#windys lost child

[devilfic]

❝late-bloomer❞

plot: you've never been kissed before. on a completely unrelated note, what if your best friend offered to be your first? pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: post-tasm 2, gwen stacy mention, angst, self-deprecating thoughts about being undesirable and insecurity in love, best friends to wouldn't you like to know, eventual fluff, attempts at andrew garfield accurate rambling, he definitely talks you through it I mean who said that. words: 4.3k.

a/n: entirely self-indulgent because I wrote this after crying over being a late-bloomer for an hour ahahaha

Peter is reading something for research when you suck in a breath and finally ask, "What was your first kiss like?"

You hear his voice die in his throat. The small whispering of test results and calculations fall short, but you don't dare to look back. You're hunched forward so he won't see the way your eyes burn and brim with tears unshed because if he did, he'd ask about it and then you'd really start crying. Instead, you busy yourself with your phone, idly scrolling as if your question was pure curiosity alone.

You watch his ankles uncross, hear him sit up and then lean against the headboard again, fumbling for your train of thought, "Uh... sticky, 'cause I was six," Peter laughs, "You should know. You're the one who kissed me."

No matter how many times he tells you this, you can't remember the day you'd been so bold as to plant one right on Peter Parker's lips. You felt like you'd remember that, but you'd been such an impulsive child back them. Bolder. Thicker-skinned.

But Peter remembers, and so does Aunt May who swears up and down that she'd caught it on camera ("If only I could find that damned photo album"). You're the only one who doesn't. It's like it never happened, "No, God... no. I mean like your first real kiss."

"Like with tongue?" You hear the humor in his voice and even your sullen mood doesn't stop you from smacking his knee. "I dunno what you're talking about. That kiss was real to me."

"I'm serious, Pete."

He hums. You're so, so tempted to look back and see what he's thinking, but it would give you away too easily. "It was... it was a kiss. I mean, Gwen- you know. You know. I was crazy about her. I didn't think I just... kissed her."

"How did it feel? Do you know?"

"I felt like I needed to do it. I felt like if I didn't, I'd throw up. Not actually, just... like I'd explode with all the feelings I had for her."

Your finger hovers over a tweet. In your wondering about that feeling of almost nearly exploding, you try to picture that rooftop kiss that Peter had relayed to you between classes, with hushed whispers and childish laughter. It was windy, and I was breathless, he'd said, and I wanted to lay myself bare. And I just... pulled her in. Shot a web and swept her up and kissed her. I think I've lost my mind. You remembered pressing your back against the school lockers to cool yourself as you imagined the scene, the steps it took for you to settle the uneasy churn in the pit of your chest. The euphoria and panic upon realizing that your Peter was growing up.

You felt overwhelmed just imagining it. You barely hear Peter ask why you want to know. "No reason. Was just curious."

You think that Peter accepts that as good enough reason because the room is silent again. You keep scrolling, keep taking subtle deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. You see a picture of a couple on your timeline and scroll faster.

A few minutes of peace pass before Peter broaches the subject again, "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think you've ever told me about your first kiss."

Your shoulders tense. No good effort hides the strain in your voice, "I haven't?"

A beat passes. You glance over your shoulder and see Peter staring right at you, his lips upturned in a small, resting smile, but his eyes are inquiring. He's trying to read you. Perhaps he's just noticed the heavy cloud hanging overhead. "Nope." He pops the "P". He's waiting.

You could lie. You could say it was Flash Thompson who stole it, mention that field trip to the zoo in middle school when he'd sneaked next to you at the peacock exhibit and pestered you about you and Peter. Peter wouldn't question Flash about it. Even if they'd made amends, any conversation about him would send him over the edge with memories of his childhood bully and how much he pitied you for having your first kiss with him. And all of you were far too old now; Flash Thompson had gone to another state to play football the minute he got his diploma. It'd be so inconsequential, such an easy lie.

But the longer it takes you to deliberate on it, the worse it makes you look. You should've offered up an answer easily, jovially, unbothered. It should be inconsequential. Anything more and Peter would call your bluff because he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes.

At some point, you feel the brush of a lone finger at the base of your spine and it startles you. Peter's slipped his finger under your shirt, stroking along the middle of your back, "I won't laugh. If that's what you're thinking." He says softly.

Of course Peter wouldn't laugh at you. As much as your relationship was teasing, he knew where you were tender.

But it wasn't laughing you worried about.

"I know." You say, in lieu of a real answer. You fear you've given yourself away.

Now there are two fingers stroking your skin, "You don't... you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," but you can hear the discomfort in his voice when he says it, like the thought that it's something you don't want to tell him concerns him, "it's up to you."

Just lie. Your breath shudders and immediately you regret it. There's no way he hadn't heard that.

Before you can recover, you're feeling the heat of his entire hand on your back now as it slips further up, as he sits up in bed beside you and rests his chin on your shoulder. The closeness of his breath makes you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, "Hey, hey. I'm sorry. Did I push? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

You struggle to shake your head, but now your eyes are burning again and you don't think you can stop the tears this time, "You didn't." You insist.

"You're crying, bub," he laughs (not mockingly, never mockingly, never when you cry) and reaches a thumb up to brush away the first warm tear, "what's wrong?"

There's a million things you could say. I've never been kissed before, I don't know what it feels like to be longed for like that, I want to be longed for like that, why haven't I been longed for like that? But it all feels so heavy. Peter picks his chin up to kiss your shoulder and that really does it, "It never happened."

Peter's lips still against your skin. Their warmth slowly peels away, though you feel his breath ghost over the curve of your bone, "What hasn't?"

"A kiss. A first kiss, Peter. I've never had one."

"That's..." Peter sounds almost shocked, disbelieving. He never picks up that thought.

You turn your head away and toss your phone onto the bed, no longer interested in pretending you could distract yourself with anything else. You try to shrug your shoulder out from underneath Peter's mouth but he's quick, the hand at your back locking around you and you can't escape him even though you want to, even though you need to get away from his sweet smile and lovely heartbeat that thuds a little faster against your side.

It was already so much to tell him you hadn't had your first kiss yet, to admit to your best friend who—despite popular Midtown High opinion—has always been so irresistible to lovers, that you haven't gone as far as something so... simple. Something teenagers running your old stomping grounds have probably experienced ten times over by now. You don't think you can handle his pity too, "Peter, please."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. Everyone moves at their own pace."

You hiss through your teeth. You don't mean to, but the spite overwhelms you like red hot heat for a minute, "It's easy to say that when you've done it already."

You catch Peter's eye and immediately regret it. His untamed brows are drawn together, expression more analyzing than pitying. Even though you're brimming with feelings, he seems as if he's trying to wade through them, search for the gnarled root at the center of it all.

Then, and he says this so carefully that the meaning takes a moment to catch up with you, "There's nothing wrong with you."

It's the sincerity that does it. You shove his hand off of you, jerk away from him in a scramble to stand, but Peter is fast and lithe and he's always been two steps ahead of you even before the bite. He's up on his feet before even you are, coming to stand in your way when you go to grab for your bag, "Peter, move."

"Look, can we... can we talk about this?"

"I really don't want to. Move."

"Why are you shutting me out?"

"Because I want to go home. Move."

"Is it because of what I said?"

"Yes!" You blurt, growing frustrated the longer he blocks your path, "yes. Because I'm sick of being told there's nothing wrong with me when clearly..." Your voice tapers off, afraid to give him the reason he needs to worry about you, "Please. I'm just tired. It'll go away on its own, it always does, I just can't be here right now."

The standoff between you two lingers, feels like you might have to fight him just to escape. It takes everything in you just to keep eye contact with him and not burst into tears.

Peter clearly doesn't want to let you go. You can see that genius brain of his running every possible scenario in his mind in which he convinces you to stay, cry it out, leave happier than you came. None of them come soon enough. You brush past him when he realizes he's got nothing, and even the hand that grabs for you is halfhearted, shrugged off with little force.

"I'll see you later, Pete."

You let his front door shut on its own.

It hasn't been great.

What typically took a few hours to shake off had settled over you like a dark cloud ever since you'd stormed out of Peter's place. Even though you texted him like everything was fine (and dodged any phone calls so he wouldn't hear the truth with those freakishly good best friend senses of his), you had yet to see him again. Had yet to let yourself be seen.

You told yourself that it was just you missing Peter, and you believed that to be true, but you also believed that when he looked you in the eye and told you "there's nothing wrong with you", you hadn't been prepared for the nakedness of it all. He'd dug deep, right to the source. That kind of thing was hard to move past.

So you avoided him. If he came by your place, you pretended you weren't home. If he showed up at your work to take you to coffee, you lied and told him you had plans with a coworker. It had been several days now and you felt more and more cowardly by the minute.

It was Peter. Of all people, it was Peter. Your best friend. You could tell him anything (most things, some kept a little closer to the heart). You should be able to.

And it was silly. Being embarrassed about not kissing anyone. Plenty of people were in the same boat as you and they didn't ice their best friend out about it.

Ugh, now you were just making yourself feel worse.

You'd had enough. You'd end this pity party today. As you make your way through your apartment door, you promise yourself that after you've showered, after you've made yourself a filling dinner, after you've settled into bed, you'd call Peter and ask him to meet for pizza this weekend. You'd talk like civil adults who understand that life isn't a race. You'd share your couch, laugh about the whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, the hollowness in your chest that longed for someone's desire to fill it would finally-

He's sitting in your kitchen.

Legs dangling off the island, mask rolled up to his nose, and a spoon clattering out of his mouth and into a bowl of ice cream. Your front door shuts gently behind you.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. Then you glance through your bedroom door, cracked open just enough for you to see the breeze rustling your curtains. You turn back to Peter, who's cleaning off his bottom lip of raspberry sorbet. "Did you climb through the window? You have a key."

Peter sets the bowl down beside him, shrugs, "You weren't returning my calls."

Your shoulders sag and you drop your things to the floor, "Peter-"

"No, no," you watch him slide off the countertop and bounce over to you, and the nearness you aren't prepared for makes you back away an inch or two, "No Peter. I'm not Peter. I'm Spider-Man. See?" He gestures to the suit.

You reach your hand up and pinch his exposed cheek, then narrowly avoid his teeth before he tries to nip you, "I'm not in the mood. I said I'd call you later, I'm just... busy."

"Busy avoiding your best friend."

You can feel him trail after you as you walk away, beginning to undress. He catches your coat when you throw it toward the couch and hangs it up all neat on a hook. He kicks your shoes to a wall and tugs your belt from your fingertips once you've undone it. Then, unexpectedly, he hooks said belt around your waist and yanks you back to face him.

The momentum throws you fully into his chest but he's sturdy, unmoving as you grip his shoulders and give him the most hostile look you can muster. You attempt to wiggle out of the trap but he pulls the belt tighter, forcing you closer, and then you start to panic as the space between you both disappears, "I haven't been avoiding you, I just needed space." You quickly explain.

"And I get that," he admits, "but you scared me. I've never seen you like that before. Not with me. Not ever."

Of course he hadn't. It was why you kept all of this a secret in the first place. Because you knew he'd worry, and you knew that there would be nothing he could do to fix it. Not like he usually could.

"It was a... brief lapse in self-esteem. That's all. You're making it into a bigger deal than it should be."

"It's not a big deal?"

"No! That's what I keep trying to tell you."

"So it doesn't matter at all."

"Correct."

"Right."

"It's just an arbitrary milestone that means nothing." You grip the leather of your belt but you're nothing against his superhuman strength. Pleading with your eyes, you do your best not to slip back into that vulnerable place all over again. Peter made you feel safe to do that. Way too safe to do that. "I promise. I'm not avoiding you."

You get sick of staring into the whites of his mask and so you grab the edge of it and pull it up to his hairline, little tufts of curls poking out as his face is fully revealed to you. You stare into those sharp, probing eyes of his, forcing yourself to stand the test of Peter Parker's perception.

Suddenly, you're released.

You stumble back a bit, the belt clanking against the floor, as Peter throws his arms up in defeat, "Alright, alright. I get it. I should've let you breathe the other night. I was just worried, is all."

You smile, "And I appreciate that."

Peter quickly glances at you and then away, making an exaggerated show of kicking imaginary dust off the floor. "First kisses really mean nothing then, huh?"

"Zilch. Nada."

"So... doesn't matter when it is, who it is..."

You watch him carefully, "If this is about when we were six-"

"No, no, I know that didn't count. You don't even remember it," his face contorts in a wince, "I was just thinking. Something."

Your eyes narrow, "Uh-huh."

"Well, I mean, is that why? Because you don't remember it? Or... is it because it was me?"

"The kiss?" Peter blows a raspberry, looking more bashful by the second, and nods without looking at you. "It's... it's because we were six. And we didn't know what we were doing. I was just mimicking what we saw. We didn't know anything."

"And now we do."

"Yeah. What are you getting at, Pete?"

He sits on the back of your couch and kicks his feet out in front of him. "If all that matters is that we both know what we're doing, and a first kiss is just a meaningless milestone to you, then I thought that maybe we could give it another go. You know. So when a real kiss comes along that actually means something, you'll have an idea of how it's supposed to go."

You're six years old again.

You and Peter Parker are sitting in the dirt, mouths covered in sticky ice cream that the summer sun melted right up. You're both talking about Flash Thompson's trip to Florida and the hilarious sunburn he came back with when you spot an elderly couple across the park, pressing their mouths together over and over.

You're looking over at Peter and asking about it, sure it couldn't possibly feel good, and he's telling you that when Uncle Ben kisses May good morning in the kitchen he always looks away because it's gross.

And you're thinking... you start thinking something.

You're thinking it would be funny—that Peter would hate you for it, but you're just so curious—and you're pressing your lips to his so quickly that he doesn't get a chance to pull back before you're giggling in the grass. And May's voice flutters in the background, a shrill and delighted, "I caught that!" that makes you both turn tail and run toward the swings.

Peter's still staring at you, waiting.

Part of you feels like it's pity. Like he doesn't want you to feel bad about yourself. Like he doesn't know how else to fix it, because he has to fix it. He has to fix everything. He has to be your hero.

But the other part? A restless and selfish part wants to take it; it's curious.

You take a step forward, the two of you watching each other, waiting to see if the other might back out at the last second. He stays exactly where he is, legs parting slowly, and the silent invitation makes you feel hot under the collar.

When you're standing between them, you feel his knees bump your legs on either side, his hands planted firmly into the couch cushions. You notice the grip he has on them, "Are you sure?" You pause.

Peter tilts his head in that strange, spider-like way. As if he cannot fathom why would you ask such a thing, "Of course. I'm the one who offered."

Your hands shake as they consider where to put themselves, and you get about halfway to his shoulders before he takes them and places them on either side of his face, mumbling something about how it might help you feel more in control, quell your nerves a bit.

Peter's cheeks feel so warm in your hands, and you can feel each swallow he makes the longer you take in his expression. "Should... I move in first? Or..."

He laughs, short and high-pitched, "I guess I can go first."

You know you're supposed to close your eyes, but as he comes in close, you can't help but keep them lidded, taking in every twitch of his mouth as he inclines his neck, shuts his eyes, and kisses you.

Your brain reacts a half-second after his lips touch yours. You've probably stopped breathing, and you have to force your lips to unstiffen so that you could actually feel him. His lips are a little wet—he'd been rolling his bottom lip between his teeth since he'd sat down—and they taste faintly of raspberry. They're not cold though, and the feeling isn't unpleasant.

You don't know how to react to it, don't know if you should move or not, and so instead you curl your fingers into the silk of his nape and wait for the pounding in your chest to stop.

You feel him mouth at your bottom lip just once, and then pull back. "How'd that feel?"

You recall the sensations that went through your brain (all that it can recall anyway, when Peter's looking at you like that), "Slimy...?"

Peter's face falls, and then he bursts into laughter, shakes with the force of it, and drops his head on your shoulder. "There's got to be a better word than that."

"I don't know! I was just thinking about the feeling."

"I don't want to know what it felt like, I want to know how it made you feel. Did you like it? Hate it?"

"I don't know. I'm- I'm nervous."

"Hey, that's okay," his hand rubs your hip, warming the skin there, and you find yourself leaning into it for comfort, "everyone is their first time."

Peter is so, so gentle. Your heart feels like it might give out, but a little less now that it's over and he's not looking at you in disgust. You don't know what you expected, but... this was better. By far. That part of you that felt selfish takes over again, "Can we try again?"

His eyes widen a bit, but he's immediately nodding, "Okay. Yeah. Okay. We can try as- as many times as you want."

You nearly choke on your spit. "Can we?" Your voice comes out a meek whisper.

Peter nods. He brings his legs in so that he's sitting properly now. "Of course. You wanna move me? I can sit somewhere else. Or you can sit if you want."

"No, I like you here," you say, feeling your stomach tighten when his thighs lock against your legs, "um. Is there anything I can work on? How did I feel?"

"Warm. Soft. Just try to loosen up, alright?"

You force yourself to release the tension in your body and move in first this time. Images of rom-com kisses flood your brain, how you memorized their rhythms and the placement of their mouths. You try your best to mimic it, make it feel as good as it seemed to look, when you feel one of Peter's hands slip behind your head and angle you away just a hair, "You're tensing up," he warns, making you pause, "it doesn't have to be perfect. It's just you and me. Breathe for me, okay? Turn your brain off."

You feel your stomach flip a bit, and nod along mindlessly. You try again.

This time, it feels a little different. Not wet or stiff, even if it is still awkward. It almost overwhelms you when, as you're mouthing at Peter's lip, he returns the favor, but you keep your brain empty. You can't focus on the details because it won't feel right. You can't focus on the way it looks because it won't feel right.

So you focus on Peter. You focus on the hand on your hip drawing you closer and the hand on your neck rubbing circles into the knot there. You focus on the feeling of his suit under your pinkies. You focus on the small hum he makes when, with quite a bit of building up to it, you pass your tongue over his.

Almost as soon as you do it, you pull back. Peter is flushed and it makes the beauty marks on his skin stand out more. His eyelashes flutter, a half-smile on his lips that are kissed red. By you.

You open your mouth to ask but he beats you to it, "I think you've got it now... yeah. Definitely." You're so relieved you sigh, sagging away from him, but he catches your hands before they can can leave his face completely and holds them in his lap. You don't dare move them. "How about you? Did you like it?"

You nod, speechless.

Peter laughs and squeezes your hands in his, "Okay, good. Good. I love you, you know? I know it doesn't... replace what you're looking for, but you're wonderful. You're insane and funny and stunning and there's nothing wrong... you know? You're perfect. Take it from your loser best friend who had to get bit by a radioactive spider to get to first base."

You snort, "I mean, if that's all it takes..."

Peter shakes his head and stands, but his hand remains on your neck as you follow his eyes to his full height, "So, we good? No more ignoring me?" You bite your lip, nodding your head. Peter smiles. "Good, cause I'm starving and I need you to split a pizza with me."

"You just polished off a tub of ice cream and you're still hungry?"

"I'm a growing spider, honey. And I missed you." Without warning, the hand on your hip hooks around your back and hoists you into his body, throwing you off balance once more, "I'll swing us there and cover cheese sticks too. Sound good?"

You know you don't have much room to argue when he's being so generous. And not when he's beaming at you, so genuinely relieved to have you back that it would knock you off your feet if he wasn't holding you up.

He was right; this wouldn't replace what you were looking for, but it gets pretty damn close. Closer than you expected, actually. But it's just the adrenaline. This didn't change anything.

Did it? You stare up at Peter.

"We can try as many times as you want."

You might have a very different problem than you started with.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

[trans-axolotl]

ID: Intersex activist Max Beck standing in front of the American Academy of Pediatrics with a sign that says Silence=Death.

On October 26th, 1996, the first ever protest for intersex liberation in America took place when activists from Hermaphrodites With Attitude took to the streets to protest the American Academy of Pediatrics. Later memorialized as intersex awareness day, this important action was a milestone for the American intersex movement. Max Beck, one of the intersex activists from HWA, documented the entire protest and later published their recollection in the Intersex Awakening Issue of the Chrysalis Journal. The full piece is pasted under the cut.  

"But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. 

I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America. One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. 

We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!" 

Hermaphrodites With Attitude Take to the Streets: By Max Beck, 1997

In late October of 1996, Hermaphrodites with Attitude took to the streets, in the first public demonstration by intersexuals in modern history. On a glorious fall day, the like of which you can only find in New England, under a crackling, cloudless sky, twenty-odd protesters joined forces to picket the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians in Boston. Deeply aware of the historical and personal significance of the action, and — correctly — surmising that a notebook diary would not be practical on such a whirlwind, windy week-end, I took a small hand-held tape recorder with me. What follows are excerpts from the resulting transcript.

October 24, 1996 2:45 PM, Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport

The trip has only just begun and I am already exhausted. Hot. Starving. Fifteen minutes until take-off. Every businessman boarding the plane looks like a pediatric endocrinologist, Boston-bound. Silly thought, testimony to what? My anxiety? My fear? My giddy anticipation? If these bespectacled, suit-and-tie sporting men were pediatricians, would they be flying coach on Continental, with a layover in Newark? I’m headed for Boston, for the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians (AAP). Tens of thousands of pediatricians. I’m not a pediatrician, though, nor am I a nurse; in fact, I barely managed to complete my B.A. I’m a manager of a technical laboratory. We don’t work with children, and the AAP certainly didn't invite me, so why am I going?

With the plane taxiing toward take-off, this is a lousy time to reassess. I’m going. I’m going because I am intersexed. I’m going because the doctors and nurses who treated me as an infant and a child and an adolescent, and those who continue to treat intersexed infants and children today, consider me “lost to follow-up.” I was lost— that’s part of the problem. Now, I’m back.

9:02 PM: Boston’s North End

I’m comfortably ensconced in Alice’s warehouse condo in Boston’s North End, a renovated warehouse with a view of the city skyline, ceilings easily twenty feet high, exposed beams and brick, gorgeous tile floor. As I speak, my hostess is preparing an absolutely phenomenal meal. The aroma of roasted peppers permeates the entire space. Tomorrow, the work begins; my project this evening is to unwind and enjoy this wonderful meal. Easier said than done. I’m feeling excited, enervated, I feel very alive, something I don’t feel very often, I feel very present and aware. It could be my exhaustion, it could be the Chardonnay. But I think, rather, that the excitement is anticipation about what we are about to do. Being here, finally being prepared to raise a voice, to be heard, to be seen, a vocal, out, proud hermaphrodite who is standing up to say, “Let’s rethink this, this isn’t working, we’ve been hurt, stop what you’re doing, listen to us!” I’m really looking forward to meeting Morgan at the airport in the morning; it’s always amazing to make eye contact with someone else who has been there.

October 25, 7:38 AM Boston Commons

En route to my encounter with the AAP, walking the approximately two miles from my hostess’ domicile to the Marriott Hotel at Copley Square, I pause in the Boston Commons to enjoy a park bench, to sip my Starbuck’s decaf, and to watch a group of senior citizens performing Japanese swordsmanship on top of the hill beneath a monument to some forgotten general. The city is cool this morning, but clear, and it promises to be a beautiful weekend. That’s good: we won’t be rained out. I’ve got a stack of about ninety ISNA brochures in the bag at my side, crammed in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. If I want these pamphlets to get inside, I’ve got to get to the site of the Nurses’ Panel at the Marriott before they close the doors. Then it’s back out to the airport, to pick up Morgan. My feet are already killing me.

October 26, 9:15 AM: North End

Morgan and I are sitting at our hostess’ breakfast table, pulling our thoughts together. In a few minutes, we’ll have to leave to pick up Riki at the airport. The logistics of pulling together an action are mind-boggling. There’s no describing the thrill, though, of all that work, all those phone calls, all those miles. Riding a clattering subway on a Saturday morning, seated beside another living, breathing, laughing, swearing intersexual, hugging near-strangers at unfamiliar airports, then riding back, together, defiant, determined, organized, to the heart of so much of our pain, so much of our anger, so much of our need. We gathered in front of the huge Hynes Auditorium, pamphlets and leaflets in hand, and met the AAP attendees as they left the convention center for lunch. The next hour-and-a-half was a blur, as we positioned ourselves in strategic locations before the Hynes, held signs and “Hermaphrodites with Attitude” banner aloft, distributed our literature, engaged AAP members and passers-by in conversation and debate, spoke to microphones, to cameras. In all that time, I recorded only one fragment of a breathless sentence. 

Saturday, 12:20 PM Outside the Hynes

We’ve got all the exits covered, and it’s an incredible, incredibly empowering experience. I remember the words I spoke to the TV camera, if only because I had scribbled a rough outline on the airplane, pirating mightily from Cheryl’s press release. And because the moment was so salient, so real. Me, Max, bespectacled, with blisters on my feet and chapped lips, speaking out to untold numbers of invisible viewers (and a few bewildered pediatricians behind me.)

"When an intersex child is born, parents and caregivers are faced with what seems to be a terrible dilemma: here is an infant who does not fit what our society deems normal. Immediate medical intervention seems indicated, in order to spare the parents and the child the inevitable stigmatization associated with being different. Yet the infant is not facing a medical emergency; intersexuality is rarely if ever life-threatening. Rather, the psychosocial crisis of the parents and caregivers is medicalized. 

Intersexuality is assumed to be a birth defect which can be corrected, outgrown and forgotten. The experiences of members of the intersex support groups indicate that intersexuality cannot be fixed; an intersex infant grows up to be an intersex adult. This hasn’t been explored, because intersex patients are almost invariably “lost to follow-up.” The abstract of a talk that will be given at this very conference by a doctor who treats intersex infants concedes that “the psychological issues surrounding genital reconstruction are inadequately understood.”

Part of the problem is that we were lost to follow-up, and there were reasons for that. But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America.

One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!

7:20 PM: Boston’s North End

Goddess, this is so sweet, so liberating! I was so reluctant a week ago, having my Jesus-in-Gethsemane experience, reluctant to accept — not an onus or responsibility but �� to accept who I am. And here’s where the hard work really begins. I’m exhausted when I think of the road before us. But then, it’s nothing like the road behind us. 

Max Beck, 1997.

[riboism]

vaya con dios

》 c.s x fem. nun! reader

》 wc: 6.7k

》 plot: a strange visitor takes shelter in your nunnery and challenges your beliefs

》 content: religious guilt, religious themes, first-time, pornographer! san, nun! reader, eventual smut, some angst

Tossing and turning for the nth time that night, you finally found comfort in laying on your side with your hands tucked underneath your pillow. You took a deep breath before shutting your eyes, counting sheep in hopes that it’ll help you fall asleep faster, only for you to reach fifteen before your mind wandered again. 

It was impossible to sleep after the strange day that you had. You had a visitor. No one really visited the Nunnery. You often joked with your sisters that the Nunnery was your own world, a place so hidden inside the natural world that no one could ever find it. That was until he started knocking on your front door. 

Men are not allowed inside the convent. The only time a man would come into your world was when Father Aaron came to visit from time to time, and even then he’d need permission from Mother Reverend to enter her holy space. You couldn’t understand why she agreed to let him stay the night, let alone even grant him access to our quarters— not until she called you into the kitchen and tasked you with bringing him his evening meal. 

“Is he a Priest?” You inquired as you prepared his dinner plate. You heard that Father Aaron was nearing his retirement. Maybe this was his replacement. 

“No.” She answered with finality, not adding anything further. You hated it when she did that. 

“Then who is he? Why is he here? I thought men weren’t allowed in our convent.” 

Mother observed as you placed a few fresh berries into the dessert bowl. She liked to make sure that we weren’t giving others too much or too little. She didn’t like waste. “He isn’t, but I had to make an exception. He’s a traveler and he got lost and stumbled onto our doorstep. With how dark the clouds are and how windy it is outside, I figured it was best for him to rest here for the night before moving on with his journey.” 

“But he’s a man.” You emphasized. “What if he’s dangerous? It just doesn’t feel right, him showing up at our door in the middle of the night. Where was he going anyway?” 

Growing impatient with your constant questioning, Mother set down a heavy glass, the loud thump startling you into silence. “Mind your manners, child! It does not matter if he is a man. God gave him to us to protect, and that is what we’ll do. Now hurry along, he must be starving and it’s almost time for bed.” 

Nodding obediently, you ventured off into the closed-off wing of the Nunnery. The room he was staying in was made for women who were interested in joining the sisterhood and devoting their lives to prayer and servitude. Unfortunately, the Nunnery didn’t get many candidates for the past few years so the rooms remained vacant. 

The halls here felt colder. You didn’t like being in this part of the building. The Nunnery itself was old, and with that, the building creaked and bellowed from time to time, especially in this wing. The noises would scare you, especially at night, but your Sisters assured you months ago that the next few donations would be used to help reconstruct the weaker parts of the building. Maybe there were still some renovations left to do. 

Upon reaching the visitor’s door, you knocked quietly and waited until a voice called for you to enter. You kept your eyes low as you walked in. “Mother asked me to bring you your supper.” You announced quietly, before placing the tray on the side table. 

He was sitting on the bed, looking as if he was waiting for you. Your eyes remained at his feet. He still wore his shoes, which looked expensive and hardly worn. Curiosity got the best of you, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from rising from his feet to his shoulders. His shoulders were wide and broad, the suit jacket he wore ill-fitting as if he grew twice his size overnight and didn’t have time to buy a bigger one. You didn’t dare to look up any further. 

After a beat of silence, you awkwardly paced backward to exit through the door, not wishing to be around the stranger any longer than you needed to. 

“Wait,” he called, softly. 

Your body obeyed before your mind did, and you didn’t move another inch. You waited for him to say something. Perhaps he wanted only tea before bed, or maybe he wanted to ask for some fresh sheets since the room hadn’t been dusted in a while. But he didn’t speak any further after that. Growing ill at ease, you let your gaze drift upwards until you finally met his eyes. 

You didn’t expect him to look the way that he did. He was young, maybe around your age. You had never seen a man without graying hair and deep sunken eyes before. Most of the men that came to the Nunnery, whether it was Father Aaron or his acquaintances, always looked weak, gray, and brittle. The visitor looked fresh and radiant in comparison, with his sculpted cheekbones, neat eyebrows, and freshly trimmed dark hair. He was beautiful. 

And then there was the way that he looked at you. You felt trapped in his peculiar gaze, your cheeks burning up after every second that passed as you two took each other in. His eyes wandered all over you with hunger and curiosity, but upon meeting your wide eyes, his expression quickly softened, his mouth that was once agape with desire now curled up to a friendly and innocent smile. 

“What is your name?” He asked. His voice was soft and pretty. It felt like he was trying to lull you to sleep. 

“You may call me Sister ____.” 

“Sister” He nodded. “Forgive me, I guess I had taken the wrong route and got lost. I’m eternally grateful to you all for offering me shelter in this unpredictable weather. And for this hot meal.” He beamed. “I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. I understand it’s very late.” 

“No, no trouble at all. We are glad that you are inside and safe instead of out there in the storm.” On queue, a flash of lightning illuminated the walls, and a dull crack of thunder followed shortly. The sounds of crashing thunder and the strangeness of the visitor had you uneasy, and you knew it was best for you to leave the room right away. Mother wouldn’t be too happy to hear that you were lingering in the room alone with him, engaging in mindless conversation at the odd hours of the night. But despite your efforts to bow your head and inch towards the door, the visitor didn’t seem to acknowledge your rush. 

“It’s a shame…” He said faintly. 

“What is?” 

“That you have to hide yourself with all that garb. You’re very pretty.” His eyes lingered over your chest as if he was trying to outline what your figure looked like underneath. Full chest, thick thighs, slender legs, narrow waist, or wide hips, he couldn’t tell, but he liked that he didn’t know. A uniform made to hide the essence of a woman, to protect them from perverted and hungry eyes like his, ended up doing the opposite. 

Sensing your offense, the visitor rushed to apologize before you could utter a remark. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Sister. I work in entertainment. I go around and meet with decently looking women all the time for photoshoots and whatnot. That’s actually where I was headed now, to meet with a few women about an upcoming fashion magazine shoot. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I guess nuns and religion and all that stuff…” He peered over to the wall that was decorated with a sole golden cross and then sheepishly looked back at you. “...Make me nervous.” 

Part of you felt he wasn’t telling the truth. You weren’t sure how to take him. There was something off about him, how he shifted from kind and unassuming to something that lacked innocence. You had a feeling that he wasn’t telling the truth.  

Ignoring his strange comments, you quietly bid him goodnight and then rushed off to your room. 

You wished so badly to drift off to sleep and forget about this strange encounter, but the visitor preoccupied your mind. Did he really handpick women for prestigious fashion editorials? Did he mean it when he said you’re pretty? 

No one had ever called you pretty and you honestly didn’t know how to take it. Vanity wasn’t something the sisterhood was concerned with. It was blasphemous for him to speak to you in such a manner anyway, but why did you kind of like it? 

Pretty. You. Pretty. 

Coming from someone who looked like him, it felt like a high honor. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it. He’s probably surrounded by beautiful women all the time. And he called you pretty. 

You. Pretty. 

God has a lot to say about those who let their vanity get the best of them, so you decided to brush away those thoughts and say a little prayer. Even as you prayed for forgiveness, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. 

―

The skies were even more aggravated the next day. You were a little bummed that the trip to the orphanage was canceled due to strict stay-at-home orders, so you spent the rest of the day knitting gloves and hats for the children. 

“Ouch!” You yelped, sucking on your pricked finger. This was the fourth time you pricked yourself tonight. You couldn’t stay focused on your task. Your thoughts were all about him. You had contemplated all day about going over to his room and apologizing for the way you left so abruptly. You didn’t want him to think you were being rude. After all, there’s no harm done with giving compliments, is there? 

You wondered what he was doing right now. He was probably bored all alone in his room. Mother took it upon herself to deliver him his morning and afternoon meals, so you didn’t have a reason to see him. She didn’t seem to want the other Sisters to greet the man. Perhaps your initial apprehensiveness had gotten to her and she changed her mind about you going into his room. What if she knew you were in his room for a while? What if she heard you two talking? The sudden heaviness in your stomach made you set aside your knitting needles. 

Even so, you had a strong urge to see him one more time. Who knows? Maybe the weather will clear up tomorrow and he’ll leave without you getting a chance to say something about that night. It was giving you a headache, how much you thought about him. Was such a brief conversation, yet he lived in your mind like he owned it. You couldn’t forget about those sharp cheekbones, his sweet talking voice, and that almost sinful way that he looked at you. 

The desire to see him again was too hard to ignore, so without hesitation, you sprung up on your feet and headed down to the kitchen to ask Mother Reverend if you could give the visitor his dinner tonight. She was appalled at your sudden initiative, but considering how her knees were bothering her again, she decided it was best if you took the tray up the stairs to his room tonight. 

This time when you knocked on his door, it was silent. You knocked again a little louder this time, figuring maybe he didn’t hear you, but to your dismay, there was no answer. Stumped, you lowered the tray. Why he wasn’t answering? Was he asleep? Why would he fall asleep before dinner? Was he sick? Maybe there was no harm in checking in on him, you told yourself as you twisted the door knob and stepped into the room. 

He wasn’t here. The bed looked unmade and some of his things were tossed around. The room was littered with cameras and film. He said he worked in the entertainment industry, but he didn’t specify that he was a photographer himself. There were various different types of cameras scattered on the table and some by the windowsill. One of them caught your eye― a gorgeous camera with a wooden frame and a brown leather strap attached, sitting on top of a few magazines. Setting the tray down, you walked over to the windowsill where the pretty camera sat. It looked expensive, decorated with a small graving on the side. C.S. Was that his initials? It hit you that you never got his name.

You noticed some camera film sitting next to the stack of magazines where the camera was placed. You knew it wasn’t right to snoop. It was an invasion of privacy, not to mention that God might be looking down at you and shaking his head. But you couldn’t help it. You wanted to learn more about him, and so you let curiosity get the best of you and now you stood there in the visitor’s room with his film roll in hand. Upon unraveling the roll, you were excited to see beautiful women in next season’s haute couture, but instead, you discovered something completely unexpected. 

Suddenly, a voice startled you from behind. “I could get you an advanced copy once it’s printed.” 

You gasped, whipping your body around to face the visitor who had just stumbled into his room to a nosey Nun going through his belongings. Your cheeks flamed up, too embarrassed with yourself to even notice that his hair was dripping wet from his shower. 

“If you’re interested, that is.” He smiled teasingly. It was clear he didn't mind you snooping around, but you still felt ashamed.

“Oh, no, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” In the midst of all the awkwardness, you dropped the roll and it unraveled a few inches until it stopped at the visitor’s feet. He bent down and picked it up, examining his photographs for any scratches or rips as you quivered in place, struggling to find the right words. 

“I’m sorry. Are they ruined?” You asked finally. 

“They’re okay.” He assured. There was a slight glow on his brow bone and cheeks from the hot shower. The white button-up he wore stuck to his chest, revealing some of his honey skin through its sheer and damp fabric. He noticed you staring. You quickly looked away. 

“The women in those pictures…are they-”

“Naked? Yes.” 

He spoke as if he had no shame about it. To him, it was as normal as taking photos of a rainbow or a wild deer. You wondered what Mother would think if she found out the man she let sleep in her holy Nunnery took nude photos of women for a pornography magazine. It would give her a heart attack, for sure. 

This was hard to take in. You couldn’t explain it, but you felt disappointed. How could someone like him take part in such filthy hobbies? And those women? How could they degrade and humiliate themselves like this? You couldn’t help but pity them, those poor things losing their way and succumbing to promiscuity. 

The visitor sensed your disapproval. It wasn’t a surprise, given the circumstances. Still, he felt the need to defend himself. 

“I understand you have your beliefs. But I have my own too. You may think it’s ungodly and lustful, but to me, it’s freeing, it’s human…it’s female emancipation.” 

“Female emancipation?” You said in disbelief. How are pictures of women with their legs spread open a symbol of female emancipation? Was he mad? From what you saw, it was all sinful desire catered for and by men. 

He stepped over to your side of the room, carefully returning the film roll to its case. “Have you ever touched yourself?” 

“What?” You held onto the cross that lay on your chest, dumbfounded that he would even think to ask you such a question so bluntly. 

He chuckled, “I respect all religions Sister, but there are some parts in the good book that I don’t really agree with.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, what’s the harm in pleasuring ourselves? If we see a beautiful woman or man, why should we feel ashamed for having certain thoughts about them? Humans are sexual beings, why should we feel shame if we are only feeling human emotions and desires? It’s like your God is asking us to not be human, to be something else, and that’s impossible. Isn't this how he created us? That’s why these photos represent freedom. They rip off the chains of sexual repression and free us into our natural state. The women I work with love what they do. They get to let go and embrace their femininity, something your God keeps forcing you to hide.” 

He was closer to you now. You could feel his hot breath hitting your forehead. He was riled up now, finally getting all that religious guilt that he’d been holding in for years off of his chest. You stood frozen in place, mouth open but unable to form a reply. He dipped his head down, lips almost brushing against your ear. “Why do we have to feel bad about feeling good, Sister? Do you mean to tell me you never had fantasies? You never wanted to feel another man’s touch so badly that it made you go crazy?”

He had you cornered now. Your breathing got shakier as his eyes locked into yours. He continued. “You’ve had thoughts, haven’t you? Of course, you have. And your God made you feel like there was something wrong with you like you did something unforgivable. Well, that’s just not right. Live so long feeling ashamed, you’re gonna snap.” 

That was about all you could take before you pushed him away and took off. Now lying in your bed, you struggled for the second night in a row to go to sleep because your mind was still torturing you with thoughts of the visitor. 

His words replayed in your head over and over again. You knew he was wrong. Or maybe, you wanted to believe that he was. You understood his sentiment, but there were some flaws in his beliefs. Shame can be dangerous, yes, but it’s the only thing stopping humans from committing sin. God teaches us restraint, and what he’s doing is completely sacrilegious, running around like a wild animal and giving in to temptations in the name of free will. You wanted to go back, to tell him he was wrong, to alert Mother Reverend of the pornographer currently residing in our quarters so he could be kicked out, but you remained in bed. You prayed tomorrow would be a bright and sunny day so that he may leave and you will never be disturbed by him again. 

The clock struck 2, and you turned on your side, still too restless to fall asleep. You remembered the photos that were in your hands. They were so intimate, so close to her body. There was one shot that you couldn’t stop thinking about. She lay topless on a messy and unmade bed, a coy and inviting smile playing on her lips as she held onto her breasts. From the angle, it looked like the photo was taken from on top of her. Your mind raced with images of the visitor straddling over her naked body, hiding his head behind the lenses while she let go of her breasts and unbuckles his pants, never failing to continue smiling for the camera. 

The woman looked so happy in the photos, almost as if she felt comfortable around him. What was he like with them? What did he say to get them to put their guard down? Did he touch them after? 

Your stomach is crushed with guilt. You shouldn’t be having such lewd thoughts about an ungodly man like this. But why couldn’t you stop? Maybe this is what he meant when he said it was unfair for God to make us feel shame for thinking these things. It’s inevitable. You see it now. 

With your will weakened, your mind replayed the moment he cornered you into the wall. The wall felt so cold against your back, but being so close to him made your cheeks scorn. He smelled like fresh pinewood soap. His cheeks were still rosy from the hot shower, and his white shirt was damp and almost translucent. The water from the tips of his strands dripped onto your shoes. 

Have you ever touched yourself? 

You couldn’t answer him then, but no, you haven’t. You were taught that it was wrong to feel such curiosity about your own body. It was a sin. It’s a sin, you tell yourself as your hands slip into your nightdress. This is wrong, you remind yourself as you start kneading your bare breast, just as the woman in the photos did. Your fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, the new sensation making you gasp and moan like a wild animal. Out of fear of being heard, you placed a hand over your mouth to mask your sounds. Suddenly, you felt something pooling between your legs. You pressed them shut, feeling a desperate desire for something you’ve never had before. God, what has he done to you? 

You were at his door again. Your conscience was screaming at you to go back to your room, to kneel in front of your bed and beg for forgiveness, but you didn’t listen. You were too far gone now. It was a type of craving that you knew wouldn’t go away until you satisfied it. You knocked quietly so as not to wake the others, but loud enough so that he could hear inside. It felt like torture waiting for him to open the door, but once he did, you were met with relief.

He furrowed his brows and whispered, “What are you doing here?” 

“I want you to take pictures of me.” 

He was stunned by your peculiar request, but even more so at your newfound boldness. “Are you serious? Do you know what you're asking me, Sister?” 

He watched you as you freed your hair from its bun, letting your wavy ends hit your shoulders. He studied each wave, his eyes wide like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. “I know exactly what I’m asking,” You answered. “Now, can I come in?” 

―

You watched him from your spot on the bed as he configured with his camera. His hair was tousled, which you seemed to prefer over his neatly jelled-back hair. His shirt was unbuttoned now, exposing his well-defined chest. His skin looked so soft. You wondered what it would feel like against your fingertips. You prayed he would hurry before you changed your mind. 

“Okay. Are you ready?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Yes.” 

He took a step forward and met you at the end of the bed. “Lay down.” 

Your body sunk back into the mattress. He rested one of his knees on the bed, eyes scanning over your body. You felt hot under his gaze. 

“Can you unbutton that gown for me, Sister?” 

Slowly, you unbuttoned the rest of your gown, exposing to him your bare breasts. He licked his lips, your red and swollen peaks making him weak to the knees. “They’re so swollen…” He cooed, “Were you playing with them earlier?” 

You nodded again, a little embarrassed that he could tell what you were up to in your room just moments before. 

He smiled approvingly. “Play with them again for me.” 

You did as instructed and twisted the sore nubs between your fingers. They were so sensitive and hard now that even the lightest touch made you moan. The look of pleasure on your face was delicious, and he immediately raised his camera lens to snap this moment. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said between clicks, “the most beautiful one I’ve had.” 

You liked it when he called you pretty. It made you feel so special to have his eyes on you, to be the center of his fixation, to be his muse. You wanted to show him that you could be like the other girls, but better and even more obedient. He was your God now and you wanted to be a worthy disciple. 

Once he was satisfied with his shots, he lowered the camera. “Can I see the rest of you?” 

You didn’t hesitate to remove your panties and toss them on the floor, but upon realizing his watchful gaze and the intimidating black abyss of the camera lens, you froze up and pressed your thighs shut. You were upset and embarrassed with yourself for not being able to go through with it and follow his directions, but he was more than understanding. He knew that face, he had seen it dozens of times. 

“It’s okay.” He said softly. It all felt like a dream. His voice was soothing like a lullaby, and his warm and skilled hands that were rubbing your thighs made you disarm and ease back into the bed, letting him guide them apart to reveal your glistening cunt. 

He let out a low whine. “Fuck, that’s the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.” 

That sound alone made your lower half feel heavy. You wanted to hear him make that sound again. You’d do anything to hear him make that sound again. He leaned back with his knee still resting on the bed and held up his camera, pointing its lens at your slick center. “Spread them.” 

Obediently, you pulled apart your lips with two fingers for him, your slick juices already gushing down as you did. He sighed deeply, a pained expression overwhelming his face. “So tiny,” he breathed after the camera shuttered. He had never seen anything like you before. So virtuous and delicate, yet so sinful and corrupt. You gave him so much, yet he wanted to see more of you. 

“Think you can take those pretty little fingers for me?” 

It took you a minute to understand what he meant. You were inexperienced regarding things like this, but you wanted to learn. You wanted him to teach you everything. 

“I don’t know how…” You mumbled. 

A devilish smile crept onto his face and darkened his features. “How cute,” he chuckled, amused by the holy and virtuous nun who had no idea how to make herself feel good. “Come here, I’ll show you.” 

He sets aside the camera and pulls you closer to him by your hips. Your heart fluttered at the motion, and you chewed back a whimper as he held your thighs down. He scanned your core with all his attention, examining your small hole that pulsated as you breathed in and out. “You really never touched yourself before?” 

You bit one of your fingernails and shook your head no. 

“Oh Sister, you’re really missing out.” 

Taking your hand, he guided them to your core and adjusted your fingers around your throbbing clit. It felt so foreign to you, so wet and sticky, you almost didn’t believe that this was a part of your body that you were touching. He went on to press a thumb into your inner thigh. “Rub it like this,” he said, massaging small circles into your soft skin. “Nice and gentle for me.” 

You shyly followed his directions and gently massaged over your clit. It startled you how sensitive you were to your own touch. It felt so hot as if hell’s fire was creeping over your body, but you loved it. You loved the new sensations, how filthy and impure it all was, and even more, you loved how he watched you so intently. Eyes glued to your shameless center, completely forgetting the camera he was holding and the task at hand. He knew now, that this was for him, and not for the camera. 

He had been photographing for years now and learned to hold off temptations until the end of the session, but he was struggling this time, with his cock heavy and aching to be inside of you. He found it charming just how inexperienced you were with your own fingers, and how your sloppy and awkward ministrations still made your body twitch. And those pretty pretty moans, he had never heard anything like it. So angelic, so enchanting, he almost believed you were a siren hiding behind rosaries and veils. 

Mustering up his last bit of strength, he swung his other knee over you and buckled his hips on top of you, lifting his camera up one last time. “Make yourself cum.” He demanded in between camera flashes. He absentmindedly rutted his hips against you, the weight of his heavy and clothed cock resting over your slick pussy as you played with your clit for him. His pants seemed tighter now, with the outline of his full and swollen balls peeking through. With his hard cock so close to you like this, you lost your focus and eventually, that high you worked so hard to reach went lost on you. Now feeling numb, you sighed in both exhaustion and disappointment. 

“Oh, what’s wrong Sister?” He said in a playful tone, “Too scared of the lord’s wrath to let yourself cum?” 

His chuckle dropped once he felt your hand rubbing against his crotch, your eyes so wide and innocent while shamelessly asking for a lick. “Please,” you begged, “need help.” 

God, he cursed to himself. Did you even know what you were asking him? Or were you just too needy, too far gone even to understand what you were doing? Even so, he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, if not more. He never had someone like you before. Someone so pious, so clueless, so pure. The girls he had been with were run through, and most of them had their tricks, but you were just an amateur. Not too long ago you were standing here with your hand on your chest, shocked by the nature of his pornographic career. Fuck, you didn’t even know how to play with yourself, and now you're tracing your fingertips on his zipper fly, begging for him to help you cum? 

For the first time in his career, his moral consciousness rang in. What was he doing? As tempting as it sounded, was he really going to defile a God-fearing Nun? 

He cupped your jaw, tracing his thumb across your soft cheek. Unbeknownst to him, this was the first time another person had touched you so lovingly. You leaned into the touch, reintroducing yourself to the warmth and fuzziness of his pinewood soap. “Are you sure about this, Sister?” 

He searched in your eyes for any signs of hesitation, but all he could see was lust. It was evident that you weren’t so God-fearing anymore. Maybe his words got you, he thought. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Yes. I want you to show me everything.” 

―

You watched nervously as he traced his tongue along your slit. His tongue felt so warm and wet, and you could see a few strings of his saliva connecting with your slick each time he lapped against your cunt. Both of your hands were pressed against your mouth to prevent any sound from slipping out, but it was so difficult not to moan and whine while he ate you out to his heart’s content. You had never felt anything like this before. It drove you mad how much of a twitching mess you were while he laid so carefree between your legs, lazily licking and sucking at your clit, oblivious to the heat that was rushing around in your lower belly. At one point, he focused his tongue directly on your clit, and the pressure from his wet muscle alone was enough for you to lose your guard and let a low broken whine escape your lips. 

He was so attentive to every reaction your body gave him. He knew you were about to cum even before you did. He held onto your thighs as your hips bucked up and down, letting you make a mess on his mouth and face. When you were done, he held your hips down and feathered a few kisses onto your cunt until you grabbed onto his hair and pushed him away. 

He had made you cum a few times like this. Each orgasm was even more intense than the one before. As exhausted as your body was becoming, your craving for him didn’t stop. It only grew stronger. 

It had been hours now. He moved so slowly, savoring each and every part of your body, making you cum from his mouth, his fingers, and even just by sucking your nipples alone. The other Sisters would be shocked to see you in your current state, your naked body soaked in cum and sweat, hips moving with a mind of its own. You were filthy but you didn’t want to stop, because if you stopped you would have to deal with the guilt and turmoil of your actions, and you didn’t want to do either. You just wanted to keep going, keep having him use you and use you until you broke. And that feeling― that momentary bliss you felt each time you reached your orgasm was unlike anything you ever felt before, and you were hooked, unable to stop, only interested in feeling like that one more time until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

You were starting to feel feverish and weak, going in and out of consciousness until you felt his warm and heavy cock resting over your stomach. 

You peered down your body, gasping at the sheer length of his cock. The tip was so red and wet, already leaking precum and dripping onto your stomach. 

“What are you doing?” 

He took your hand and guided it to your lower stomach. “You said you wanted me to show you everything. You still want that right?” 

He helped you wrap your hands around his cock. It felt even bigger in your hand, your fingers just barely making it around his girth. You pumped him gently, using his precum to help you move up and down. He took that as a yes. 

You could hear his breathing go shaky each time you pumped him. “It feels so hard” you whined. Was he going to put this inside of you? How would it even fit? Would it hurt? 

“You make me this way.” He sighed as he watched you handle his cock. Fuck, you looked so cute the way you held him with both hands, trying your best to learn in what tempo he liked it. He leaned over, his large body completely covering yours, face just millimeters away. You gasped at the feeling of his hot tip rubbing at your entrance. “It’s San, by the way.” 

“I’m sorry?” You paused.

“My name. It’s San.” 

San. It suited him. You were about to tell him that his name was pretty, but he had taken the words right out of your mouth. A pressure pushed into you, forcing your eyes to well up in tears and words to clog in your throat. 

“San!” You yelped, hands gripping onto his wide shoulders. San leaned in close, leaving gentle kisses on your cheeks, his lips wet with your salty tears. “You’re so beautiful,” He spoke into your skin as he rolled his hips into you. “You feel so good.” You took him so well, your wet walls grasping onto him so tight that he knew he wouldn’t be able to last as long as he usually does. 

With each thrust, you sang his name as if it was the only word you knew how to say. His cock hit you so deep now, stretching you out to your limit, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You held him tighter and let him find your lips. You both moved with so much passion and hunger as if it was your last night on Earth together. He was all you knew and wanted to know. You didn’t wish for it to end. 

You felt a blooming in your stomach and figured San did as well. Your legs wrapped around him tight as you finally let go. Goosebumps prickled all over your body as San pulled out from you, his warm seed dripping onto your stomach. It felt like he marked you, that he had declared you as his for all eternity. You rubbed the sticky white liquid around your stomach, finally grasping at the realization of what you two had done and what it meant. San could sense your alarm and immediately reunited with your lips. He didn’t want you to regret this. He wanted you to look back at this moment and remember him fondly.  

The exhaustion weighed in and you drifted off to sleep as he kissed you. When morning came, you were disheartened to see rays of sunshine peeking through the window blinds. San was sitting at the edge of the bed, slipping into his socks. He was wearing the same ill-fitting suit jacket he first came in with that night. 

San noticed you stirring around in bed. He looked back and greeted you with a soft smile. 

“You’re awake.” 

You sat up too quickly and flinched at the sudden pain at your core. 

“Easy,” he said as he placed a reassuring hand on your leg. 

“You’re leaving already?” You asked, quickly forgetting about the pain.

San pursed his lips. It killed him to leave you after the night you two had, but he had his duties to attend to. And so did you. 

He took your hand into his. “Listen, Sister, I don’t know if you still feel the same about last night, but for me…that was incredible. But we both know I can’t stay.” 

It was the truth, but the truth hurt like a ton of bricks. Stupid girl, what did you think was going to happen? You broke your vows, and your loyalty to the church, and gave up the one thing you can never take back. You were ruined now, but you still didn’t know how to move forward. Did this mean you didn’t want to be in the convent anymore? Or did you want to stay and act as if you didn’t give in to temptations last night? Would you grab all of your things and run away with him and never look back? Or would you remain and pity yourself for the rest of your life for what you did? It was all unclear, and San knew that. You still had things to think through. 

“I know,” You said in a small voice. He couldn’t stay. And you couldn’t ask him to. 

“I’ll never stop thinking of you.” 

He was looking at you with doting eyes. You traced your thumb on the back of his hand. 

“Will I ever see you again?” You had to see him again. You couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his beautiful face and feeling his soft hands on your skin. 

He let go of your hand and fished for something in his pocket. “Here,” He said, handing you a business card. “It’s my office in the city. If you ever change your mind…I’ll be there.” 

And with that, he pressed one last kiss on your forehead and took off. You lay there for most of the early morning, fiddling with the business card in your hand, grazing your fingers over the black raised ink. Choi San. Adult Film Photographer. 

It was pathetic to admit, but you think you loved him. And it killed you. You were only supposed to have the Lord in your heart, but it seemed you had given it away to a sinner. In such a short visit, he had made you feel things you had never felt before. You had never felt such strong emotions in the convent. The feeling of being desired, of being held, of being loved― it felt real. Tangible. Promising. Exhilarating. Feelings you were promised for years you’d feel each time you prayed, you felt all at once in one night with San. You almost believed that the Lord had robbed you of such pleasures. 

But then again, the convent was the only family you knew. They took you in, cared for you, and all you had to do in return was let the Lord into your heart. Serve him, alongside your Sisters, and blessings will come your way. 

Your feelings about the church were unclear, but one thing was for certain. In this lifetime or the next, you will see him again. 

―

a/n: I have been writing this since March. It's inspired by the 1800s painting "The Sin," and Kali Uchis's Vaya Con Dios. Please don't ask me for a part 2.

[katebisxop]

familiar face | w.m & n.s

summary: wanda finds herself in an unexpected situation.

warnings: wanda is dead here (I REFUSE TO BELIEVE SHE ACTUALLY IS), nicky appearance, kinda angsty but also fluff i guess??, not that well written, i havent watched wandavision and it's been a while since mom so!!

wc: 949

wanda was lost.

all she could remember was sitting on mount wundagore, using her might and magic to cut the castle in half and bring it down upon herself.

the pain was too brief to be registered, and the next thing she knew, she had been transported somewhere.

the place was familiar in a way, but also new. it was dark and empty, no landscape whatsoever. wanda was surrounded by black, as if she had been dropped into a lightless box. she was barefoot, beneath her it felt like cold tiles.

she looked around. there was nothing to see - no people, no sound, not even a reflection.

an anguished cry crawled out of her throat. she was alone once more. she had her brother, then pietro died. she had vision, then he died. she had her sons, and even they were gone also.

no family, no friends, no lovers, and no enemies. wanda maximoff was truly and fully alone.

she fell down on a floor that didn't exist, sobs racking her body as she buried her face in her hands.

wanda sat there for who knew how long, eyes slowly growing puffy and her nose bright red. if this was how she was to spend eternity, wasn't death better? but if this were death - was it a punishment?

"i'm sorry my mother isn't here to take you."

wanda stopped immediately, having heard a child's voice. her head raised slowly from her palms, turning around to lock eyes with a boy barely past childhood.

another stifled cry from her as her hand flew up to cover her mouth in shock. the boy was familiar - too familiar. the soft smile and the way his eyes looked at her with so much kindness. in fact, he looked quite a bit like one of her own sons.

"billy?" wanda whispered, still in shock, hesitant to approach or even move. she had just had an interaction with one of billy's variants before this, and it wasn't at all pleasant.

the boy's head tilted, confused at the unfamiliarity of the name. "i'm afraid i'm not who you think. my name is nicholas."

the scarlet witch exhaled. "do you know where we are, nicholas?"

nicky smiled patiently. "waiting for my mother."

"and- and who is your mother?"

the boy paused, thinking carefully of what to answer next. "rio."

he sat next to wanda, ignoring her little flinch. "do you want to sit down for a while?"

she nodded, appreciating the patience of the small boy. how the tables have turned - she still remembered the amount of patience she had to have while raising her twins.

they sat there for a while, a mother and a son, in comfortable silence. wanda's sniffles gradually ceased, until the place was quiet once again. but this time she felt safe - knowing that she wasn't alone, that she was just waiting (for what, she didn't know), and she had company.

"tell me about yourself, nicholas."

he smiled again, twisting so that he sat facing her, and began relaying his memories to the witch before him. he spoke about the cozy little cottage he used to live in with his mama. he spoke about the wide, grassy green fields; of the townsfolk he visited every week with his mama; of the forest he was so used to and the goat he loved caring for, and the song he and his mama made. 'down, down, down the road, down the witches' road' he sang, giving a little sample.

but wanda caught on to a specific word. "witches?"

"yeah." he didn't elaborate. "my mama made the whol song with me - it started with 'windy road'. i miss her a lot. i haven't seen her since my mother took me away."

wanda's eyebrows knitted together. "who's mother? who's mama?"

"okay. mother is rio. she's who we're waiting for. mama is agatha."

"agatha?" her heart started to fill with dread.

"agatha harkness."

oh. but before she could recoil, a gap opened up in front of her, like a tv screen or perhaps a window.

her view was initially covered by foliage, which then parted to reveal a teenage boy lying on the ground, passed out. his shirt was torn, blood gushing out of a wound. he had curly hair and black eyeliner, but wanda recognized him immediately. not by appearance, no - she couldn't understand who this boy was - but for whatever reason she knew in her heart that this was billy.

wanda's black-tipped fingers pressed to her mouth, eyes filling up once more with unshed tears. then her eyes found agatha, and rage welled up in her until she realized that the other witch, too, had tears in her eyes.

"don't." agatha whispered to a woman clad in green. nicholas pointed at her. "that's who we're waiting for. but i think she's too busy to get you herself."

the image closed and wanda found herself staring at nothing again.

"what?" the scarlet witch breathed out, looking at the boy, confused.

"death," he said, "is also a name my mother goes by."

he stood up, extending his hand. "i'm sorry i can't explain more, too. but i think we should go."

"t-to where?" she accepted his hand and got up too.

but the son of death and agatha harkness only smiled at the scarlet witch. "on."

wanda sent a last look to the spot where the vision had just been. weight she didn't know was there lifted from her heart, for her enemy is now there to protect one of her sons, and her enemy's own now holds her hand. she must return the favor.

and so they walked.

a/n: im not satisfied but i randomly had the vision and had to put it down. might make a headcanon version cuz itll be easier

[yuoimia]

YOU’LL BE MY SUNLIGHT

summary: cute things they do to see you smile.

ft: alhaitham, diluc, childe, kazuha, xiao, zhongli.

alhaitham - putting his book down just to look at you

alhaitham isn’t the most social person. always seen in some faraway corner of the library with a book in hand or never seen at all, it’s considered a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence when he finally averts his attention. to whatever has his interest piqued, everyone wonders.

in his opinion, its nothing extraordinary as everyone makes it out to be.

typically, his eyes are lost in pages, but when your around, those same eyes are lost in you. ready for whatever you’re willing to do.

diluc - makes you drinks whenever you feel like one

even though you don’t ask, diluc will always craft drinks for you.

perfectly suited to your taste, sometimes surprising you with vivid flavours and combinations. the way your face lights up at an approved choice, it’s only fuels his determination to continuously astonish you.

after all, what else could be more rewarding than seeing the one you did it all for, be utterly grateful for it all?

childe - purposely losing the duel

there are two things childe would never say ‘no’ to. the ones he loved, or to experience the sweet churn of adrenaline from combat, the glory of winning, a feeling that could put a beautiful smile on anybody’s face. especially on yours, he thinks. to see that smile is the brightest victory, and for that, he’d lose any duel without a second thought.

kazuha - writing the most beautiful poems for you

kazuha’s words are concocted from the most intricate choices of vocabulary, the most specific and exquisite only to match of who its written about. his poems come in any form, each as special, lovesick sweet nothings whispered in the dead of night, a soft song accompanied with the sounds of nature and his lulling voice. he will never get tired, you will never get tired, of listening with a bated breath, ready for the words that never cease to stop flowing.

xiao - gifting you flowers nearly everyday

fresh flowers on your bedside each morning, carrying the familiar and unfamiliar aromas of the blooms of liyue. they blossom in the sunshine, just like the gentle smile adorning your face whenever you inhale the refreshing scents. he watches it all, silently, but somewhat boldly. through rainy nights and stormy weather, frosty days or windy ones, there will always be a bouquet.

[goodolddumbbanana]

[Nexus & Sun] See you in the dream fic

@zampop2 I love Sun and Nexus brother relationship and also want more Sun and Nexus fic. And your arts sometimes make me cry. So here is my fic.

------

It always started with Sun holding the bottle.

The glass glinted in his silver eyes, the soft clinking reminding Sun of an old time, of blues and oranges and televisions and soft blankets.

The lights were dim and the cats were meowing, and the doors in the house were always wide open.

The sky was a gloomy shade of gray, like a storm and rain, the stars and moon were invisible. Only the black of midnight was like a gloomy old cage, squeezing his metaphorical heart and twisting it until he felt an inexplicable pain.

The soft orange of the spotlights, illuminating the room into something gloomy with only the buttercup-colored animatronic alone.

The space was silent except for the steady tapping of the pendulum and the honking wheels of the running clock, and the steady dripping of water from the sink. The TV was on, playing a cutscene of some game Sun couldn’t remember, with faint sounds of dialogue that sounded like it was from the 80s.

It was like a videotape that had been ripped apart, and Sun was the ember that had ruined the frame.

It was as if his head was stuffed and his hands were submerged in water, as if the world had died and only he and that person existed.

They were shimmering, pale and fragile like a wick drained of oil, like trying to catch a ball at their feet or looking at the surface of a lake on a windy day.

“You lost again, Sun.”

Their chuckles. The warm light melted their faces into something forgettable, only the ruby ​​red mixes with old blood color were like a scalpel neatly slicing into Sun’s heart, reminding him that this was just an illusion.

The nightcap, long or short that he couldn’t remember clearly, was completely out of his sight, lying monotonously on their shoulders. The deep lavender suit, with its intricate patterns, momentarily blurred back into the familiar gray metal plating and the blue silk ribbons that had once been symmetrical to him.

Was it a reminder of the past or had the past never left Sun?

Time seemed to stop and his face was cold and his chest was hot and he wanted to cry.

“Ah– I’m sorry.” Sun didn’t know what he was apologizing for, he just spoke in a trembling voice, his hands clutching the remote control like a child would clutch a worn-out teddy bear instead of looking to his parents for comfort.

“Is something wrong, Sun? Oh come on, just tell me.”

Their innocent softness and care that Sun had tried to wash away from his own mind, so that it wouldn’t hurt him to pick up any fragments of them that remained, suddenly flooded back like an artery torn apart by cold fate.

Their faces were twisted in worry, and for a moment he could forget how cruel that smile could be or how those eyes could look at him like he was just a screw loose on the side of the road.

Like he was nothing, like he was just a zero. Like everything they did could be justified, like not everything they protected and were proud of had been sunk into the mud pit called their own pride and ego.

There was a sing-song clatter of machinery as they slowly rose, pushing themselves off the sofa and moving toward him. The jingle of bells rang in Sun's ears, and the smell of something like oil and something sweet and intoxicating as they drew closer, their hands intertwined with his, something tender and fragile like a fleeting butterfly.

When the seagull blue of their lapels was all Sun could see, blending like the ripples of the beach house they had lived in.

They were always gentle until all Sun could pick up from them were broken glass.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

The voice was like silver bells and reeds caressing his heart.

And Sun wanted to. Sun wanted so much. He wanted to cry, he wanted to hold the other tightly, he wanted to tear apart the perfect image he had always imagined of the other when everything was peaceful and nothing was lost, tear it like a bandage on a festering wound until all the ugliness inside poured out like retribution for everything they had done.

But he couldn’t. Because they were here. With him.

Not yet evil. Not yet abandoned their family.

Not yet so mad and stressed that they threw away their own hearts.

This was just a dream. A dream. So he could call them freely, hold their names in his mouth like something precious instead of spitting it out like something that would break his chest and make his teeth bleed.

Moon. Nexus. New Moon. Whatever they wanted to call themselves, they were still his brothers, still his to love.

He could still press his head against their shoulders, grip the soft fabric and squeeze them into a suffocating hug, and feel like nothing could hurt him. And not feel like he would be betraying his own family by doing so.

He could still take their shoulders, wrap his arms around them possessively, to let them know he was there, to let them know how much he loved them.

To know that they had him and he had them.

The care and affection Sun had never been able to put into words, in this moment, existed in a way that Sun couldn’t leave their hands.

It was cold, bland metal. Cold like ice and dead bodies.

Of course, they were machines. They couldn’t produce any warmth.

But Sun still pressed their hands to his cheek, head bowed in worship, eyes watery and kissing the bones desperately, as a fool's way of keeping them stay here with him.

‘I love you, I love you, can you come back, please?’

He said it like a plea. He said it like the universe would turn around on its head, to make Nexus come back, to be part of the family again. 

To make this moment last forever, so he wouldn't wake up feeling empty and aching like a limb had been amputated, like a part of him hadn't died again since the day he and Earth faced them.

"It's all your fault." They hummed, still holding him gently and lovingly in their arms. Their voices were still soft as lullabies, of sea foam and the bleak blackness that haunted the cell he had once locked them in. “Maybe if you hadn’t pushed me so hard, maybe I’d still be here.”

“I know.” Sun cracked, eyes still closed.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been so scared of Moon and tried harder, I’d still be here.”

The dim light draped over Nexus like a curtain, preventing Sun from seeing their expressions. It was ironic because he wouldn’t look either. He couldn’t look, didn’t want to look.

Only the warmth he tried to fake was taking from Nexus’ embrace, the desperation mixed with hope bitter as salt and soap, of promises that would never come true and demands that he leave them out of fear.

Sun had always been a coward to the core.

“I know.” And he sobbed, sobbed, and sobbed.

With his hand firmly wrapped around Nexus’s waist, as if to pin everything that made them to his chest, so he could pamper and care for them like the innocent gaze they had once only directed at Sun the first time they met him.

Cold, It’s so cold. It was like he was drowning, and the person in front of him happened to be the lifeline that was also pulling him down.

“I love you and you could never even put me first. I was always second to everything to you. And when I needed you the most, you retreated and crawled in a sick and cowardly shell, too consumed with your self-loathing.”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself, Sun.”

“And I’m tired, too tired to keep fixing the mess you made.”

“Ah– It sucks… Because I could cry if I were real. If I am truly Nexus and not yourself.”

They whispered cruel words as they played with his rays. As their hands wiped away his tears and held him steady in his panicked trembling. As their warmth was the only thing that kept Sun from feeling like he was about to die.

They were a beacon in the storm as well as a grave for the mistakes Sun kept making.

“You know what the worst part is? Even in your dreams, you don’t want to spend time with me. You always watch me from afar, watch me talk to Earth or argue with Solar like I’ll never get close.”

“Even when we play games, you can’t make yourself believe that this is real, that I’m back. That I’m good.”

“You’re so afraid you’ll destroy me, even though you’ve learned to love me so much. Isn’t it ironic that your love is the thing that hurts me the most now Sun?”

The silence stretched along with a soft sigh.

“Tell me, am I not worth your time, Sun?”

Their voices echoed like the sound of falling rain and Bloodmoon’s insane laughter. Of the times Sun felt like he was doing more harm than good and unconsciously pushed Nexus further away. Of the empty but gratifying feeling of seeing Nexus befriend someone other than Sun, of feeling like he was no longer put on a high pedestal, something that was meant to be good, like Moon always put Sun there.

They pulled him up, their hands pressed to Sun’s cheeks. The metal clanged against each other. Their eyes reflected the stars and the stars, blurred like paintings on sand.

Did he start to forget what they used to look like?

“I’ve always been just an ugly lesson you need to remember, right Sun?”

Somewhere, tears fell on Sun’s hands. Somewhere, broken glasses and the desperate sound of his brother crying in Sun’s arms until he passed out suddenly rushed back. Somewhere, Sun woke up, with oil on his cheeks and a wet pillow.

The default clock greeted Sun, the emptiness of the new day silently sending Sun through the two hands placed on Sun’s chest with streaks of sunlight.

The blanket was soft, and he curled up, taking a deep breath, his eyes swirling up to the ceiling.

The creamy color was smooth, warm like their laughter, soft like the ghosts of their hands still resting on Sun’s cheeks.

Forget it, forget it, Sun told himself, because he was fine. It was just a dream, just a reminder of what his weak heart had not given up on.

Nothing happened, he forced himself to wipe the unconscious greasy drops of oil from his hands onto the blanket, which he had to wash anyway.

Just a minute, a minute… and Sun would be back to normal. Good as new.

“I thought I could trust you!”

“Tell me Sun, I did everything for you, have you ever given me anything back?”

“You used me. And you threw me away like a rabid dog you no longer needed.”

“You hate yourself so much that you don’t notice you treat me no differently than Moon treats you.”

“You’re a terrible person,Sun.”

And he would repeat, repeat under his breath.

“I know, I know…”

I can only love you in my dreams

When your doe eyes are the only thing left in this dead world

When my love is not something that sucks blood

“I wonder if I didn’t exist, would you be happier.”

Sun sat up and shook his head, staring at his palms, fiddling with the bells and ribbons.

He whispered, fading and broken like a broken bond, like dreams and nightmares dancing together, like Sun's dripping care could only be counted on the fingers of one hand the moment it ran out.

Until next time, Nexus.

[phangneh]

Voice in the Abyss

[ CHAPTER Ⅳ ]

✨Manhwa : Into The Light Once Again

✨Elmir royal family x Fem!Reader

✨Warning : princess!reader, lost memory, yandere elements (both platonic and romantic), protect, ... (will add more)

📌Note: this is just a fanfic, there are many details unrelated to the original story line. English is not my native language, if I make grammatical mistakes or use incorrect words, please forgive me.

🎭Summary : You have a voice that is said to change the world, when you sing, your sweet voice makes people happy and all things flourish. One day, your kingdom was destroyed, you had to live with the pain of losing your family and being severely mistreated. But it seems that you will die in misery, there will be people who will come and take you out of the abyss.

[ Introduce ]

[ Chapter 4 ]

"So... how's that child ?"

The cup of tea that she had just picked up suddenly stopped. Aisha looked at her father when he mentioned you.

“(Y/n) is much better, she is receiving treatment very well,” Empress Iris said and then paused, the smile on her lips gradually becoming lighter. “… Like in the letter I sent you before, she doesn't remember anything that happened. So the royal physician diagnosed her with memory loss.”

“Hm” The Emperor nodded, raised the teacup, and took a sip.

"Isn't anyone going to tell her the truth ?"

“N-no way !” Aisha said hastily, she put down the tea cup. She still doesn't want you to know the truth. It's very difficult for you to get better. If you knew your homeland had been destroyed, Aisha isn't sure how you would feel.

“(Y/n) will have a hard time getting better, if we let her know the truth…”

You are too fragile to face it now. That would be a horrifying truth that could destroy you all over again. Aisha doesn't want that.

Tyrion thought for a while, then sighed, as if seeing right through his daughter's emotions.

“I understand.” The king nodded slightly, thinking. “Anyway, that child has nowhere else to go…”

“Aisha, can we talk for a bit ?”

Finally, the Princess found herself on the balcony with her brother. Tonight, the moonlight is cool and windy, making it very suitable for relaxing or taking a walk before going to bed.

The two talked about many things to each other, as if this peaceful moment would last without end. Isis looked at her, his eyes were so gentle and affectionate that there were no words to describe them. He was talking to his beloved sister, how wonderful this was.

“You seem to care a lot about (K/n)'s princess, Aisha.”

Aisha's smile stiffened slightly; she was confused, her face suddenly turned pink. “Why do you think that ?”

“I saw your face turn worried when dad talked about telling her the truth.” Isis said softly. He wasn't surprised; he knew Aisha was a kind person and had a kind heart.

“Ah, is that so ?”

Aisha giggled, she didn't expect her face to look worried at that moment. But maybe he's right, because she really cares about you. Her mood, when she saw you getting better, became relieved, as if a ton of burden had been lifted from her.

“I feel… She…” She hesitated, seemingly at a loss for words to describe her feelings and what they were about you.

“When you talked about (Y/n) through the letter, my mother and I were very shocked. She reminds me of what happened when I was in Edenburg…”

But it seems like she… went through something even more horrifying than that…

Isis's pupils shrank slightly, he realized something. He pondered, his hands clenching unconsciously. The mention of Edenburg's name made him feel hateful.

Isis was silent for a moment, as if considering something before deciding to speak.

“Aisha… there is something I want to tell you.” He hesitated.

Something made Isis' voice sound more serious than before.

Aisha was a bit surprised. What kind of thing sounded so serious? She didn't take her eyes off him, ready for whatever he would say.

“Edenburg…”

“They have something to do with this war, my sister…”

What ?

Her pupils shrank, her heart skipped a beat. Aisha couldn't utter a word when her brother said that. Her throat felt tight, her body felt numb. Did Isis just mention Edenburg ? She felt doubtful, many emotions mixed and rolled within her, making Aisha unable to find the words to answer him. She wondered: Why is Edenburg involved in this?

What the hell are they thinking anyway ?

“What did you… just say…?”

Edenburg.

"That-… Impossible ! Why is Edenburg involved in this ?!"

Aisha's hands gripped the balcony railing tightly, making her fingers turn white. The image of Marianne unconsciously invaded her mind. The more Edenburg was mentioned, even if she was immersed in boundless joy, it still left Aisha enveloped in feelings of pain and deep hatred, above anything.

“Dad and I learned about it when we questioned Alamasia's soldiers. They said that Edenburg also had a part in this, including the destruction of (K/n).”

“They are the ones who provided information about (K/n) to Alamasia, and they are also the ones who provided magic tools for Alamasia to invade (K/n)…”

Although his voice was still steady and calm, Isis's expression had since become frowning. Edenburg's appearance was something he did not expect when interrogating those soldiers.

"I don't understand…"

“In the end, what did (K/n) do to deserve all that?” Aisha couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice.

From a young age, when exposed to human knowledge, Aisha noticed that the world praised the (K/n) Empire. People all use beautiful words to talk about that place, the country always stands at the pinnacle of prosperity, regardless of time. Along with the fact that music has always been associated with the country's development over the centuries, people call it the name: The country of songs.

People say that place is like paradise on earth—such a beautiful, wonderful place, where people live in prosperity and happiness, light exists everywhere, even in each alley in (K/n). Ancient songs, melodies, stories, and legends about the gods. (K/n) is always a place full of human love and happiness.

But now they are just a pile of ruins.

(Y/n), do you remember what your hometown used to be like?

“Do you know ?” Aisha said this after a moment of silence.

“Even though she doesn't remember anything about herself, she always remembers that she has a place to return to. I feel that it has deepened and taken root in her consciousness and subconscious.”

It seems like your heart is always in that place—a place that nothing can replace, a place that you can't even forget.

The place you call “home”.

Paper cannot cover a fire. Aisha knew you would find out one day; sooner or later, she wouldn't be able to hide the truth from you forever. But… how can Aisha tell you the truth ?

Bang !

The sound came when Aisha's light arrow hit the tree trunk, making a dent there. She adjusted her breathing, looking at the dent that was bigger than the last time she practiced, which meant she was getting stronger. Aisha was happy about that. Although using light spirit power to fight was quite laborious, she would definitely try.

You sit on the side, clapping your hands. Your eyes widened in surprise and admiration. Princess Aisha was amazing. Aisha saw that and couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in her heart and, at the same time, a little embarrassed at the admiring eyes you were giving her.

Today, Aisha took you out to get some fresh air. She was worried that leaving you in the room for a long time would make you feel bored, partly because you could walk again. And it was the right decision! She noticed that you look more refreshed when you go out. The weather today is also very suitable, so you will feel comfortable. Aisha also feels better when she sees you happy.

Worried that you would wander around alone, she let you stay by her side while practicing. After that, you always stared at her curiously. The feeling of being stared at like that was also a bit embarrassing. Aisha would sometimes turn her face away for a moment to hide her slightly blushing face.

But most of all, what the Princess noticed was that you look so adorable sitting there !

This thought may be strange, but it's true! What Aisha means is… You look cute. You are dreamy, and your cheeks are pink, probably because the comfortable weather makes you like that. There's also the way you watch the butterflies flutter around and the way your eyes light up when you clap for her.

“Yeah… even though (Y/n) normally looks pretty and cute…” Aisha thought that while the bow in her hand glowed, it transformed into Rimie, an intermediate light spirit. Lu also transformed, returning from the arrow just now.

“Good job, Lu, Rimie !”

"Master! This time, you have improved !” Lu said excitedly that the little spirit was flying around Aisha.

"Yes! You too! It's been hard for you two."

"It's nothing, it's my honor to contribute to my master," Rimie said. She smiled slightly, placing her hand on her chest, showing sincerity.

“Now rest, Lu, Rimie.”

The two spirits disappeared after her words. Aisha quickly came to you. The two of you had been out for a long time; she wondered if you were tired.

“(Y/n), how are you feeling ?” Aisha sat down with you.

You nodded, your hand rubbing the green grass, feeling the smoothness touching your palm. Everything makes you curious. Suddenly, you feel like you haven't been outdoors for a long time, and the warm light also makes you feel a bit strange. It wasn't just a few weeks; it was longer than that. But you quickly dismissed it and thought that maybe you were thinking too much. Maybe being in the room for too long makes you feel that way.

Aisha silently smiled, watching you interact with everything outside. You looked like a child right now, studying everything in your sight.

Before that, she had taken you to meet her father, Emperor Tyrion; although at first she found it a bit hasty for you, she was worried that you would feel nervous about meeting him. But after that, nothing happened, everything was quite fine. Even though you still refused to say anything, luckily, the Emperor sympathized with you.

Actually, you're not very good about it. Meeting such a noble person makes you feel tense and restless, Aisha and Empress Iris are also noble, but they are much gentler. When welcoming you, he did not show that side but instead showed a gentle side. If you compare Emperor Tyrion with Empress Iris, you can see that Tyrion is stricter and colder, certainly, because he is the Emperor, the ruler of a large Empire and the leader of the people. You understand that; indeed, being a ruler is not easy.

You heard that Aisha also has an older brother, he is the Crown Prince, but you haven't met him.

“Next month, we will have a party to celebrate my dad's return from that trip. I heard it's supposed to last for half a month.” Princess Aisha looked up at the sky. “Hm… There will probably be a ball too."

Even though she said it was a celebration of the Emperor's successful trip, it was actually a celebration of the knights returning victorious from the war. Everyone knows that, except you.

“(Y/n), do you like royal balls ?”

Hearing her question, you drifted off, thinking about balls and royal parties. Many question marks began to appear in your mind. What is a royal party like ?

Aisha looked at your bewildered appearance and accidentally let out a giggle. “A ball is a kind of social gathering, but where people's main activity is dancing.” She explained, seeming to guess your thoughts.

“You can make friends there and dance with whoever you like.”

Having said this, she suddenly stopped and stared at you. If you let yourself attend the party, perhaps you will also attract a lot of attention from nobles, many people will notice your outstanding beauty. Your beauty becomes apparent after the scars gradually fade until they completely disappear. You look like the reincarnation of an angel fallen from heaven. Shiny, smooth hair and crystal-like (e/c) eyes—when you're quiet, people say you're as beautiful as a porcelain doll.

It's just a shame that you look quite... lifeless right now. Every time Iris looks into your eyes, she says that they contain an indescribable sadness that is as deep as the ocean, just looking at it once or twice will not be enough to understand.

Aisha wondered what it would be like when you smiled; it would definitely be very beautiful.

You two don't know that Isis is silently observing you at the window in the palace. Looking at the two of you being so close, he smiled slightly, happy that Aisha had a friend to keep her company. However, his smile suddenly faded, and a thoughtful look shone in his blue eyes as he looked at your back.

What is he thinking ?

Continue to [ Chapter 5 ]

ψ(｀∇´)ψ @heather-hutchcroft @alittlelostmoonchild

[layuhsblog]

cus of my love for museums and guided tour

i want a fluffy fic so bad where a poet! reader is in a museum looking lost with a small notebook, not knowing what to write who came to a museum to get ideas;

a museologist! choso who wanted to explain the art hes so passionate about but no ones listening scurrying off with a sorry, not interested

when he sees you, with a little pout as you write and scratch off whatever you think, with a little head tilt just looking at a particular artwork, then here, then there- clearly you're lost.

"hey miss, would you like a guided tour?"

the biggest smile of a total loser being caught red handed crept up to your face-

"yeah sure!"

slowly and very detailed, he explained every artwork to you, the history of the art style, the name and life story of the artist, almost as if he were present when it had happened.

Slowly your pages turned less about the art, and more about the person explaining it,

The way his eyes shined,

As if he'd seen candy for the first time as a child,

Like the first ride in a rollercoaster,

Like hot tea in a particularly windy day,

The way he spoke each word so gently,

As if to not break the sanctity of the moment,

Like one would lose all concepts of time; the past and the present,

If he spoke too loud,

Like art is worship,

and he's a precious devotee,

Like he's art himself,

As if him and the painting on the wall,

Are the same people,

Theyre one.

"What do you think, isn't it beautiful?" He looked at you, you were already looking at him.

"Beautiful indeed." You gave a toothy smile. Your eyes shining as bright as his.

If it were even possible, today you fell more in love with art.

Everytime you'd want a muse, you're sure where to come.

-

(Y'ALL WANT A FULL FIC????? SORRY FOR THE CHEESY TROPE I'M A SUCKER FOR "i love the view" "me too" BULLSHIT)

[cremefrappe13]

Paranoia (Dragonberry & OC!)

Beast Ancients AU is made by @cuppajj I mostly wrote this to experiment with writing styles and how to write out the POV of living in oppression and suffering until the bitter end.

Trigger warnings: Blood, violence, death via execution, torture, manipulation, insanity

Read at your own choice

Lost child, lost child I’m in the middle of nowhere Pa-pa-para, paranoia

All Honeyflower could do was hide. She hid the draconic features of her horns and wings from the tyrannical monarch Dragonberry, fully understanding the power-thirsty beast’s desire to ascend to Dragonhood. Honeyflower, being a dragon who walked amongst cookiekind, was desperate to avoid the same fate her dear friend had been subjected to, using a hood to hide her horns and hiding her tail with a cloak. 

Crumbling, crumbling My heart is now breaking Pa-pa-para, paranoia

“Shit,” the girl cursed, as she heard someone pointing the way to her place. Honeyflower knew she was doomed if she did not start moving. Recently, people had noticed her horns on a windy day and her wings when she bumped into someone. Knowing full well those rumours would quickly reach Dragonberry, the dragon-cookie hybrid started packing.

So dark, so dark Where is the exit? Pa-pa-para, paranoia

It was a matter of time before the tyrant would show up at her doorstep, and Honeyflower was done packing her survival satchel. She rushed out of the window, spreading her wings to fly out and make her escape, but a voice made her freeze in fear as the familiar sting of a robe attempting to capture her lashed against her skin.

“There she is! Capture her!”

Sadness, sadness All I feel is despair Pa-pa-para, paranoia

She flew. That was all Honeyflower knew she could do when that loud, boisterous voice that she was all too familiar with, once shouting out words of joy and encouragement, but now spews out words of poison that would doom anyone.

“Leave the hunt to me!” Dragonberry called out, throwing her shield at the teen girl trying to fly away, but getting knocked out of the sky and falling, screaming as she hit the ground, with a dull crack and a ringing sound echoing in her skull.

WELL! It’s a terrifying emotional drop down! I’m going insane and spinning around and around!

Every day in captivity felt like torture to the young girl, being forced to transform, getting her scales plucked off, hell, even getting her blood drawn out for experiments! Honeyflower began to lose hope, seeing her possible “exit” darkening and dimming each time Dragonberry played one of her sick mind games on Honeyflower, leaving an open escape and then removing it just as Honeyflower made her move. The girl even started to hallucinate, going insane with the stress and pain that was put on her.

NO! All the paranoia, it must be in my head!I refuse to accept it!It all must be a lie

Every single day, Honeyflower hoped that all of her pain would have been just a shallow dream, that she would wake up and be fine without any scientist tormenting her, without the royal family constantly observing her, and most of all, without Dragonberry playing with her mind. However, it only got worse. Every day became a nightmare for Honeyflower, who would always wake up praying that everything would have been a bad dream.

Spinning around, oh! And insanity has begun to claw at me. I think I’m going crazy, crazy

 The delusions and pain got worse for Honeyflower, feeling her very sense of self being ripped apart with every day, no- every second spent in captivity made her feel like she was being torn apart and turned into shreds. Dragonberry’s cruelty was too much, and one day, Honeyflower was taken out to spar with Dragonberry herself.

And I think I can feel the paranoia creeping up on me Is this endless insanity? Honeyflower was defending herself with every move she made, avoiding strikes from the former Shield of Passion as Dragonberry’s relentless strikes carried on… but she didn’t want to fight anymore. The insanity kept clawing at her, taunting her to give in and let her go mad just like the former heroes…

A piercing scream ripped through the air as the young dragoness snapped.

AH! Screaming, dying, it’s a terrifying fall down! I’m wandering in the dark, spinning around and around! The paranoia, it all must be in my head!

She lost it. Her tail barraged with sharp attacks, her claws sharpening themselves as Honeyflower completely lost it, her pupils dilating as her draconic side took over and Dragonberry found herself overwhelmed by the sheer force and number of attacks. The dragoness landed hits every now and then, spilling blood as Honeyflower roared with pain and rage.

I’m lost, drunk on my emotions, losing my whole mind!It must be in my head!They have to be lying…

THEY HAVE TO BE LYING!

The fight raged on as Honeyflower went berserk, doing whatever to win and escape for her freedom as she managed to dent Dragonberry’s shield, which startled the corrupted ancient as metallic clangs and sparks of fire danced around the pair as they kept fighting. At this point, Honeyflower was literally breathing fire onto Dragonberry through their sheer fear and anger. Then…

WELL! I have fallen into a desperate case and I Have fallen into despair, spinning in the darkness

Honeyflower woke up, this time imprisoned even more properly in her cookie form as she saw the blade hovering over her head, knowing she was going to die in this miserable place now. “I don’t want to die… but I guess this is the end,” she thought, as the blade came down on her.

Dragonberry’s maniacal chuckle echoed through that lonely dark as the air in Honeyflower’s lungs left and never returned.

I thought it was all lies, But it really was the truth.

The End

[sleepy-fiction]

Batter Up!

ganji gupta x gn!reader 4.5K WORDS

syn: ganji gupta moved in next door to you, and after a curious while of pining, you finally have him. Now that he's your boyfriend, you might as well edge him for taking too long to love you back; just hope he doesn't punish you for it.

tags: NSFW, gn sex terms for reader, bottom reader, ganji calls read "priya" (the nickname), a lot of plot to this porn, edging ganji, raw sex (don't do this), fluff and smut

snpt: He's hot, scorchingly so. His bronze skin radiates in the sunlight, pouring in from his sheltered blinds. His chest is heaving, chiseled and structured, and broad shoulders drooping longingly. The sound of his panting breath, how he reacts to every little movement, it was driving you mad.

You couldn't pinpoint what caught your eye about your new neighbor. Ganji Gupta moved into your city in the summer. He was the sort of brooding guy you'd normally stay away from. He walked around with a heavy-set brow, badgered and heated. He was always by himself, and it was rare that anyone would ever see him around. Despite that, the sounds of him you'd hear radiating from his apartment were so estranged from his persona. The whooping joyful cheers, the bitter tears, the scorching screams, you've heard it all.

You remember the nights unable to sleep, you'd find yourself in the bathroom to smoke, and in the ear-ringingly quiet early mornings, you'd hear the softest of whimpering cries pouring out from your fan. How he'd hiccup and pitifully suck up his snot until he couldn't take it, and blew it all away. As sad as it was for you, you couldn't help but laugh, just the tiniest.

Or the nights you'd come home from a tough shift to your quiet world to lay on your couch, only to hear the yells of a loyal fanatic, shouting sports buzzwords through the wall behind you. His voice spiked like a prepubescent child, filled with voice cracks mixed with both terror and delight. And how he'd scream, "Give it some aaair!" Ever so childishly. And the victory, "Woohoo"s he would launch out, or the losing "Maaderchod" that would gouge his system. Whenever his team lost or won, he still laughed a booming one, it was too addictive to your ears. You often found him more entertaining than the book you just so happened to want to read in the living room, for no particular reason…

Rare and few, on those particularly bad days, you'd find yourself awake, unable to sleep, something that came close to your normal nights. You'd hear silence as you read your book. Only for it to be interrupted by a horrid call. A sound rivaling the most widowed banshees, a yell deep from his belly. You recall the first time you heard it, the way your heart spiked, and how you heard him pant and weave. The heavy thumps as you could only assume were him rolling out of bed. As the months went on, you came to learn whenever his nightmares got bad, he'd go squat in his bathroom and cry in the little space. And for some reason, you'd be in there too, playing your most comforting songs, for no reason at all…

All of these things intrigued you the most about Ganji Gupta.

But Ganji Gupta knew just as much about you as you knew about him.

He liked you because you were so quiet. When he first came here, he was so annoyed at the idea of having neighbors, let alone a studio apartment with thin walls? He could imagine the sounds he'd hear, the noises that would keep him up at night, it irritated him so deeply. But, he was met with silence, all the time. Well, all except in the bathroom. You always had the fan on in there, and through the spinning, he could hear you so clearly. As if you were talking to him on a windy day.

You always talked to yourself in there, it was ridiculously funny. Always trashing some coworker as if you're on a phone call, yet he never hears another person's voice. Or yelling at your boss in the mirror, only to go dead silent when you've worn yourself out. How you took long showers blasting your music, music he never knew he could learn to love. How you'd sing, swearing you could be a singer if you tried hard enough. Or how… whenever those bad days happened, he'd always find himself in the bathroom, and he'd always hear you playing a little song. So he started going there, subconsciously, and no matter the hour, he'd always find you would always be playing a song in there.

Let's not forget the more explicit days in the shower for you, but always-- always-- he left to go shopping during that time, even if he had just come back.

He's seen you around town a lot. You're popular with everyone, working down at a restaurant with good favor. Apparently, the old folks love you cause you're polite, and the younger folks love you cause you're understanding. He hoped you'd never notice him, just like the rest of everyone else. He was content with just prying into little glimpses into your world every now and again. He was okay with being a shut-in.

He thought so, at least.

He didn't know how impossible doing that could be, he suddenly had a hit out on his back.

Whenever you went out, you played Where's Waldo for him, and the more you started looking for him, the more you swore he started to appear. The more you started asking around about him, the more you started to see him. The aunties and the old folk loved to gossip, they knew the most horrid things about everyone here. How the infamous Ganji Gupta used to be a Royal Cricket player on the British team until that team went up in smokes. How he and one other are the only survivors, and humors say he started it. How he's vicious and nasty, wintery and bitter, brooding and angry; but the grannies always called him polite…

So much heresy on Ganji Gupta, just who is he?

Ganji, on the other hand, started noticing how the grannies would suddenly flock to him more. He's always been kinder to them, but they started doing a 360° on him randomly. Always asking of him or about you… He didn't understand it at all. He wasn't a gossiper. He wasn't friendly, yet they always had a story about you they wanted to share. How you wouldn't hurt a fly, how you're as prissy as an angel, yet Ganji Gupta's heard all the vicious things you say about your coworkers whenever you're angry… It was comical.

Just who were you, really?

Besides, he wanted to improve his health (for no reason at all) so he started to go on walks. That was another mistake he made.

You definitely should not have asked the grannies about Ganji Gupta. You remember the day they flocked over to you, telling you all the responses Ganji made whenever they told stories about you. It was so embarrassing! You ask them for help one time, and suddenly they've made it their mission to pit you together. But they also told you about them seeing him more around sunset for a couple weeks. So… For no reason at all, you decided to go on walks for your health… That just so happened to be at the coolest time of the day… which just so happened to be sunset… For no reason.

A new world was opened up for you.

It was just like the grannies told you. Every day at sunset, Ganji Gupta took a sweaty jog in the hot summer heat, drenched from head to toe, shirt clinging onto his tall and broad frame. His bandana was drenched in his sweat- he was handsome. You'd never seen him so close (despite you being on the opposite side of the street), you'd never seen him so consistently either. He had dark eyes, bronze skin that rivaled gold, fluffy dark curls, and was littered with scars here and there. You decided, (for no reason at all!@) to really take your workouts seriously, just like him!

But unfortunately, when you tried. Ganji Gupta would look right at you. His face pinched, brows deep set. A judging look that would scream, "What the fuck are you doing?" You never knew greater embarrassment. So… You just… Started jogging early mornings instead.

For Ganji, it only made sense that he started seeing you more often when he started going out more. Sunset was perfect for jogging, all the old people were put away for bed, and it was just early enough for the wild nightlife to be asleep, and plus the summer heat wasn't so vicious. But, after a while of his workouts, he started seeing you not once in a while but, everyday. Not just you but other younger people his age. Everyone suddenly, and he means everyone, wanted to start working out at sunset and you were no different.

It was pissing him off. Was he a trendsetter or something? Why did everyone start copping him? Even that guy William started walking, no, not just walking, running up to him to chat, it was missing him off. Plus seeing you so much while he was sweaty, uncomfortable, and unprepared wasn't ideal. Why were you here, what the fuck were you doing? He looked at you, he was seeing you so much-- Too much it was too much for him. So you can imagine the day he finally looked over, just as you two were crossing paths, the day your eyes both met, the day he reeled back in frantic aggressive embarrassment, begging for the moment not to happen. Accidentally throwing on a face too mean, and seeing your face quirk in disappointed disbelief, and then he never saw you at sunset again.

God. He crushed his spirit for days after that. He gets mean when he's nervous like a bad dog. He'd take it back if he could. So… He started going out even more… For no reason at all. Besides, that William Ellis guy was becoming a friend to him anyway, the annoying kind that would drag him along to everything.

The day you started hearing about Ganji Gupta from your friends was the day you thought pigs were flying. Slowly by slowly, everyone started having their own stories about Ganji Gupta. How he used to be a batter, how he's really funny, how he's so grateful and polite, how he's so good at sports, too many personal things about your Ganji Gupta. It was aggravating to you. He looks at you like your scum and hates talking to people, but suddenly he's everyone's best friend. You hated it. You hated it even more when you went out to bars to have fun and you'd see him there. You never saw him anywhere. The bar was your safe space from him. You hear him so Intimately at home, and you can't escape the reality that you might not be as important to him as he is to you.

God you couldn't even go out partying cause he started showing up there too. He was everywhere and he was always looking at you. If he hated you so much he should learn to stay at home.

Ganji started really having fun again, he didn't know life could feel so good. He joined the local football team, and he was surprised to know he was good at it. He was always with his team. They were dumb as rocks so he always had to take care of them, making sure they were not drinking too much (aka viciously scolding them), making sure they got home, and bringing them liquid IVS. He was the dad in the group and honestly, he was pretty unhappy about it, but I guess he'll keep playing the part, for no reason at all…

But he started seeing the people you were with all the time now that he was active again. Turns out they were pretty funny and genuine people, so it only meant you were that kind of person too. God, you were like a little flower to him, so far out of his reach but he could see it bloom every day. He liked you so much, it was weird. So weird he had to talk about it with William. Then William really started hounding him around everywhere. William knew who you hung out with, what you loved to do when you were out, the bar you liked to go to, everything. And the more he started going to these locations, seeing you in it even when you weren't there, the less nervous he became. He started seeing you a lot more, and he liked it.

He'll, when he went to parties he had the pleasure of bumping into you and having your first conversation.

"Oh sorry," you cried as you continued to brush past him.

"You're fine," He said, but you didn't stop to hear him.

….

Yes… He felt victorious. But he needed more. After months of pining only for that to be your one conversation, he felt stupid. And maybe it was because he was tipsy, but he followed you out the door.

"Going home?" he asked, suddenly appearing next to you.

You were clearly drunk, hobbling down the road at night, wearing the nicest of outfits. You looked too cute. But you looked at him annoyed, as if you were deeply inconvenienced by his presence.

"Duh…" You said.

He smirked. That was the you that he knew, the snippy one who barked at mirrors.

"It's dark, and you're walking by yourself," he said. "I'll just walk you home."

Your eyebrows furrowed, but you didn't protest him.

And he walked you all the way home. He left you at the door, and you got the courage to peek through your eyehole. But oddly, instead of going home too, you watched him walk back over to the elevator and go down. Did he? Did he just leave the party to escort you?

Ganji Gupta… You really were getting a crush on him now.

After that day, you noticed how rare it was to hear him cry or yell out at night. Unfortunately, in return, you heard multiple voices yelling in his house on game nights, but that's something you could easily settle for. It made you smile.

God, you wanted him bad.

And luckily for you, that one conversation turned into two. Then three and four, then it turned into a group chat. Your friend group had mixed with his, and now it was impossible not to be anywhere without Ganji. Then… It was that inevitable message from Ganji Gupta. Then it was the doorbell rang, and he got to be invited into your lively home, and you to his barren one.

You learned he liked competitive video games, especially Mario Kart. You learned he never goes easy on anyone, and you learned how satisfying it was to take wins from him. You heard his victory cries and loser shouts in person, close up, one on one. You saw his smile, you heard his laughs. When you went away on trips you made him a spare key to look after your plants, and when you came back you never asked for it back, so there he was whenever you got off work, sitting in your living room all moody. The day he asked you out, your favorite flowers in hand, all dressed up neatly. How could you say no to that shy face?

You were so happy.

But.

You wanted to see that face he makes when he loses just one more time.

And that all led you to today:

He's hot, scorchingly so. His bronze skin radiates in the sunlight, pouring in from his sheltered blinds. His chest is heaving, chiseled, and structured, and his broad shoulders drooping longingly. The sound of his panting breath. How he reacts to every little movement.

You lick him up from the base to his tip, watching him grunt in confusion, with eyes that read, "What are you doing to me," but with moans that beg for more. You carefully grab his base, his cock is on the longer side with a thick head, and the color is lively. You take him into his mouth and he sighs out, looking over at his watch.

"We'll be- ah… late, priya…" He whispers into the air, laying his hands down by his sides and letting his back rest against the wall. The two of you were just about to leave for a small get-together with William and the friends, but you have other plans.

You stare brazenly up at his pretty face as you stuff your mouth with more of him. He lets his jaw fall slack, not shy at all to privy you to his pretty sounds, "Aah… Wa-- ahh… More, mera pyaar," he calls. He knows how extra sensitive you are with that nickname.

You squint your eyes trying to keep your composure. Your free hand wraps also around his glisteningly wet cock, pumping him with both hands as you slurp up his head. He moans deeply, jaw falling slack and staring down at you with overtaken eyes.

Despite your bullying of his cock, he keeps his composure too. He didn't buck into you, nor did he grab chunks of your hair. But instead, he moaned proudly, not shy to his deliciously intimate sounds. His vulnerability hung in the air, body completely at will to you, it was driving you crazy.

He kept his composure as you sucked at his thick head, your hot mouth combined as your swirling tongue familiarized itself with his equally piping hot anatomy. The way you curled your tongue along his ridges and circled his tip, bullying the tip of your wet muscle into his hole only to plunge him back deeper in your mouth; your hands jerking him down.

"Aah! Mera pyaar," he gasps sharply, "I'm g-gonna cum." Your eyes narrow, and you slowly down on him immediately, pulling him out of your mouth and dropping one hand to lay on his thigh. He cries out in surprise, his moan turning into a deep, unsettled grunt. "Priya," he curses your pet name, his eyebrows furrowed deeply.

God, he was so handsome, so weak in the palm of your hand. You grinned at him.

You ask, "What's wrong?" As you lick a stripe up from his base to his tip again, his body sensitively shivering. "Upset you didn't get to cum," you ask again, your tone teasingly erotic.

He leans his head back with a jaunty laugh, disbelief drowning in his eyes. You immediately soak it up, watching the way his neck is beautifully revealed to you.

You wanted to devour him, completely.

You knew asking him to beg wouldn't do you any good, he'd just do it anyway. He's never afraid to hide sides of himself from you, so there wouldn't be any power in it… But still, you had to hear him say it, your heart wouldn't move on if he didn't.

"Beg, my prince," you mutter as you pepper kisses on his shaft.

"Please, my heart… Suck on me, j-just a bit more… Please," he begs, and you sigh out, his words leaving a wake of tremors down your spine.

He never asked you to let him cum.

You took him back in, only this time you only held him with one hand. You guided him deeper into your cavern, taking as much of him as you could and leaving your hand to warm the rest.

"Agh, mera pyaar," and he rewards you handsomely with a chasmic pant.

You slurped and bobbed on him, looking up at him from between his lap. Watching his chest heave deliciously, the breaths leaving his agape lips. Pretty two-toned lips that looked so lonely without yours. You clenched your eyes close at the thought. You really were going to go insane.

You could smell and taste the bitter juices he leaked out in your mouth. You could hear his moans every second, and feel his scorching heat fire at your mouth. You could feel him hit the back of your throat as you bobbed, a feeling you didn't know could be so addictive. Chasing your own high to see how many times you could make yourself gag, and there he was, moaning and shivering, being so good to not grab at your head or anything.

He was driving you insane.

Ganji Gupta was all yours, all yours.

"Haa, I'm cuming," He gasps sharply. You pull right off him. "P-Priya!" He curses.

His eyes glared angrily, yet he cupped the back of your head and smashed your face against his base, his penis leaning against your cheek. You giggle, desperate to avoid her stern glare. "But you're so cute my love…" You purr, desperate to get yourself out of trouble.

"We're going to be late," he barks.

You pepper apologetic kisses against his shaft, kitten licks as you suck in the smell of him. He's so hot against your face. You slurped up the side of up, pulling off yet again to look into his eyes.

"I need you inside me," you pant tiresomely.

"Then we might as well cancel on William," he huffed, furrowing his brow, but his eyes were drunk with pleasure.

"No, no. We should go," you giggle, still kitten-licking his dick.

"Then act like it or you won't be going anywhere," he grunts, grabbing chunks of your hair. You moan happily.

"Ganji… Let's just be fast about it," you whisper as you rise up onto your knees, pushing yourself into him and resting your head against his belly. You could feel his dick poke against your chest. And you wanted it in so many places but there.

"You're bad, priya," he scowls, but he doesn't refuse.

A smile instantly overtakes your face as you stand up, grinning ear to ear. Embarrassment covers his face as he stands up after you. He slings you over his shoulder, despite your giggles of protest, to drop you on your back in the middle of his bed.

The light of the sunset pours in from the window blades, coating you in brilliant orange hues. His heart skips a beat. It only makes him even more angry, but he can't even keep it, his chest is too warm. He can feel his dick twitch, suddenly so cold without you.

He digs into your neck, nipping you, sculpting its movement with his tongue. Any other day and you'd be bitten, but you two had places to be, and appearances to make. He hears your breath moan, the sound tantalizing in the air.

"Mmh, Ganji… Forgive me, I'm sorry," you pant as he pulls your clothes off your body.

He laughs, "Don't defame the word, it'll lose its meaning. You know you're not sorry," it's within seconds you're almost fully naked, and he's next to undressing himself. As soon as he finished he hops back onto you, caging you between his arms and sliding his hands down your body. Everywhere he touches is hot and weak, his large palms stirring up a wake of desire. You're incredibly aroused by this point, he's aware of the bed of fluids by your sex.

He giggles sweetly to part your legs, kissing your sex with no problem.

"We gotta go," you whine, and he grunts stiffly.

You were right, but damn you started it.

He sucks his fingers into his mouth and presses them against your hole, "Dammit," he hisses.

"Raw?" You gasp as his finger slips inside of you, twirling and spreading you to prepare you for him. Your breath hitches, chest begins to heave. He grabs your leg with his free hand, propping up your knee.

He stares up at you with piercing eyes, licking a stripe up the inside of your thigh to the middle of it. "No time, remember," his eyes lidded dangerously.

You clench around him, "f-fuck," and mewl as he pulls those fingers out.

His thick head meets your entrance, no time to give it kisses** as it rudely plunges straight into you. You arch and cry at his fullness, as he laughs and sinks down to lay his lips against your ear. "Too much for you, mera pyaar," his tone is teasing, his breath mingling against your ear.

"Mmh, go crazy, my love," you stammer and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Ganji slams into your body, and your body is shocked from your head to your toes. You call out his name, but it's nothing under the relentless fucking. "F-Fuck-- I'm so mad at you," he groans into your ear, his eyebrows pinched, his words filled with heavy pants. His hands grip your hips intensely, his moans raggedy and jaded in your ears. His thrusts are scolding, hard, and quick, the desperate sounds of your sexes mingling drown in the air, as you try your best not to dig your nails into his flesh.

If he keeps it up, you'll cum in no time. But you're sure that's what he wants.

"G-aanji! Aah," you moan.

"Shh… Haa, keep it d-down… Aah… You'll upset my neighbor," he cackles, leaning up out of your body to stare at you, he adjusts his hold on your hips, holding your body up by it. His muscles radiate with gleaming sweat, his bronze form, his handsome face, and the delicious scars that cover his body in random places. You clench onto him, trying to stop your high from reaching you so soon. Your moans spike, and he laughs airily. "What am I kidding- my neighbor's already so loud. So annoying… so rude and-- f-fucking beautiful… my priya-- ah I can't be without 'em, I need you… I love you. I wanna be with you e-everyday, mera pyaar," he cries as he begins to hand his head back. His moans get higher, his thrusts sharper, no longer worried about hardness but about quickly pumping himself full of you.

"I'm gonna cum, mera pyaar… Gonna' cum m'pyaar," he rolls out, and your legs tighten around his waist, you were just about to cum too.

"Yes, I love you, my love," you moan, clenching down on him. Your highs are met with an intense wave of pleasure, one that locks your back into a deadly arch, and causes him to buck messily into you as you're drenched deep with his fluids. Your orgasm is long as you reach out for his forearms, and he leans down and buries himself into your neck, "M'pyaar.. My life-- mere dil ka pyaar," he hums into your ear as he buries your neck with sweet kisses. His touch is so gentle as he caressing your sides, pulling out of your neck when he hears your moans turn into stable breaths.

"My life, my life," he repeats, his warm chocolate eyes gazing so intimately into your soul. His hands reach and cup your face, his thumbs caressing your under eyes as he takes you in for a kiss. "I lov'ya," is all he can manage under your relentless kiss, the sounds of a song ringing in yo--

"Fuck! Ganji your phone!"

He snaps out of your body, his head messily turning to gaze front door. William was calling, and the abrasive ringtone was blaring in the space. "Maaderchod," he hisses, and he sneaks back into your neck, peppering kisses.

"No-- Ganji! We gotta go!"

Okay, so you were 2 hours late, big deal…

**okay so this made me imagine. Fredrick's about to put it in, but before he does, he pokes your hole with his tip going, "mwah mwah mwah" and then laughs to himself, "sorry darling," and finally slides in. That's absolutely sexy and charming

[brahmsthirdracket]

another little fic from bits of ancient and unfinished google docs - baby lando and max f

2008 

“Hey bug,” Jon doesn’t need to look up from where he’s holding Oli’s kart steady to sense Lando’s presence, “You okay?”

Lando’s quiet for long enough that Jon does look up then, takes in his small, damp figure, the way he’s fiddling with the zip on his jacket.

Jon straightens up.

“You didn’t wanna hang out with those kids?” He can see them through the driving rain on the other side of the car park, roughhousing under one of the other marquees. 

Lando shakes his head, leans his whole body against Jon’s in an unspoken request for comfort. Jon pulls him in for a cuddle.

“Well you can help me then, yeah? Teach me how to be a mechanic?”

He doesn’t let go until he feels a nod against his chest, and Lando blinks up at him with a weak smile.

For all that Lando follows Jon around like a lost puppy in the garage, once he’s pulled his helmet on, it’s all business. Jon’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how fucking good the kid is. 

On the ferry back to Portsmouth Lando trots after Jon out onto the wet, windy deck instead of whacking the buttons on the fruit machines in the lounge with the other kids. 

The deck is practically deserted this time of year, the other passengers taking refuge in cheap pints and chips laced in salt and vinegar. 

They huddle into their raincoats and lean against the railing. Lando’s got the little green frog sporting a striped Breton shirt and beret that had Jon fished out of the bargain bin in the onboard duty free and shoved over the counter with a Snickers and pack of smokes. Lando’s whole face had scrunched up in surprised joy when Jon handed it to him with a Nice work this weekend.

He watches now as Lando gives it a little kiss and tucks it carefully down the front of his raincoat with its froggy face sticking up over the zip. It’s strange, Jon supposes, an adored child of a multimillionaire, in raptures over a cheap toy.

They lean against the railing in companionable silence, content to let the thrum of the ship’s engine and the fine mist of drizzle wash over them.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you be with me forever?”

Jon looks down at him, at his sweet, earnest face, half-hidden by his hood and the frog. His eyes are the same colour as the churning sea and sky.

Jon, shrugs, doesn’t say Until I get a better job than performance coaching nine-year olds. 

“S’long as you need me, bug.”  

“Cool,” says Lando. He turns his face up into the rain and closes his eyes. “We’re gonna win a World Championship then.”

2009 

True to his word, Jon drives down to Glastonbury for the first weekend of the offseason. He sets off while it’s still dark; stops for fuel and bitter, petrol-station coffee that he downs in two, burning gulps somewhere near Dudley, and turns off the M5 just as the sun is coming up over the rolling Somerset hills. 

It’s only been a month or so since he last saw Lando, but it still feels like something’s shifted since Jon started uni. He wonders, again, if he’s out of mind for agreeing to this, agreeing to miss out on Friday nights at the SU and lazy, hungover mornings with bacon sandwiches and embarrassing pictures. The friendships he’s made still feel new, tentative and he knows that none of them understand why he’s missing parties and intramural football to babysit some kid at karting races. 

He doesn’t say that he could work at Spoons and JD and do the night shift at fucking Asda and he still wouldn’t make the money Adam’s offering him to do this. 

He also doesn’t say that it’s not some kid, it’s Lando and he’s going to win a World Championship someday. 

The last few miles through the patchwork green Somerset countryside, the dew still glistening in the patchwork fields and the spires of sleepy villages, somehow feel like coming home. 

The gravel crunches under his wheels as he turns down the wide, poplar-lined driveway. His mum’s Kia feels small and grubby parked next to a Range Rover with brand-new ‘09 plates. He’s half-in, half-out, hastily shovelling the accumulated debris of protein shake bottles, t-shirts and overdue library books onto the backseat, when something small careers into him from behind. 

“Jon!” Lando squeals, vibrating with anticipation and probably sugary cereal. “I missed you!” He’s run out into the driveway barefoot in what must be his little sister’s dressing gown.

“Me too, bug,” Jon says, scooping him up easily. Lando winds his arms around Jon’s neck and keeps up a constant stream of chatter in his ear. 

The kitchen is as warm and noisy as Jon remembers. He sets Lando down onto a countertop, so he can shake hands with his parents. He gives his sisters high-fives and Oli a fist bump; drops down to scratch the elderly retriever behind the ears.

Over tea, toast and scrambled eggs from the family chickens, Adam spreads out a meticulous printed calendar across the table. 

Lando wedges himself in between them, puts his elbow in the butter dish and beams at Jon. 

“You’re gonna be here like, every weekend. How cool is that?”

They talk logistics for most of the morning: new season regulations, upgrades, race calendars and training schedules. Jon’s not sure if he feels sorry for Lando and Oli or envious. It’s not much of a childhood, but perhaps if he’d spent more time doing interval training as a 12 year old, and less time watching Top Gear reruns and eating Monster Munch, he’d be doing something better with his life.

They don’t seem any the worse for it. They show Jon the new Scalextric set up in their playroom and Oli roundly thrashes him at Guitar Hero. 

Lando for his part, provides a running stream of helpful commentary from the arm of the sofa: “You’re like, okay, Jon, well actually you’re kind of slow but you’re trying so hard!”, until Jon decides that Adam is probably paying him for more than Wii golf and drags them both up onto the hills for a bike ride. 

2010

RFM brings a gruelling European schedule, a truly obscene technical and logistical setup and the stocky, baby-faced son of two stockbrokers who’d apparently dominated the Asian circuits. Max is the same age as Lando, curly-haired and just as weird.  

Max is also very good. 

Jon watches them make shy eyes at each other from across the garage for the best part of a morning before he loses patience. 

“Go and play with him,” he tells Lando, who’s making a nuisance of himself under Jon’s feet, and sends him off in Max’s direction with a gentle shove and a football he has no idea what to do with. 

Max turns out to be steady and gentle foil to Lando’s jittery hyperactivity, and by the time they arrive at Genk for the first race of the season, they’ve sporting Lando Norris friendship stickers on their helmets and Jon has to make actual conversation with adults. 

Inseparable as they are, it’s easier than not for Jon to take Max under his wing as well: to get them racing up and down the tiny hotel pools and endless corridors, to wrangle them under a single big umbrella during rain delays, to tuck them into bed together with Wallace and Gromit on Max’s portable DVD player.

“Night, half pints,” Jon murmurs when he comes in to turn off the light. They’re already fast asleep, little hands entwined on top of the covers.

[lovebillyhargrove]

One day, in gray windy November there's a visitor at the old Hawkins graveyard. An old man, with white hair and a small shrunken figure – somehow you understand that he didn't use to be like that when he was younger. He used to .. well, rise tall. Have strong beliefs and ardently stand by them.

The old man is visiting an abandoned grave. No-one has tended to it, for years, many many years.

William Hargrove

29.03.1978 – 04.07.1985

There are patches of mellow grass, getting ready to be buried under the cold white blanket, a couple of withered small wildflowers.

The gray granite has cracked in some places and the brown-greenish moss has grown over it.

We do not know what is going on in that old lonely man's heart, what he's doing here and if he, in fact, has a heart.

He does, of course, like all of us.

There is immeasurable grief in his hollow eyes – the kind that is hard to admit and accept, and live with,

Yet it's there.

And it's been haunting and torturing, quietly, silently, slowly,

With leaden steps, gnawing at the insides, never letting to breathe freely, without a constant hint of remorse.

For many, many years.

*** Or

Neil Hargrove comes back to Hawkins to visit his only child's grave.

In another scenario, he comes to the cemetery but can't find the grave. He doesn't know it – his son is alive, and the gravestone was taken down cause it made no sense. Billy has a picture in his album – he's standing next to the ashen block of granite, smoking a Marlboro, with a wicked grin.

However, Neil knows nothing. The haunting intensifies – he's lost his son, but now there's also no place to mourn him? What the hell happened?

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Unexpected (kinda) pure thought: Aemma and sicklybrother!reader get to hang out cuz they’re both bedridden all the time and support each other through their shit health. I also love the idea of them talking shit about everybody at court together and nobody suspecting anything cuz they have such spotless reputations. Also Rhaenyra doing the same thing w Aemma in episode one where she’s like ‘all these people are fussing over your health, who’s fussing over you?’ and spends time with him chatting and laughing.

When Aemma/baby Baelon dies and they all have the funeral on those windy-ass hills Reader being like “I’ve lost my friend, my brother and king has to burn his wife and child today, my niece has lost her mother and the realm has lost their queen, I’m going to be out there if it fucking kills me,” even if he has to be carried he’s not skipping it.

Rhaenyra curling up in her uncles bed the way she did as a little girl for comfort when Daemon is exiled and Viserys is distant 😢.

When the ‘heir for a day’ thing happens he gently confronts Daemon ‘did you really say it? I don’t want to hear it from Otto, I want to hear it from you. I’m not angry, I just want you to be honest with me’ (according to BTS stuff they filmed the scene w Daemon saying it but he genuinely said it in a honouring kinda way, not mocking)

Reader biting his lip til it bleeds to stop from crying/expressing his own grief cuz he’s trying to be strong for everyone and providing genuine advice even though he’s so sad and stressed. Emotional support animal vibes. Which makes him easy for Alicent to swoop in and ‘save’.

- 🦇

When I tell you I fucking love this idea so much, I mean it! Aemma and Sickly!Younger!Brother!Reader being the bestest besties in all the realm is just too wholesome for my heart to handle. Also, I absolutely adore that scene of Rhaenyra visiting Aemma and her mother nudges her with her foot. No doubt that exact same action and the mention of ‘all these people fussing over your health, who’s fussing over you?’ would happen more often then not when regarding Rhaenyra, the Reader and Aemma together. I also totally can see Rhaenyra having heard that exact sentence be uttered by either her mother or her uncle directed towards the other which in turn is why she used it. It’s like their own little thing they say to each other that Rhaenyra no doubt picked up given how much time she spent around them together.

I have no doubt in my mind that Aemma would spend most of her time by Sickly!Reader’s side, both being tended to simultaneously. They both share their annoyance at being so fret over by everyone else and just wanting some peace away from the maesters and servants hovering over them. I love the idea of the two having their own little get away place just for the two of them, and maybe Rhaenyra. Just somewhere the two could get some peace and serenity without anyone breathing down their necks about their health. I especially love the thought of this secret place having been founded and used by Sickly!brother!Reader way before he shared it with Aemma. Daemon is probably the only other person who knows about this spot, mainly because he went to visit the Reader one late night and found his bedchambers completely empty and nearly had a heart attack because of it but eventually found his sibling safe and sound in said secret place.

I definitely see Aemma and Sickly!Brother!Reader not only being the best of friends but also being more akin to brother and sister (and not in the Targaryen way). So when Aemma dies he not only lost his best friend but a sister too and it only adds all the more to the hurt. And he sure as hell is going to be in attendance at her and his nephew’s funeral. He’s not going to let anything keep him from being there for his brother and niece. He’s not going to let anything stop him from being there to send off his beloved best friend, his sister and her child to the gods. I can’t help but imagine Daemon being the one to come across the Reader trying to make his way out of the castle to where the funeral pyre, having trouble due to his health but still stubbornly trying to get back to his feet to get to where he needs to be. The Reader thinks Daemon is just there to stop him and is already in the midst of shutting down any attempts to prevent him from going through with his endeavors, but instead he’s met with Daemon holding his arm out for him to lean on and help aid him while he tries to walk again.

The sight of the Reader making his feeble yet determined way in support of Viserys and Rhaenyra in their time of need is something they both had desperately hoped to have happen but never imagined it coming to be. Viserys would be incredibly appreciative and thankful that his youngest brother was there, a part of him had wanted to bring the Reader out himself but he didn’t want to compromise his health more than it already was and end up having another funeral because of it. But seeing his brother, having him there was something Viserys would never forget. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra is absolutely brimming with relief and gratitude upon her beloved uncle making his way to stand among her and her father in mourning.

After Aemma’s death, Sickly!brother!Reader wouldn’t do too well. His bedchambers alone was a bittersweet reminder of her constantly, every single day, given how much she spent her time by his side laughing, chainring, gossiping, and everything else. Even with the bustling maesters and servants or even Alicent’s presence isn’t enough to take away from the quiet he now felt surrounded him without Aemma there. If anything Alicent’s constant presence would only be yet another reminder of Aemma, the way she now sits by his side the way Aemma once did or how she tried to talk to him in a similar fashion that Aemma did. For a good while, Sickly!Brother!Reader would try and avoid his room as much as possible, slipping away whenever he had the strength too. Hell, even when he didn’t have it in him he would still try to get away from the one place that reminded him most of his late friend. Even Viserys wouldn’t be able to bring himself to visit his brother for awhile, not after the many times he’d come across both his most treasured loved ones keeping each other company throughout their ordeals in the same said room.

On the other hand, Rhaenyra would depend even more on her uncle after her mother and baby brother’s deaths. She finds his company being the most comforting, getting to be in a space where her mother often was too made Rhaenyra feel even closer to her all over again. Not only that but she was often reminded of the fond memories of her, her mother, and her beloved uncle all being together and laughing away even given the weakened state her uncle was especially in. Rhaenyra would be glued to the Reader’s side once Viserys pulls away and Daemon is exiled. Her Sickly!Uncle was always the one she could consistently depend on no matter what and even now he continued to be there for her when she needed someone most.

Alicent would be jealous of the attention and overall closeness of the Reader and Rhaenyra. She’s understanding that both are going through something grievous, everyone affected by Aemma’s death is but she still can’t help but envy Rhaenyra getting to be so close to the Reader all she wants. Getting the Reader’s undivided time and attention, his comfort and assurance, all of it. Alicent understands the loss of a mother, she lost her own some time ago after all and she desperately wished she had someone like the Reader back then to do the same for her as he was doing for Rhaenyra. Not only that but Alicent also wished, hoped, prayed for more than anything that she could be someone the Reader could lean on, someone who could give him comfort and reassurance. She wanted to be the one to hold him, to soothe away his pain and anguish, she wanted to be the one he could depend on. Meanwhile her farther was forcing her to be exactly that for Viserys instead. Now that doesn’t mean she wasn’t also using the same methods with the Reader as she was with Viserys, trying to get him to just give into her even just a little bit. But out of the two Viserys was much weaker to it then his youngest brother.

If Sickly!Brother!Reader ever found out that Aemma’s cause of death was mainly due to the caesarean section that Viserys had the maesters do to save baby Baelon he wouldn’t be able to look at his brother again. He understands his brother’s position in the moment but he can’t help but hold quite a lot of blame and resentment towards Viserys for the choice he made. Eventually the Reader could come to accept it but knowing that it was his brothers choice that killed Aemma would be a hard hit to the Reader.

Regarding the ‘heir for a day’ comment, the Reader definitely wants to hear it himself from Daemon and only Daemon. He isn’t going to take anyone else’s word for it. And as calm and gentle as the Reader is coming off in the moment, he’s really seething with an overwhelming intensity of emotion. Daemon better explain himself right and clearly to his younger brother otherwise he’s getting a well deserved punch to the face, one that takes everything out of the Reader and leads to him collapsing onto the floor resulting in Daemon rushing to his side. It’s only then that the Reader fully allows himself to finally let out all the emotions he’s been bottling up in favor of being the one everyone else can depend on. Breaking down, sobbing so aggressively that Daemon can’t help but look on worriedly as his brother crumbles. All he can do is hold his baby brother and comfort him as much as he can until he calms himself down enough to be placed back into his bed and down some much needed water.

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 34

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 4,061

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: DEARLY DEPARTED

Well fed and partially rested, your quartet makes their way down the windy cobblestone streets of Latvia. There’s an uneventful silence that follows throughout most of the walk - that is, between Zemo’s unprompted compliments of the local architecture and Bucky’s grumbled skepticism regarding your sense of direction.

If it were earlier in the day, you’d likely snap at his doubt, but fortunately for him in this moment, your previous interaction with those children at the refugee enclave and the short nap you took afterwards had smoothened out your mood. Thus, you simply shoo away his queries with confident assurances and only a dash of frustration. You were a scientist in your past life, of course you can follow Google Map instructions!

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you to be pulling shit like this!”

“Lord give me strength…” Sam grumbles, that once bearable half-silence officially soured by an uninvited fifth-wheel.

With a raised eyebrow, you look up from your phone and follow Sam’s irritated gaze to its source: none other than the same Captain America impersonator you've already heard a great deal of complaints about. You can't say you've been particularly excited to meet him, not too fond of there being a government-issued replacement for your dear friend in the first place, and judging on how swiftly he approaches with zealous coating his every step and spoken word, you don't have much confidence in this introduction changing your expectations.

"How'd you find us this time, John?!" Bucky asks sarcastically, his question having an impressive balance between its volume and lackadaisical delivery.

"You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without being noticed?" Walker's partner counters, yet the spotlight is immediately switched back to John who shows zero shame in marching directly towards your group with a smile that's seconds away from becoming a scowl as he points to Zemo.

"No more keeping us in the dark. You can start by telling us why the hell you broke him out of prison."

"Well technically, he broke himself out of prison," You correct, unfazed by John’s poor attempt at asserting authority here, in fact you have no problem blocking his path to Zemo by sliding in between them with a hand outstretched cheekily, "Hi, I’m (Y/n). Don't believe we've met."

"I don't really care who you are -"

"- Ouch -"

"- There better be an UNBELIEVABLE explanation for this because -!" John's voice raises. Pairing that with the way he talks while swinging his arms dramatically, you can't say you like the aggressive undertone behind his behavior, especially not for someone wearing the stolen merits of a real hero. You don't care how upset he is, it's not a very good look nor a great sign for his character, and you aren't the only one to think that:

"- Hey, take it down a notch before you attract a crowd, alright?" Sam warns, drawing attention to the civilians who have already stopped to stare at the scene. Some even have their phones out, excitedly snapping pictures of the new ‘Captain America’ and his Avenger 'friends'.

"I know where Karli is," Zemo confesses with little fanfare or interest for that matter, somewhat akin to a parent giving their child a cookie just to shut them up. He attempts to walk past after that, however John’s quick to push him back.

"Well, where is she then?"

"A memorial, that's all we know at the moment. We're heading there now to intercept her," Sam, desperate to maintain the peace, explains while Zemo brushes away John's touch to continue onwards anyway. The rest of you don't hesitate to follow, yet that doesn't stop John and his partner from taking this conversation to-go, keeping up with your steps as if a part of the team themselves. You won't be surprised if he truly believes that, either.

"Memorial? That means there'll be civilians and a high risk of casualties," His partner points out.

"We're not nuking the damn place with her inside," You insist, although you can at least respect that his priorities are in the right place, better tied to his job as a protector rather than his fragile ego. If only his buddy could follow by example, "Sam just wants to talk her and get her side of the story -"

"- What? No...No! Wait! Stop, hold on!" John suddenly rushes to the front of the group, once again preventing anyone from moving forward, "We're way past reasoning with her, okay? Unless you've forgotten this part, she's a terrorist. Her and her little friends blew up a building with people inside of it!"

"You're right. She is a terrorist which is exactly why we need to stop her as soon as possible."

John laughs as if you're the ones making this more complicated than it needs to be, "Alright! Then let's go in there and arrest her -"

"- If we rush in, arms drawn, and corner them like animals, what's stopping her from lashing out right that second?" You challenge, not faltering under his intense stare, "We need to approach this situation with strategy, and Sam's idea works. We go in, let him try talking to her while simultaneously keeping our guard up, and if she surrenders, then yay -"

"- And if she doesn't?"

"Then we kick her ass! I don't know! Have you not seen a hostage negotiation before? You know, ‘The Inside Man’? ‘The Negotiator’? Ever turn on the news maybe -?”

“- The bottom line is: there’s a risk in both scenarios whether we talk or attack first,” Sam steps forward, showing far more patience as he reminds John of his own presence in this discussion, “The difference is, in one, we have an actual shot at ending things peacefully. In the other, people get hurt regardless.

“Why not pick the former then? I'd say we have a pretty good chance with it, I mean, yeah, Karli’s methods are out of line - no one here’s trying to deny that - but her motivations aren't entirely unreasonable. For god’s sake, she's a kid who just had five years of her life flipped on top of her head - We all know how terrifying that can be. I think what she needs most right now is someone who's actually willing to hear her out without casting her aside with more broken promises.”

"It also might be worth mentioning that this memorial is for someone close to Karli, so it’ll likely be attended by others who are important to her, too," You add to aid Sam’s argument, "She's probably going to want to avoid endangering their lives just as much as we do."

"Right. Exactly!"

John shakes his head before turning his attention to Bucky who's remained silent throughout this entire discussion, "...You'll let him do this? You'll just let your partner walk into a room with a super soldier completely alone and defenseless?"

"He's dealt with worse - and he's not my partner."

"Sorry you weren't there, but we're the ones who went up against a murderous purple alien six months ago. I think Sam knows what he's doing," You roll your eyes, walking past John and his partner to continue up the street where you can already see a crowd entering what you assume to be the memorial building.

"I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? I've heard it all - all the accounts of horrific ordeals and stories of lost hope. This is my wheelhouse," You can hear Sam say as he still attempts to reach an agreement.

"I know, and I know those soldiers which is why I say this is a bad idea -!”

"- Wait, John," His partner speaks up again, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him from chasing after your group again, "If he can talk her down, maybe it is worth a try. They do have a point, after all; less people would get hurt if this works."

John scoffs as if he still finds the whole proposal ridiculous, however having his own colleague side with the Avengers must've taken him down some kind of peg, because rather than attempt to stop anyone, he trails behind your group, promising to 'deal with' Zemo later as a last ditch effort of securing at least a fraction of his authority (not that it accomplishes much).

Maintaininga safe distance from the crowd, you observe them file into the building through two heavy wooden doors. Tracing their exact steps by entering the funeral from the front would likely only draw unwanted attention which in return could risk Karli discovering your presence too soon, so a side door leading into the building’s boiler room is your best bet for an unnoticed arrival.

You’re careful to peek into the hallway, catching sight of the same funeral goers as they disappear behind a wall. Hearing the echo of mournful whispers, it can be assumed that the processions will take place right around that corner. If Sam sneaks in after they officially start, Karli won’t have a good opening to run unless she wants to ruin Donya’s celebrated memory. She’ll be forced to at least wait until after the memorial is finished, providing Sam a better chance at getting close enough to pull her ear.

"...You sure you're up for this?" You ask as he stands beside you at the door. His confident nod is all you need for an answer.

After reaching into your pocket, you hold your hand out to him with a small grain-sized microphone, courtesy of the high-tech equipment Clint had supplied you with years ago, “We’ll stay back here. If anything goes wrong or you start getting the heebie-jeebies for some reason, simply say the word and we’ll have John bust down the doors. I’m sure he’s been dying for some real action anyway, poor guy.”

Sam smirks at your joke, taking the microphone and dropping it in his breast pocket, "Hopefully it won't have to come down to that."

"Better safe than sorry," You shrug, not too overly worried for his sake. Sam has always been a laid-back guy willing to listen to even the most outrageous of stories. Assuming that Karli is even somewhat rational, he's the best guy to send in for a heart-to-heart with her. Even if shit does go wrong, you’re certain he’s capable of handling himself in the short amount of time it takes for back-up to arrive. The real question is whether John can keep his pants on for that long.

Before Sam can even ascend the stairs, John harshly grabs Zemo’s arm, bending it behind his back and forcing him against the furnace. His stern ‘orders’ are directed towards Sam, "You have exactly ten minutes until we do things my way, you hear?"

Sam, unsurprisingly, shows minimal interest in that threat, simply nodding to spare John’s feelings before sparing Bucky and you one last look, "Don't let anyone tear off each other's heads while I'm gone."

"No promises," Bucky ribs with an exasperated inhale.

With Sam gone, the boiler room falls into tense silence only made that way through John's increasingly impatient pacing. After a quick glance at each other, you allow Bucky to wordlessly take your place guarding the door, blocking the path Sam took as a wise precaution against John's irritability.

Lemar - as you finally learn his name is - calmly instructs his partner to take a deep breath, the two sharing a brief, whispered conversation that must not have ended in John's favor because his mood fails to change. Even Zemo, despite being forced to awkwardly stand while handcuffed to the furnace, seems more comfortable with his predicament than the paranoid soldier who constantly fidgets and huffs, not that it's making anyone sympathetic towards him.

He eventually sets his sights on you from where you sit on the back staircase, boredly listening in on the conversation that's echoed through your earpiece, "What are they saying?"

You barely blink at his demand nor do you so much as look up at him when he comes marching in your direction. Instead, you keep your jaded expression trained forward, "She's listening to him."

"That's not what I asked. I want to know what they’re saying!" You're not sure what he expects to gain by such an aggressive demeanor, but it's not going to work on you. Not caring to be bossed around or intimidated by some guy in a Spirit Halloween costume, you simply turn your head away from him, covering your ear piece with your hand to pretend you can’t hear it over all his needless blabbing.

"Watch it, John. It hasn't even been ten minutes. Just sit tight," Bucky advises from across the room, his narrowed eyes trained cautiously on John's movements which are too close to you for comfort. His suggestion goes ignored following a rapid shake of the head and disgruntled glare.

"Don't patronize me!"

"Karli's listening to him," You reiterate, already feeling drained of all your willpower to keep dealing with this sort of crap today, "She's not showing any signs of aggression, she's not threatening him -"

"- How would you know that? You're not in there watching. She could be planning something - buying herself and her terrorist friends some time! How's a guy like him supposed to defend himself against a super soldier, huh?"

"Look man, I understand that first days on the job are rough - We've all been there before - but you gotta relax. We know what we're doing, and so does Sam. He's already gone up against super soldiers more than once before. If he needs us, he'll call. In the meantime, our job is to sit quietly and wait."

John rolls his eyes, your words clearly having zero effect on his mental state. He then turns to check the clock hanging on the room’s wall. A more optimistic individual might have hoped this would confirm to him that Bucky is right and that his behavior is irrational, however instead, his quiet pause is just that - a very brief halt before he's spinning the direction of his march towards Bucky and the door with Lamar quickly standing to join him.

Bucky doesn't hesitate to push himself off the stair railing and stop John in his place with a stern hand, his narrowed eyes giving more warning than any words could.

This act is unsurprisingly met with greater frustration and a whisper through gritted teeth, “...It must be really easy for you, right? All that serum just coursing through your veins? Your friend is completely alone in there. You let him go in there with no weapons, no defense, no backup…Do you really want his blood added to your hands?”

Buckydoesn’t respond aloud, although there’s a subtle shift within his eyes. It’s only visible ever so briefly before being hidden by a quick tightening of the jaw, however it sinks deep with the sting of John’s words. It’s the sore ache of insecurity - the shallow doubt that maybe, just maybe, those low-blow claims could actually hold reason.

He wants nothing more than for this situation to end without a fight. God knows he’s had enough of those to last a lifetime. Talking Karli down would offer a peaceful resolution while risking less people’s safety, as Sam and you have said, but that all depends on whether she listens.

Bucky wants to trust Sam’s capabilities, both in gaining the enemy’s trust and defending himself when in a tight spot. Steve sure did, and so do you…yet at the same time, he just can’t seem to shake that memory of how easily the Winter Soldier was able to knock the breath from Sam’s stomach before tossing him like a mere paperweight…

You three are up against super soldiers - eight of them, to be precise, compared to your one. What if you're cornered? What if the Flag Smashers get Sam or you alone, too far from Bucky’s reach to stop the blow? John’s right about one thing: in that scenario, your blood would be on his hands; it’s still on his hands if he stands by to watch it flow…

There’s nothing more said between them as John bumps past Bucky with zero resistance faced. He’s completely free to ascend the stairs and escape into the hallway before you can even shoot up from your spot on the opposite side of the room.

“HEY -! What the HELL, Bucky?!” Why he’d let John past - Why he’d let those stupid weightless words get under his skin like that - You wish you had the time to properly chew him out over it, but you don’t.

“Stay with Zemo!” Catching John before he can ruin Sam’s progress has to be your priority, so much so that you can’t stop to address the way Bucky sighs your name as a half-hearted plea while following your shadow rather than your previous command. Grumbled disapproval is all you can spare in the moment which is promptly hit back in your direction through eye rolls and poor excuses that go in one ear then out the other.

Unfortunately, even at your racing pace (and Bucky’s jogging to match it), you’re too slow to prevent John from bursting into the room where the funeral must’ve been taking place, now long empty aside from Sam and Karli who both snap their direction towards him in shock.

“Karli Morgenthau, you’re under arrest!”

From there, the scene quickly turns to chaos…

“That’s what this was…? To keep me talking until your help arrived?” Whatever middle ground Sam had been carefully forging between himself and Karli is immediately shattered as she now begins backing away from him. He raises his hands, attempting to both reassure her and address John, yet the latter doesn’t let him get more than a few words out before being shut down in a snap.

“- You’ve had enough time to talk,” John declares, his sights set solely on an increasingly apprehensive Karli.

You try to follow after him, calling his name as a last ditch effort to prevent a nasty fight, however Lemar blocks your path from physically getting any closer. It’s nothing more than the slightest shove backwards, only forceful enough to make you reserve a step or two, although that doesn’t stop Bucky from instinctively steadying you with his hands upon your shoulders.

“Don’t -!” You can’t say you’ve ever heard Bucky growl with such venomous anger before. After days of acting as if your presence kills him - weeks of avoiding you like the plague and cutting you out of his life like it’s easy - all it takes is that one single action of someone else putting their hands on you to snap him into a state of fierce rage. One could argue that he just sees you as someone who can’t protect themself - a ‘liability’ as he had said in Madripoor - but would he really react in such a way for just anyone on his team?

He either takes an actual swing at Lemar from over your head or he only tries to push him away from you both - likely the latter given his tone and the way Lemar instantly protects his face with a flash of fear crossing it. You would’ve liked to see the end result so that you could log it in your mental library as a long-missed example of Bucky truly caring about you, however your attention is diverted away when Karli punches John.

Despite all his high talk earlier, he must not have prepared himself to face off with a real super soldier because the second Karli’s fist makes contact with Steve’s shield, John’s violently thrown backwards, catching a nearby Sam in the impact which results in them both hitting the table behind them and tumbling to the ground.

Deciding that this has gone far enough, you slip away from Lemar which is easier to accomplish now that he’s officially distracted between John’s injury and Bucky forcefully knocking him to the floor himself.

With one swift movement, you draw your taser out from your belt and turn it up to its highest setting while rushing Karli. She immediately notices you, bending her body back to avoid the blue glow of your baton. Once it buzzes by, she follows up with a fierce swing in your direction, but this isn't your first rodeo. Between your encounters with a brainwashed Bucky and some sparring training you've done alongside other Avengers, you'd say you're somewhat decent at knowing what to expect when going up against super humans.

Thus, utilizing practiced speed, you duck to dodge her fist, spinning your weapon in hand so that, by the time you pop back up again with a bounce to your step, it's facing forward and prepared to be immediately thrust towards her, the baton's fork stabbing her shoulder blade.

Thank goodness Clint didn't supply you with just any kind of mediocre taser. Rather than deliver a tiny 'zap' to cause inconvenient discomfort lasting a millisecond, it bites with a brutal 'crackle' that has Karli's knees buckling and her pain expressed through loud, stammered cries. Nothing that will kill her, of course, but you doubt she'll be able to feel the sensors in her finger tips for a few minutes after her recovery.

At this point, Bucky’s approaching from behind and even Sam’s already stumbling up to his feet, using the table beside him as a crutch to -

- Karli sees the same sight as you, however for her, it's not so reassuring. Too stubborn to accept surrender, she grinds her teeth and gathers the strength to curl back another fist which she sends plowing your way.

You only have time to gasp, hardly bracing for the hit that throws you through the air and into a shelf. There's a loud crash that comes with this impact, the force of your body knocking various items to the ground where you drop like a ragdoll before the shelf itself wobbles then tips forward.

The sound of your fear was already enough to grasp Bucky's full attention, but only in time to listen to that cruel thud of your limp body and the following slam of the shelf thumbling overtop of you. After that, he can't hear anything else save for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

His legs decide for themselves where they're going, ignoring the rest of the chaos around him as Karli stumbles off and John races after her. He just needs to make it to your side. There, he effortlessly tosses the shelf off of you, kneeling beside you with muted calls of your name which are equally as shaky as his hesitating hand.

You're not moving, body lying completely motionless against the ground and shattered jars. You're not responding either, face wiped clean of emotion as if you're only asleep. You're not moving at all - He isn't even sure if your chest is!

…This has happened before…This isn't new…

You were there, just as motionless, hunched forward with blood running like a stream down from your forehead to chin. You didn't answer anyone's calls then either, and when he dared to touch you, he swore he could feel the warmth leaving your skin. He's too scared to check that now, though. His hand is frozen unwillingly above you, the world swirling fast enough to make him nauseous or is that the throbbing against his forehead?

…You aren't moving again...

Then you groan, your arms shaking as you struggle to find the ground to push yourself up from. Clenching your side, you let out a whimper from the pain that expands across every inch of your back and ribs. It's a heartbreaking sound, but at least you're alert now, looking at him with a flash of fear before relaxing once realizing it's not the enemy currently hunched over you.

"- Bucky!" Sam appears behind him within the second, his hand carrying no more pressure than a feather when placed upon his shoulder, "We gotta go!”

Swallowing thickly, Bucky watches as Sam carefully tries to help you to your wobbling feet, each movement drawing out an uncomfortable hiss while you struggle to support yourself even when leaning most of your weight against someone else.

Seeing your hurt and that foggy glaze over your eyes, he finally snaps out of his own dizzying state enough to at least step in himself, his movements almost robotic as he hooks your legs over his arm then hoists you off the ground in one shift, easy motion. From there, he lets Sam lead the way, all the while distracted by his own heavy breathing and racing heartbeat which are the loudest sounds in his ears…

NEXT CHAPTER ->

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I Lost My Mind in the Sakura Flowers ꫂ ၴႅ

“Lying from You” - Linkin Park

꒰: Précis | A first person POV, dipping into the mind of a melancholic young man who is just a bit..off. Is he really above all of the chaos that is his life? Or is it all just another façade in which he’s also fooled himself this time..

꒰: Disclaimer(s) | This act contains strong language, triggering topics [Home life issues, homophobia + manipulation] Tread carefully~!!

꒰: Word Count ; 5.5k

꒰: Sakura Flowers—All Acts ; Here

Act 1

The day that I realized I wasn’t like everyone else, wasn’t the kind you’d expect.

It wasn’t gloomy. It wasn’t overcast, raining, or windy beyond comparison. It was the exact opposite.

Birds were chirping. The sun beamed on every face that it found. Even the unpleasant-smelling garbage that gathered and swirled in the gutters smiled when people stepped on it.

But I was there. So things wouldn’t stay that way.

Hello. My name’s Azura Makoto. And well, I’m insane.

When most people do bad things, they feel remorse. Guilt. Sympathy. Sadness even. But when I set fire to a pile of leaves, gathered in my backyard, at the young age of 6, I felt no remorse for the birds that were resting atop of it.

They fluttered and flapped their wings that soon became engulfed in flames. Their chirps got weaker and weaker until they finally ceased altogether.

It made me smile.

As a child, I should have run. I should have cried, and ran to my parents. But I didn’t.

I sat, and smiled, not caring about who or what I might’ve disturbed.

My parents were awakened by the smell of smoke. And that’s the moment that they realized that there was something wrong with me. Because as soon as they got there, I uttered the words, “Isn’t it pretty?”.

Yes, exactly like that cliche sociopathic child you’d see in a horror movie.

3 years after that incident, I was sent to a therapist for terrorizing one of my classmates with what children at my age would call, ‘adult scissors’.

And of course, the therapist was useless. If anything, he fueled my flames with gasoline.

“You’re just lost,” Over and over.

”You’re young and misguided,” He’d tell me these things all had a reason.

”It’s all a phase, you’ll get better.” But I knew…

There was no cure for what illness I had.

But, for a time, I entertained him. I told him what he wanted to hear. I showed signs that I was getting better. I showed signs of sanity for the time that I was there.

Oh, how easy it was to fool him.

Keeping up this act, this persona of the perfect little boy, I was able to escape that hellscape.

And just for good measures, I spent a year doing good things. Excelling in my studies, helping others, actually making friends. All things I had absolutely no interest in. And all so that my parents might’ve regained hope in me. Turns out it worked. Perfectly.

By the time that my parents started to look away from my issues, by the time they thought that I was on the right path for myself, I was 12.

I had a small circle of friends, who let me lie to them. It felt amazing. To be in control of my own life. To be in control of the people in my life. They listened to me. Did what I asked. Like Pavlov dogs, they were at my beck and call.

But then he came along.

Marko.

A conniving little bastard he was.

Junior year of high school I think it might’ve been. He appeared out of nowhere.

My track record was keeping me safe from prying eyes. No one was interested in tarnishing my reputation or dragging me down (none that I knew of at the time). At least, that was until he came along.

Thinking back, I should’ve known that he was out to get me. The first words he ever spoke to me were, “Your smile is so fake.” Granted, I wasn’t paying attention to him at the time. But I should have.

As student body president, it was my duty to greet new students and make them feel ‘at home’ in our establishment. He just happened to be there at the time. At the end of the entrance ceremony, I had to pass out flyers along with two other members of the student council. And lucky me, I had the pleasure of handing Marko his.

Before I could get the chance to say my line, “Welcome, please come to me if you have any problems finding your way around. I’m here to help,” Marko said his first.

“Your smile is so fake, you know that?” back then I brushed it off as if he was talking to someone else. Or if he was just joking around.

But in our second semester, he approached me and once again said something along the lines of, “Why do you fake it? Do you ever get tired of pretending you are what you’re not?”

That’s when the rumors started.

Up until then, I believed I was above teenage drama. Because I was. Or at least, I thought I was.

It was a classic, “What’re you guys talking about?” resulting in glares and disgusted looks.

The only person who came to tell me the truth was Allison. She was an angel, truly. A disposable one of course, but she was useful for the time that she was.

I can remember the exact moment she asked me, “Have you heard the rumors?”

Of course, I hadn’t. No one tells someone a rumor that they’re the center of.

“No, I haven’t. Mind telling me?”

She sang like a canary. I almost couldn’t believe what she told me.

“Well, people are talking about how you’re insane. Like...how you went to therapy for cutting a kid’s finger off in primary!” Okay, now that was an exaggeration. “And…” she then looked around like a suspicious party and leaned in saying, “how you like guys.”

That was the part that got to me.

Now, insanity I was fine with. Everyone has a little insanity hidden in them. Of course not so far that they’d go to do something physical to someone but enough that they’d say something really sick and shallow.

But being gay? That was going to be the end of me.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against gay people. Not at all. But, from what I’ve seen, the people with whom I shared a learning space, were not a big fan of them. And if the rumors had already spread as much as I thought they had, I was majorly screwed.

I kept my composure and walked the halls with the same proud stride that I always had.

There were whispers when I walked by, and some back turns. The worst that happened was some assholes cat-calling me. That pissed me off.

Now, I’m not one to get on my knees and beg someone to stop something, but this prick was raking my name through the dirt. And so, I did what any hormonal, impulsive teenager would do; I took the petty route.

Unlike Marko, I worked behind the scenes with my scheming. The way he ,exposed’ me was so crude and had no aesthetic to it. No planning, nothing. Intricacy was certainly not in his vocabulary.

Firstly, I had to tie up all of my loose ends. The finger-cutting and being attracted to guys wasn’t that flattering to have in my hand of cards.

It was easy to get rid of the finger-cutting rumor. Mainly because it didn’t happen, so it was easy to deny. If someone brought it up, I would simply brush it off and say, “It’s a lie. If I were to cut any body part off of someone, then it wouldn’t be a measly finger.” That definitely raised some eyebrows with the way I phrased it, but it died down later on.

Then there was the rumor about being gay.

It was worse than I thought it was. I solved my finger-cutting problem, all the while oblivious to the fact that the gay rumors had begun to spiral out of control.

Before I knew it, underclassmen and upperclassmen alike were calling me slurs, making disgusting jokes and comments, and don’t forget the physical torment.

Sure, I could deal with my peers looking down on me but when the rumors finally got to the school board and my parents, that’s when I realized this had gotten much farther than I originally planned for it to go.

My parents sat me down after getting home from school one evening. That day wasn’t my proudest. I had gotten into some trouble you could say with some upperclassmen. Long story short, I don’t have much physical prowess and my face wasn’t in the best condition on the way home.

It wasn’t anything serious. A bloody nose, swollen lip, and a few scrapes and scratches here and there. I wasn’t phased by it but my mother sure was.

“My poor, Azura! Oh my, what did they do to you? Are you okay?” she was all over me. Touching my face, looking for any more wounds.

“Yes, mom. I’m fine. I just got into trouble with some friends,” I said, swatting her hands away.

After I managed to get away from my mother, my father called me into the living room, where he was sitting in his velvet blue chair that was positioned in front of the coffee table. It was where we would have our ‘family meetings’ you could call them.

He told me to take a seat, which I did. My mother sat in the chair next to his.

My mother initiated the conversation which was rare. “Hun...we got a call from the school today.”

I could see the hesitation in her eyes. It was annoying. “Sweetie, you know we want the best for you. And you’ve been doing really well. In school and outside of it but…”

“Rose, just give him the letter.”

His voice was gruff and I hated the sound of it. I simply turned my head and sighed. This is what happens when you let things get out of hand. I hate things that are out of my control.

My mother slid a piece of paper across the table. It was only a few words. Most of the paper was blank. The bottom was mainly white. Halfway through, the writing stopped. Honestly, it didn’t look like an official school paper. Then again, this is the first time I’d gotten a letter home.

Written in bold lettering at the top of it was: School Board Notice for: Makoto Azura. Reading those words over in my head made my stomach turn. I took a gulp and picked it up in my hands.

I was shaking.

I couldn’t have been nervous. I’m not one to get nervous. Maybe I was fearing for my reputation. Although...it was a natural human reaction to this type of situation so maybe I really was feeling nervous. Just a bit though.

Addressed to the parents/guardians of Makoto Azura,

Due to recent events, your child has caused a great disturbance in the normal functions of school affairs. Drama has no place in an environment of education. Your son has disregarded this in many instances. We must urge you to talk to him and show him how to get back on the right path.

If there is no change and/or response to this letter in the next three weeks, it will result in suspension. We hope to solve this issue with the utmost efficiency. Please see to it that it is handled in a timely fashion.

Sincerely, School Board of XXXX County

I had to forcibly bite back a groan. This was so annoying. And overall, a nuisance. There were a plethora of thoughts racing through my head at the time. But the emotion in front of them all was anger.

Firstly, these were supposed to be professional adults concerned with teaching students and getting them ready for their future. Why the hell were they getting involved in student drama? Just because it disturbed their sacred order of things? It was bullshit.

And secondly, did it really warrant a letter home? This all could’ve been said in a text or an email. Or even a call to the principal’s office. But a letter home? Wasn’t that a bit overkill?

And lastly, I was so ready to murder Marko. That loose-lipped fool was getting on my last damn nerve.

Honestly, why the hell would he do this to me? Once I figured it out I was going to make his life miserable. But I had to explain to my parents why they got this letter in the first place.

“Well, you gonna explain y’self or just keep starin’ at it like it’s foreign?” My father asked. His lack of regard to the way he spoke was another reason why I hated it when he would speak to me. Or when he spoke in general.

All I did was sit there. There was nothing to explain if you think about it. “If I had to guess it’s most likely about my distance from school work lately,” That lie would’ve gotten me kicked out of the drama club if I were to ever use it again. I’d been excelling in my studies. I was top of all my classes and not to mention I had just been offered 3 master’s courses.

But they didn’t know that.

“I haven’t been doing my best and I’ve been paying more attention to personal matters than learning matters. I guess the school picked up on it and well, you know the rest.”

“What personal matters?” My mother asked.

“Y’know, just normal teenage stuff. It’s nothing to worry about.”

My father stood up and slammed his hand on the table. Overreacting as usual. “If it was just normal shit then we wouldn’t be gettin’ phone call after phone call and letter after letter ‘bout you and your goddamn personal matters! So why don’t you quit the bullshit and tell us what you’ve really been doin’ up in that school!”

Ugh.

I stood up and placed both of my hands on the table as well, leaning my head in just a bit so that I could stare at him dead in the eyes when I spoke.

“Firstly, I don’t appreciate you talking so vulgarly towards your own son. Please treat me with respect. I’m a human just the same as you. So treat me as such,” I began, stroking up a second finger.

“Secondly, if you’ve been getting phone calls then that may be because I’ve been enlisting in club after club and helping with student council duties along with that. Maybe if you were to get off your ass and pick up the phone once in a while you’d understand that. But you never picked up the phone, did you? Exactly what I thought. And thirdly-”

My sentence was cut off by the crisp sound of skin against skin. A strike to my already sore face.

“And thirdly, you need to shut your mouth and remember who you’re speaking to! I’m your father, not one of your little friends! I’ll treat you with respect when you see me in the same eyes, got that?” He shook off his hand that had previously gone across my face.

Mouthing off definitely didn’t make this situation any better. Now, I was relatively aggravated.

“I know exactly who I’m talking to. And if you were one of my friends then this would be going a different way. I’m not one for teenage angst, but you need to piss off and stay out of my life before I do something I’ll regret.” I grabbed my backpack and made my way up the steps, making sure to slam the door to sell it all.

I locked it behind me and slumped down, heaving a heavy sigh.

“How annoying,” I mumbled.

“He’s out of control again, Rose! What the hell am I s’posed to do with a child who speaks to me like that? He needs to go to some sort of reform school or military camp or something! Because I refuse to let that bitch sleep under my roof rent-free!”

I could hear everything from under my room. My father was being unreasonable with my mother once again. He would ramble on about how terrible of a child I was, not allowing her to make her own argument in the matter. Although I doubt she would say anything even if he gave her the opportunity to.

See, my father wasn’t what you’d call a stable person. He was a pain to deal with in all honesty. Now, he didn’t go around hitting my mother and drinking himself into despair but he definitely wasn’t okay in the head. He had a short temper, and anger issues to chase them.

Although he’s never hurt me physically (not severely anyway), nor my mom, I can hear them fight all the time. More like a repeated one-sided argument than a fight I suppose.

After collecting my thoughts, I got up and took a shower. I needed to think this over and stop my body from aching. I told my mom I was alright but my whole body hurt like hell. A warm shower washed the pain away though.

Once I got out, I was patting my hair dry as I was headed downstairs. And in the process, I overheard a conversation I probably wasn’t supposed to. Then again, you couldn’t really get much privacy in any open space inside this house. Unless you were in your room or the bathroom, forget even thinking about privacy.

My father was pacing downstairs, clearly agitated about something. It was sort of entertaining to see. He was running his hands through his greasy hair and overall looked like a wreck. There was someone speaking to him and stupidly enough he had the whole thing on speaker. I sat on top of the steps, just far enough so that I was in earshot and still able to see him without him seeing me.

“No. No. I said, no! Look, I already have enough going on with this psychopathic child of mine, not to mention his mother. She’s a complete tool. She doesn’t combat me in any way. I don’t want a submissive little doll. I want a woman who can take control of a situation. And that’s you, Mary. So please don’t leave me, alright?”

Well so much for loyalty. I heard the yelling of a young woman over the line, she was clearly under immense pressure as well.

“I didn’t think I was going to stay with her this long, I swear! Jesus Christ, listen to me!” The phone went silent for a few moments and my father took that chance to get his words in. “I’ll divorce her, alright? And the child will go away with her. Or maybe into foster care or something, I don’t know at this point—” What came next was spoken quite clearly.

“If you send that poor boy into foster care I will tell your wife all the shitty things you’ve done behind her back! He doesn’t deserve that, no matter how psychotic you think he is! Do you know who you’re talking to? Do you know that I’ve been in foster care before? Bouncing homes and shit? Do you know how fucking hard it is to grow up in that environment? And you’re just willing to put your own son into that god-forsaken system to save your own ass? Are you fucking kidding me, Mason?”

Now, I hadn’t ever been in foster care, but the stories I’ve heard from comrades made it seem like a living hell. And I knew my dad hated me, but he was willing to put me up for adoption? And on top of that leave my mother? Just like that? What a shallow bastard.

“Mary, please, listen to me, I didn’t know okay? Just...just gimme some time and I’ll sort out something and we can be together. You know, in a nice ol’ house. By the beach maybe. We can start a family. You, me and,” He murmured a name that I couldn’t really pick up, going on. “And I’ll leave these two. All for you. Nobody else matters but you, Marianne.”

From there on, the conversation started to get friendlier but I could hear the annoyance in her voice from the other line.

And I’m assuming you’re wondering, ‘Where was your mother in all this?’. Well, she went out to withdraw some money for my father. And now that I’ve listened to this conversation, I’m almost certain he was spending all of my mother’s money on his side game. Seriously, it was like limbo with him. When you think he can’t get any lower, he gets lower. As low as he can go.

It wasn’t like he was broke. Quite the opposite. He was the CEO of one of the most successful companies in this shitty city. But maybe he didn’t care enough about this woman to let it show in his and my mother’s linked bank account.

I figured I’d heard everything I needed to. Standing up, I headed back to my room, feeling like I had just been dealt a brand new hand of cards to play against my father.

I’d heard the name Marianne plenty of times in our household. She was my father’s secretary. Yes, this was going to be one of those scandalous boss-secretary type deals. But I had a feeling it was going to be quite the ride.

But aside from that, I had to get the rumor situation underway.

Once I got into my bed, I plugged in my headphones. The sounds of classical composers like Debussy, Beethoven, Mozart, and the Nuvo Orchestra flooded my ears as I thought about how to solve this issue. I began to overthink the whole thing.

I always overthought things. And most things need to be overthought about. Mainly things such as these. I needed to think about every possible outcome to solve this problem. I was desperate. I needed to keep the validation. I wasn’t going to let one measly rumor tear me down from my pedestal.

When worse came to worse, I just put it simply. And the answer I got was:

Allison.

The conclusion I came to was Allison. She was the only one who was true to me and told me about the rumors in the first place. And for that, I knew she would fit perfectly in the grand scheme of things.

With her social standing and mine, if we were to get in a relationship it’d be perfect and the news would spread like wildfire and before I knew it, the rumor would be nothing but a memory.

So, what I did was pay off Allison to be my girlfriend for a month or so. And it worked surprisingly well. Yes, I know that it was quite sickening to pay someone to fake feelings for you, but it was basically an acting job if you think about it.

But it ended up getting more complicated.

She caught genuine feelings for me. And you can see how that can become troublesome. As student body president, rejecting girls came like breathing to me. Though, I suppose it would be harder to reject her since I was the one who gave her the wrong idea. I was ready to take the blame and play friends with her for the long run but I had to make a choice.

On one hand, there was the acceptance of Allison’s feelings. There weren’t many cons to that. I could date her for a while and then break up with her. It would be like we naturally drifted. Or at least, I could play it off as such.

On the other hand, I could reject her. There were quite a few cons to that. Given her status in the high school hierarchy, she could talk about how I paid her to be my girlfriend. Then even more whispers would spiral. Not to mention the fact that I had told her many times that it was just supposed to be an act. A ploy to clear my reputation. But in the wrong context, she could read that as, “I’m gay, pretend to date me to cover that up.”. And I wasn’t about to take that chance.

So, I did the logical thing and said, ‘Yes’ when she asked me to be her boyfriend.

I wasn’t completely against it. She was fairly attractive and stable in the mental sense. And she was also more intelligent than I had previously given her credit for. But at that time, I had things to do. I was planning on smoothing things out and leaving it there, but being the sick person I am, I wanted revenge. I needed revenge on the bastard who started it all.

Yes, Marko, it’s your turn to take the torturous spotlight in this story.

ᡣ𐭩

About a week or two into Ali and I’s ‘real’ relationship, I had already gotten to work on destroying Marko.

I wanted to make the last few years of his high school experience a living hell. He came after me for no apparent reason. Not one that I knew of at the time at least.

The first thing I did was confront him. And I won’t lie, I was beyond ticked off.

We met up after school, near a local corner store and that’s where I genuinely lost my shit on him. It was a shady place that we met up at. A back alley to be exact. It looked—and smelled—like a place where drug deals happen. Which they probably did.

As soon as I saw him, I pushed him up against the brick wall and just let loose.

“You! You fucking bastard! You started those rumors, didn’t you? Didn’t you? What? Did you think it would work? Huh? What the hell did I ever do to you? I haven’t done shit to you and yet you still went and tried to wreck my life! Honestly, tell me what the hell’s your problem with me!” I was ready to go on but I soon realized that he wasn’t worth my energy.

To my surprise, he was smiling the whole damn time.

“What’re you? Some sort of masochist? Are you enjoying this, you sick bastard?”

Marko simply started laughing.

He lightly pushed me off of him and dusted himself off. Like I was nothing. “Are you done yet? If so then take a walk with me, okay?”

“Yeah, like hell I will.”

“Your choice, but you’ll never get your answers if you don’t.”

At that moment all I could think of was how wildly seething with anger I was.

And did this bastard really just give me an ultimatum for information?

I sighed and pushed him forward. This was shaping up to be a really annoying situation. He led the way and pulled out a cigarette.

“Want one?” he asked, as he gestured the box towards me.

“I’m not here to be all buddy-buddy with you. I honestly hate your guts. I’m just here for answers. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you’re going to waste my time, then I have other ways to get what I want.”

He pulled out a blue lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette, blowing smoke in my face. It stunk so bad. “Suit yourself, man. See, this is what I mean, you’re so fake.”

There goes that sentence again.

“What the hell are you trying to say about me then, huh?”

He took another puff and once again, blew it in my face.

“When you’re at school, or around other people, your ‘friends’ you wear this mask, dude. It’s a literal mask. You always wear that fake smile, and you act all nice and it pisses me off. I can tell that you’re not the person that people think you are. But yet they still believe you,” He stopped in his tracks and took another drag of his dwindling cigarette. This time, blowing it to the side, directly away from my face. “Why is that?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” I dismissed with a light shrug of my shoulders.

Laughing, he smiled this toothy grin and took another puff, coughing as he did so. “And the biggest liar of the year award goes to: Makoto Azura!” He steadied himself and said, “Do you really think I’m gonna believe that BS?”

“It’s not BS! You’re delusional!”

But it was BS. He wasn’t delusional. He was spot-on in everything he was saying. Which was exactly why I had to shoot him down.

“You have this fake vision of me. That I’m someone who fakes everything and is really hurting inside or some sob story bullshit like that. You’re trying to make me a victim so that you can be a hero. Isn’t that it?” I accused, jabbing my index into his chest.

“You have a hero complex and because I was at the top, not struggling at all, you wanted to take that away and try to ‘expose’ me so that you could be the hero of my story, isn’t that right? Well, it’s not going to work.”

“Oh please. Why the hell would I want any part in your life? It’s sad and dreary.” He scoffed.

“How?”

Taking one last puff of his cigarette, he dropped it to the ground, grinding it with the heel of his foot. He stepped closer, and said, “Because you’re in it.”

Now, need me remind you, Marko is about a good foot taller than me, so I was a bit intimidated by him. But at this time I was purely driven by anger, and anger alone and insanely ready to fucking deck him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous as my fingers curled into a fist.

“For fuck’s sake, stop playing coy with me, Makoto,” He said as he flashed that smug-ass smile. God, it’s in these moments I realize how punchable his face is. “You don’t know who I am? Your father hasn’t talked about me?”

“Why would he?”

Once again he started to laugh and finally said, “My name is Marko Austin. Son of Marianne Austin.”

I was honestly going to laugh. I wanted to laugh. And at the same time, I wanted to murder my father. Because of him, my life has been a complete and utter train wreck. Of course he would fuck me over like that.

Somewhere inside, I honestly felt like hugging Marko. But the majority of me wanted to beat the living crap out of him.

“Do you get it now? Your father is a homewrecker.” He finally spat.

Sitting down, I leaned my head against the wall. How could I be so rash? I should’ve just come out and asked him in a calm manner. Instead, I acted just like the bastard who started it all.

Marko stood next to me and handed me a cigarette. “Want one now?”

Unfortunately, I did. And so I took it out of his hand and stood up. This obviously wasn’t my first time but I didn’t do it often. So, he pulled me a bit closer, giving me a light and I coughed as I breathed in the disgusting thing.

He pulled another out for himself too.

I sighed, taking a puff. Honestly, one moment ago I was ready to rip this guy’s throat out, now I was sharing a smoke with him? How cliché.

“So, what now?” He asked, calmly.

“What the hell do you mean ‘what now’? My question is still left unanswered. Why did you do it?”

Turning towards me, he sighed, “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one here. Azura, I did it because your dad ruined my life. But, talking with you now, I’m assuming you didn’t know. Did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I only found out recently and even so, that doesn’t give you a right or an excuse to do what you did to me,” I said, blowing smoke in his face, conveying my own frustration at the whole ordeal through the plumes.

I watched Marko’s face turn to one of somber understanding. Doubting he felt remorse but rather just slightly guilty for bringing in an unsuspecting third party to someone else's funeral.

As much as I wanted to walk right in and beat the brakes off of my deadbeat father, there was a small ‘eureka’ moment that enveloped me as I smirked. “You want to ruin his life? So do I.” I said calmly, my face one of newfound determination and conniving intent.

“Hear this, if you get all those stupid fucking rumors to subside, entirely then I'll get you what you want,” I began. “But after that, I want to never see your face again. Rather it be a passing glance, in the halls, or even in public, I want nothing to do with you. Understood?” The offer was a bit rash. I was surprised that I even put it out there whilst my blood still boiled from his immature leap to action that had caused me so much damn trouble.

Studying his expression for a moment, I saw the hesitation. He knew me–or rather, he thought he did–and so he should've known there was a catch. Maybe he did, but nonetheless, he shook my hand, agreeing to the offer without batting an eye. With that, I slipped him a business card of sorts with my contact info on it.

I pushed off of the wall, dropping my cigarette and letting it fizzle out as I stepped on it without mercy. Walking away, I raised a dismissive hand to wave.

“Call me, if I don't pick up, I'm ignoring you.” I purred before beginning on the path down the streets and back to my oh-so humble abode. Now to be a crash site for everything ready to unfold.

Orange and pink tinted skies, hues illuminating and casting harsh shadows over the neighborhoods gave me a sense of calm before a fucking tsunami. If I was going to make this all play out in my favor; bringing my father to his knees, freeing myself and my mother from his constrictive grasp, as well as getting my swift and merciless revenge on Marko, I'd have to play all sides. This was sure to be fun.

A/N: First chapter is published!! Thanks to an amazing delay from my dearest friend but after the long wait the series has kicked off! Please enjoy and leave lots of love so I can know if you want to see how this story unfolds! 🥡🥢

[canonsinthehead]

A Naruto Headcanon - The Culinary History of the Ninja World.

i'm back and not so bare with me. this headcanons is related to a story telling how chouji and karui's marriage went down. ill post it eventually.

EACH COUNTRY’S CULINARY HISTORY

Konohagakure (Country of Fire) Konohagakure aka the land of the free. Many things make up the uniqueness of the cuisine of the country of fire. First, they are the king of importation, so their diet is really diverse and touched all sectors evenly. They grow all kind of vegetables to meet the need of its residents. While there are not has much native plants from the area in their current diet contrary to other villages like Suna and Kiri.

Konoha being built on a vast forest, their main fruit consumption comes from small fruit trees and fruit trees like apples, pears, and pomegranate. Anything that grows on a tree is often easily available since it takes its roots in Konoha’s founder Hashirama Senju.

The country are the main producer and consumer of eggs and meat especially pork (which they export all over the ninja world) this where you get the whole BBQ concept and omelets. Another downfall of the cuisine from Konoha is the heavy presence of processed goods in everyday cooking preparation. The current culture is far more removed from its traditional cooking methods. Referred to as the Senju Diet is almost getting lost and seen has a flower from the past. Many (often older individuals) resist the hard change that came trough time and tries to uphold the consumption of the way ninjas ate in the past.

Lotus Root is a staple of the Senju Diet

Even Naruto can testify to this and noticed how it hard for him maintain the same diet as when he was a child (aside eating ramen), the way fast foods chains have almost came out of nowhere and took over the market deeply concerns him (especially how its taking hold of this younger generation). The deliberate effort towards modernization and proving the country is the first in everything, can reach everything, can eat everything, can win against anyone basically walking like they are the goat of the ninja world has affected negatively old traditions in subtle ways and in other more obvious ways. Like how the Konoha can keep escape the threat of famine by stealing other nations resources.

At the same time, the combination of different culinary practice gave birth to various more dishes with various diverse ingredients and interesting like Takoyaki, okonomiyaki & dango

Like mentioned before, industrialization gave birth to many processed who are a staple in those dishes. products who are often only found in the country of fire like fish cakes & narutomaki. The land of fire is the soup & noodles master, it’s like their national food for being convenient and versatile with they make the infamous ramen but other dishes like stir-frys Yes, it a generous filling cuisine to overflow your stomach

Classic/Staple Konoha Meal=Shoyu Miso/Pork Ramen with Narutomaki, Apple Salad, Dango, Sushi, Takoyaki, pickled radish, Beef BBQ

Sunagakure (Country of Wind) The cuisine from Suna is unique. Not only emerging from a desertic land, but it was also able to survive the test of time and stay true to its original roots. Based on the high temperatures and sandy soil of the land of wind, the residents have access to interesting crops who cannot be found elsewhere in the ninja world. Suna is the homeland of dates, they are the main intake of sugar in its diet. They are used in countless recipes like sweet & pastries. they are used to sweetened teas since tea drinking is a big thing. Offering tea is a tradition when receiving guests and tea was used by nomads who made long trip in the desert in order to stay hydrated.

In Sunagakure, they go hard on sweets. Especially dates since the are the only producer of them. They have countless of pastries, candies and date-bases recipes because it was once use as a method of survival in the long windy season in the desert or to have the sugar necessary to be transformed in a energy source to endure long trip in the desert. They are a national pride since most nuts in the ninja world grows in the country of wind; almonds, pistachios, walnuts, etc. they also showcase delicate and unique culinary practices when it comes to pastries who set Suna apart from other nations. It is the only place to find citrus, olive & argan trees used to make oils mostly made for exportation & their lucrative citrus production industry.

Their eating style is different since it is not uncommon to eat with your hands. For a long time, families were large so the habit of having a large plate to share with many emerge from that condition

Due to frequent drought, the country of wind has specialized themselves in the production of survival crops like grains like millet, sorghum & wheat who are also a staple in the cuisine of Suna. they most of the time milled to make flour to produce various types of bread crepe and flat breads (also see as more convenient since they don’t require yeast to be cooked). Alongside that, the consumption of legumes like lentils and different kinds of beans is the main source of protein and prized as all around superfood. They are cooked in paste and stew often eaten with bread.

Staple/Classic Suna Meal=Large plate of various pastes/creamy sauces made of beans & lentils, grilled eggplant, hummus, flat bread, millet crepe, spinach, citrus tea,

Kirigakure (Country of Water) The main meal is Kiri is grilled fish.

Unfortunately, Kirigakure has the reputation of eating ANYTHING that swims, crawls, run or fly in the ocean. First and firmly base on their location and how the practice of fishing is part of so many residents lives.

Also, it comes from the lack of access to goods from importation of other nations. For very long time, Kiri and the surrounded regions were left on their own when a bad harvest happened, or if the climate hindered the quantity of fish collected. In those cases, the villager learned to make anything of every single thing they found (in the ocean). Due to their different economical system (mostly based on exchange of goods), it took a long time for Kiri to join the market of importation and exportation. Now they are the main exporter of seafood of various types and fish (a staple in their diet). The land of fire became the main consumers of seafood above the country of water itself. The never-ending high demand for sea product (including fish) has opened the door for illegal activity to create non-approved fish farms and illegal fishing. The country of wind is guilty, while having no access to water yet desiring sea products (which is recent because they try to follow after the country of fire and the whole globalization narrative).The Country of Fire being the biggest culprit due to their insatiable desire to reach all and taste all (even without permission).

Their known cultural theft has implication in the problem since a traditional dish named サメの目 (Same no Me written Samenome meaning Shark Eyes) which consist of thin layers of fish rolled and stuffed with black wild rice and bitter herbs (it is name like this since it resemble the pupils of sharks) was ‘’discovered’’ by ninja scientist from Konohagakure during early invasion of the country of water by various bigger nations for natural resources in this case being clay who was abundant along any body of water (used to make pots and tolls before the emergence of various metals) also to take control and harvest the almost infinite amount of fresh water. The devastation of natural habitat and the disruption of the ecosystem cause a destruction that couldn’t be healed instead it changed the nature of the environment. Since then, most bodies of water in the land of water turned into seawater, the once flourishing pastures of green leafy galore died and the remaining surviving plants gave birth to what we know today as bitter herbs (ex: dandelion, wormwood, chamomille, peppermint, etc) and they are a staeple in the cuisine of Kiri, for some their main intake of green plants. They are also valued for their medicinal values (you know them plants Haku was collecting in the woods)

Learn more about bitter herbs here: https://dirthappy.com/bitter-herbs/

(Going back to what we were talking about)The discovery of Samenome was then taken back to the country of fire and after being merged and modified with the local crops and different culinary practices became what we know today as sushi; the captain of Konoha’s cuisine along side with Ramen. The seaweed paper also originally comes from Kiri, they were not used as food but fertilizers for growing crops. The practice of harvesting seaweed became popular in the southern part of the country of fire after the nori seaweed was discovered in its waters. Meanwhile they still import wakame from the country of water since it’s a staple for various soups and side dishes.

In The Country of Water, they consumed more the wild varieties of different crops like wild black rice, quinoa & amaranth as a main source of carbs.

In Kiri, they seasoned everything with pepper, everything; rice, bitter herbs, fish & seafood, grains. Some regions of the country of water house the spiciest pepper you can find in the warm months of the summer and the most frost resistant cabbages during the cold months. Now, they import a lot of pepper product from The country of lightning during the most of the year. Most of the seasoning is onion-based but the access to salt from the waters allowed the spectrum of seasoning to widen but also utilize is in order to ferment or pickle foods for the winter making pickled goods a staple in the cuisine of Kiri even for pickled fish.

Staple/Classic Kiri meal= Grilled fish, Samenome, spicy pickled cabbage, amaranth crepe of fritters, bitter herbs, pepper sauce

Kumogakure (Country of Lightning) The cuisine of Kumogakure is different than typical meals you would find in other nations. Like Suna the uniqueness reveals itself in their cuisine since its most popular dishes are made of ingredients that can only be found in the country of lightning. Cuisine of Kumogakure follows various principals making their reputation.

Beef is a luxury food. Due to its location, residents of the country of lightning were consuming other animals like sheep and goat who are abundant in rocky areas. The first wild buffalos were in fact imported from neighbor countries and are domesticated for food in small quantities because most green pasture (outside of main cities) are already occupied by sheeps. Many attempts were made to grow the bovine population but failed due to competition for food and access to grass.

Meat is more regarded as side dishes since their protein source mostly come from green vegetable and beans. Like in Suna, where legumes are praised for their high nutritional value but in the country of wind they eat lentils & chickpeas, meanwhile in Kumo they are eating kidney beans, black eyes peas and their infamous black beans. Each nation has a particular legume/bean/pulse they cherish in their cuisine. The Country of fire is house to all types of sprouts like of mung bean and edamame/soy beans. Interestingly, the practice of making tofu comes from Amegakure and has spread to neighboring nations. In Kiri, they eat beans in their original form, simple steamed and sometimes raw so they prefer yardlong beans and peas of different kinds.

· The land of lightning is famous for their abundance of herbs & spice. Hence why they weren’t as enthusiast to rush into meat consumption since they can make many vegetables taste amazing by seasoning it right. Plants like ginger, turmeric, various varieties of peppers, allspice, paprika, star anise & parsley are native to the area. the exception is garlic since it can be found abundantly across the ninja world.

· The cuisine of Kumo could be defined as quick and simple. Hence why they are numerous meals in bites sizes like fried dough (a popular street food), samoussa, meat/bean patties, dried sweet potatoes chips (chouji’s favorite). Unfortunately, frying/pan-frying is a prominent method of cooking so to balance the diet the preparation of vegetables filled stews and soups comes in the picture and they don’t eat foods like white rice. First, because it does not grow in the region at all, instead it’s the rare place where eating brown rice is thing and meals like fermented pureed yam are often use as a substitute for rice along many sauces and stews (after white rice became popular across the ninja world.). In Suna, they sticked to basmati rice and Kiri to black rice but white rice & sweet rice (hybridized in the country of fire) has always been one of the first food to be distributed is smaller nations in food crisis and for daily consumption because of how easily it is to massively produce and for their poorer nutritional value.

(ex: meat/beans patties, sweet potatoes chips, deep fried dough (bottom pic above) called ふわふわ/Fuwa Fuwa meaning Fluffy since the yeast used to make them creates a treat light and airy/fluffy like clouds & samoussa)

· SAUCE, SAUCE, SAUCE. Again, we said people from the Cloud love when it’s simple (hence why many dishes from Konoha like Takoyaki seems like an equation of calculus to them but those who could taste it enjoyed it actually). Its ‘’we dump all in the pot and let it cook’’ cooking style. If your meal doesn’t have a sauce of any kind, its not from Kumo. Many of them contained some form of peanut butter (a national pride food). The country of lightning is the biggest producer of peanuts and use it in various dishes

(exemples: peanut soup, fermented cassava pulp, cassava leave sauce, callaloo/amaranth soup, spinach peanut butter sauce )

· Did you know that Kumo’s peanut brittle’s distant cousin is the Nougat from Suna? It’s the Raikage’s favorite snack. Like the menu of the wedding feature the country most prized, popular, and fancy meals, most of them are the raikage’s favorites.

(from left to right, Nougat (from Suna) & Peanut Brittle also called 稲妻バー/Inazuma bars meaning Lightning Bars) because when you prepare them it is tradition to punch the plate in the middle to break it into smaller portions, it looks like the food got hit by lightning.

Many exotic tropical grows outside of big cities like mangos, pineapples & papayas making fruit the main sugar intake in the Kumo diet.