If we don't find out who Otsutsuki Kaguya is, the final boss of the original work, and where she came from, the world will be struck by disaster again, so it's also a journey to stop that. However, if I explain it in detail, people will think, "Is this still going on?", so I just glossed over it. There are no plans to continue it.

最終話ではヒナタとの間に2人の子供がい ることが示唆されましたが、ヒナタとナルトが 結婚する未来はいつ頃固まったのでしょうか。

-The final chapter hinted that Naruto has two children with Hinata, but when was it solidified that Hinata and Naruto would eventually get married?

岸本: かなり前からヒナタで決めていました。 サクラにしようかと迷った時期もあったのです が、ここへ来てサクラがナルトに心変わりした ら、さすがにサクラはひどい女過ぎでしょう (笑)。それに、実際サクラはなんだかんだでサ スケに対して一途なんだと思います。

Kishimoto: I decided on Hinata a long time ago. There was a time when I was torn between Sakura and Hinata, but if Sakura were to change her mind about Naruto now, it would make her seem like a really terrible woman (laughs). Besides, I think Sakura is actually quite devoted to Sasuke, no matter what.

夏までナルトを描きます ―“友情”を描き切った漫画本編に対し、12月 に公開される映画「THE LAST』では、一 転して“恋愛”がテーマとなっていますね。

I'll be drawing Naruto until summer.

-While the main manga is all about friendship, the movie "The Last," which will be released in December, has a completely different theme: love.

岸本: 恋愛をテーマにしたいというアイデアは アニメ制作サイドから出たものでした。 僕とし てはいいアイデアが浮かばなければ映画は作ら ないほうがいいんじゃないかと思っていたので すが、この話を聞いた瞬間に「これはイケるか も」と感じました。 漫画ではバトルばかりでほ とんど恋愛描写はできなかったので、その補完 的な意味合いも込めて、映画で恋愛面でのナルトの成長を描写できると思い、一気にイメージが膨らみました。

Kishimoto: The idea to make romance the theme came from the anime production side. I thought that if I couldn't come up with a good idea, I shouldn't make a film, but the moment I heard about this, I thought "This could work." The manga is all about battles and not much about romance, so I thought the movie would be a great complement to the manga, and I could portray Naruto's growth in terms of romance, which is what I had in mind when I started the movie.

岸本先生としては、映画にどのように携わ られたのでしょうか。

-Kishimoto-sensei, how were you involved in the film?

岸本 最初に話をいただいたときにはシナリオ の第一稿が出来ていたんですよ。僕はそれを元 に修正依頼をしてブラッシュアップしていった 感じです。脚本家さんを始め、スタッフのかた が、ナルトの恋愛”というテーマにすごく前向き で、僕もその熱意に共感していつの間にか細か 何度も修正をお願いしてしまいました。

Kishimoto: When I was first approached about the project, the first draft of the script had already been completed. I used that as the basis when requesting revisions and gradually polishing it up. The screenwriter and the staff were very positive about the theme of "Naruto's love life" and I shared their enthusiasm and before I knew it I asked them to revise the script several times.

原作でも本格的な恋愛描写はほとんど登場 しませんし、 特にナルトの恋愛というのは想像 し難いですよね。

-There are hardly any serious depictions of romance in the original work, and it's especially hard to imagine a romantic relationship for Naruto.

岸本: 僕自身、恋愛描写は恥ずかしくなっちゃ って描けないんです。だから原作でも本気の描 写は避けてきましたし、最終話では「ドラゴン ボール」ばりに一気に時間を飛ばす形を取りま した。 恋愛話はアニメだからこそ実現出来たこ とだと思いますし、結果的に漫画のラストに繋 がる良いエピソードになったと思います。

Kishimoto: Personally, I find depictions of love embarrassing and I can't draw them. That's why I avoided serious depictions in the original work, and in the final chapter I took the approach of jumping through time in a "Dragon Ball" style. I think the love story was only possible in the anime, and it turned out to be a good episode that leads up to the end of the manga.

そして最後にどうしても気になるのは、岸本先生の今後の予定についてです。

-And lastly, what I'm really curious about is Kishimoto-sensei's future plans.

岸本: 来年春に「NARUTO-ナルト-」新編を 短期集中連載します。それ以外にも、夏くらいま では『NARUTO-ナルト-」関連の仕事がまだ 残っていますから、本格的に次作の準備に取りか かるのはそれからですね。 実はネタ帳には色々 なアイデアが溜まっているので、期待してくだ さい。 でも僕も40歳になったので、週刊連載は 辛いですね。よく秋本(治) 先生を見習えって言 われますけど、 秋本先生は本当にすごいんです。 できれば週刊は勘弁してください(笑)。まずは、 もろもろ落ち着いたら新婚旅行と子供と遊ぶ時 間を作りたいですね。結婚して10年以上経ちま すが、 『NARUTO-ナルト-」のおかげでとに かくノンストップでした。 そろそろナルトたち と一緒に自分の家族も大切にしなきゃね(笑)。

Kishimoto: I'll be serializing a new chapter of "NARUTO" in a short intensive series next spring. Other than that, I still have work related to "NARUTO" until around summer, so I won't be able to start preparing for the next installment until then. Actually, I have a lot of ideas in my notebook, so please look forward to them. But now that I'm 40 years old, weekly serialization is tough. People often tell me to follow Akimoto (Osamu) sensei's example, but Akimoto sensei is really amazing. If possible, please spare me from weekly serialization (laughs). First of all, once everything has settled down, I want to have time for a honeymoon and to play with my children. I've been married for over 10 years, but thanks to "NARUTO", it's been nonstop. It's about time I cherish my family along with Naruto (laughs).

Please let me know any correction/observation you have.

[egophiliac]

I always though Mal's mom was meant to be like "Eleanor" but they stuck an M at the start honestly, Sobbing Emoji. But "Maleanor" also makes me feel less insane since in that scene where she's just handed egg Malleus to Lilia and went to battle, it sounds more like Lilia is saying "Maleanor" than "Meleanor" (Japanese accent pending). Mayhaps they went more with what it sounded like the characters were saying :0 (we don't talk about Doodle Suit to Paint The Roses)

the transliteration of her name is Marenoa (マレノア), which is what all the voice lines are saying! all the Draconias' names start with マレ (Malleus' grandma is Maleficia/マレフィシア) as a nod to Maleficent. :D it's almost certainly a take on Eleanor, which is Erenoa (エレノア), but her name is written in English at a couple points, and I was pretty surprised to see it was Mel instead of Mal!

and, like, that's fine, it wouldn't be first Twst romanization that's tripped me up (like Keito for Cater, I know that's something to do with the loanword specific to playing cards(?) but it's just not how my brain wants to read it). but now Eng has given us Maleanor! and someone else said it was spelled inconsistently between Maleanor and Maeleanor??????? so WHO KNOWS it's a SPELLING FREE-FOR-ALL

I AM torn on which I want to use, because Mel just sounds so cute to me (and is what I'm used to now), but...the Mal consistency is kinda too good to pass up. alas, alas, truly these are the most difficult conundrums of our times. 😔

[electric-plants]

cyno: we’ll set out immediately after i have a quick meeting with the scribe

aarav: oh did he need more of our records?

cyno: no?? i just have to go and kiss him goodbye

[kiyomitakada]

[to the tune of where is the justice's first lines] this world is rotting from the surface to the core / am i the only one whose life feels like a chore / this whole society needs someone for repairs every day's a little worse and i don't think anyone cares