#I tried to resolve their tension by creating more tension????

[leavemeslowly]

III. queen of peace

Pairing: Susie Glass x Edward Horniman

TV show: The Gentlemen (2024)

word count: 1472

warnings: angst, alcohol consumption, not-super-graphic smut, love/hate? relationship

„The queen of peace

Always does her best to please

Is it any use?

Somebody’s gotta lose"

Susie and Eddie become partners, tell each other some dark truths and well… Susie listens to him against her better judgement.

Susie and Eddie stumbled into his office, laughing about something that Freddie shouted after them when they left the party happening in the living room.

Eddie closed the doors behind them and moved to the front of his desk where he hid a certain document. He handed Susie a blue fountain pen and asked her to sign. Naturally, not with her real signature because that could prove their professional relationship to the authorities. She signed with a doodle of a gun. He then drew a middle finger next to it. Their deal was done. They were in business, together.

„So, now we are equals?”, Eddie asked after he put the document inside of a safe hidden behind one of many paintings purchased by his father. Susie smiled enigmatically.

„Ta, I suppose we are. I will miss giving you orders."

"I am sure you will continue giving them anyway.” Eddie moved to a mini bar and poured them drinks. She smiled at him, thinking that he was probably right. Susie also knew that he will be more than happy to take them.

“Any plans what you want to do first?” She asked when he gave her a full glass.

“No”, She lifted her eyebrows. “I mean I do, but not today. Anyone ever told you, you are a workaholic?”

That is why she appreciated his companionship. He wasn’t afraid to challenge her and say it as it was.

“No.” Her expression changed to a more serious one. "Everyone else is too scared to tell me the truth."

“I am not afraid of you.” He searched for her eyes and his voice softened as if there was another dimension to his words. „I know what you are capable of when I pushed you. I have learnt my lesson.”

Susie sat in an armchair behind his desk and looked very pleased with herself taking his place.

„When I told Gospel the truth about his brother what led to his visit on your estate, I did it because you lied to me. I was angry at you, Eddie. It was personal. Don’t betray me again.”

Eddie nodded and moved closer to her. He leaned on his desk when looking down on her and not knowing how to respond to her confession. Admittedly, he was surprised by it. She sounded hurt rather than angry but he didn’t pointed that out aloud.

„I told Johnston, back when I still considered his support that I do not want any of your family members hurt. Of course, you too, Susie.” He paused to catch her eye and ensure she understands. „I don’t want to fight.” She looked up and met his eyes with openness he wasn’t prepared for.

„Is there anything you want then?”

„You know I want a lot of things.” He answered vaguely but not without understanding the hints she was dropping. „And it is all your fault.”

„Oh, really? I don’t think it is, Edward. I think you have always wanted it all. Military, this whole protector of your family act were meant to conceal your ambition. You don’t have to hide from me. We have already showed each other our darkest colours.”

Eddie was blindsided by her words that caused all of his pretences to tumble and crush into pieces. She stripped him of his defences with few punctuated words. Susie knew it and couldn’t contain her smirk of satisfaction.

“Always so smug, aren’t you?” Eddie countered gracelessly. She rolled her eyes and raised from her seat. Her words were the first loud declaration of his deepest and most sinister thoughts. “You don’t what to hear what I have to say?”

“No, not particularly.”

Eddie knew better so raised to his height and looked down on her. Her perfume lingered around him and the truth was he was under her spell not other way around. Nevertheless, he will try to even out the odds.

“You have it all, right? You are immaculate in protecting your empire but not for yourself, not really. For your brother, your father. You have a fucked up notion of obligation from which you can’t free yourself. You should want something just for you, Susie. Something substantial because I know you are not easily satisfied. Is there anything you would want? Anything I can give you, perhaps?”

Susie’s expression changed but she still was almost rigid. She had her head slightly tilted so she could gaze on his face. Finally, she slowly leaned in. Her hand landed on his lapel.

“You have no idea what you are asking for.”

He inched closer to her face and slowly, testing the waters, placed his hand on her cheek. Susie shivered at his touch, probably because of a coldness of his signet. Her eyelashes fluttered when she felt his breath on her lips. Eddie wanted to ruin her perfectly painted red lipstick which tempted him so many times before. He knew it will happen but the wait was crushing.

“Come on, Susie, tell me. What is that you want?” He caressed her cheek trying to encourage her to relax. “Should I give you an idea?”

He noticed the way her throat bobbed trying to mute any unwanted sounds. It was satisfying, going exactly in the direction he imagined.

“You should just kiss me, Edward, and stop teasing. For your own good.” Susie regained her old self and an ounce of self-composure.

Her words were like a sound of a gun being fired. Eddie crushed his lips to her. She immediately responded with need he didn’t anticipate. Still, her taste, her small noises were like magic. Until this moment, he didn’t realise how much he missed closeness and simplicity of a touch. This need was pathetic. He called out Susie on her weaknesses but he wasn’t better when he turned them around and pinned her to his desk and manoeuvred her to sit on it.

„You do justice to your family name, Eddie” Susie mumbled between their kisses. If he could, he would roll his eyes but just laughed, too busy kissing down her throat. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it and he could not contain his moan. „So you like it like that? Not so tough anymore."

„You are talking too much, Susan.” Eddie raised his gaze to her stormy eyes. She slowly smiled but could not conceal desire looming there.

Her fingers slowly circled his tie and pulled it forcing him to kiss her again, but slower, according to her own want. She took it off and untucked first buttons of his shirt. Eddie's hands roamed over her back, then down her things and back up under he vest. Suddenly, she almost sobbed into his mouth. He discovered she wasn’t wearing anything under it so his cold fingers came into contact with her bare skin.

Her jacket dropped to the floor next. Before she could react, Eddie was moving her to stand in front of him and brace her palms on the desk. He wanted to evaporate her thoughts, end her worries and let her finally relax. He pressed himself to her back and she moaned feeling him tall and unyielding.

It was right how she fitted between his arms, almost a head lower and staring up into his eyes. Her own were glazed with pure want that if necessary would send Eddie to another war. He touched her jaw to draw her to him and kiss her thoroughly while his other hand embraced hers. Their fingers intertwined and she gasped when his hand slid down her throat to slowly embrace her breast and pleasure her with his touch. He observed her opened mouth and small cries she let out.

„Eddie, it is too much.”

„So do you know now what you want?” He was teasing but he needed her to voice her desires. Perhaps, it was not strictly necessary knowing his own desperate craving but he wanted her to have it burned in her memory. That it was her own decision to fuck him and let him close enough to see her vulnerability. He did not want regrets and another cause for war.

„Eddie...” She didn’t want to admit it aloud. Still, she tried to express it when he forced her to look at him and saw her eyelids half closed and felt her slow grinding against him.

„Say it, Susie, God, please say it.” He was slowly losing a fight he began when she on the other hand was regaining control. It was her turn to foreshadow all the things she could do to him. Against his better judgement, he clutched her thigh and finally pushed into her ass. Not expecting that, she abruptly tilted her head back onto his arm and thrusted back with more fierceness.

„Yes, Eddie, yes, do your worst."

[jj-one]

MIND GAMES ⋅˚₊ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ pairing ꒱ ˒˓ bf!Jungkook x gf!reader ˒˓ established relationship genre/tags. smut, v small amount of angst, fluff, thigh riding, face sitting, body worshipping, jk lowkey simping hella hard in this & we love to see it <3 words. 1.4k

**old repost from my deleted blog

“Can you stop ignoring me please? It's driving me crazy.” You whine to your nonchalant boyfriend, urging him to mutter at least one word.

He has been giving you the silent treatment since this morning. You and Jungkook got into a petty argument that could've been easily resolved within seconds had he not just stormed out mid-convo.

Rightfully so— you were upset by him not wanting to talk things out and he got all defensive by saying you were ‘overreacting’. The bickering only spiraled from there and once you realized you had to leave for work you left without even saying goodbye.

You felt bad for not at least giving a peck on the cheek but you were slightly annoyed by how immature he could be at times. Once you came back home, you wanted to talk with him immediately to patch things up yet he's still being difficult with you. His silence was speaking mere volumes.

“So you're really going to play that game now huh? You know you can't ignore me forever Kook.” You snicker, all those pent up emotions filling you with an intense longing for him. “Can you say something?”

Jungkook remained quiet as a mouse, still refusing to speak, just sitting there examining you. Taking all of you in, basking in his own little glory. He wasn't trying to ignore you at first but now it has turned into a game for him. His only goal was seeing how far he could push your buttons until you break.

There was nothing more frustrating than craving someone's affection. His affection. Usually he'd give it to you on a silver platter, spoiling you with all the love and attention he could provide. But today — you were gonna have to work for it, and that you did.

Since talking wasn't the solution you try your best guess and think of something else. That's when an evil plan struck your mind — you were going to get a word of out him one way or another.

You were still wearing your work clothes so you strip naked right in front him, taking off every piece of clothing to only leave you in your panties. He tried to make it not so obvious that he was staring but you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. Still quiet, he looks up at you with his big, brown doe eyes — glancing over every inch of your bare form.

Licking his lips while leaning back on the couch he takes in all of you, losing himself in your alluring gaze. As much as he wanted to believe he had all the control in this situation, you played a deafening role in making sure this won't be an easy win for him.

As soon as you fully undressed you make your way over to Jungkook, subtly swaying your hips to send a rise out of him. Walking up to your boyfriend you find yourself straddling his thighs between your legs, the bitter silence only creating a thicker tension. His face looked so innocent, you couldn't help but go in to kiss him. Grabbing the side of his face to pull him in for a sweet, sensual kiss, molding your lips to match his hungry movement.

He was passionate with the kiss — almost leaving you winded by the end. You could tell that he's been holding that in since this morning, you couldn't open your eyes afterwards, savoring in the taste of him on your tongue.

“I'm an asshole, sorry y/n. I don't know why I do the things I do sometimes… but l'm thankful I have someone as patient as you in my life.” Jungkook finally spoke, his gentle tone brings you a familiar source of comfort.

Heated make outs turned you both into even more dangerous territory. A constant rush of heat surges throughout your body, leading all the way down to your aching core, you swung your head back in pleasure while riding your boyfriend's pretty, muscular thighs. The light-blue distressed jeans he wore showing just the slightest bit of skin to make you go feral. The weak, sweaty kisses in between rutting against him — the friction of his jeans grazing over your clothed heat, making you feverishly whimper out for him.

Jungkook couldn't keep his hands off you if he tried. Everything about you is absolutely stunning and perfect to him. His hands dance along the perimeters of your body, tracing every line and curve of your heavenly beauty — embarking on the notion that you are all his. He needs to show how grateful and lucky he is to have you more often.

“God... need you so bad right now..I don't wanna waste another second without having my cock inside you.” He keens, migrating his lips up the side of your earlobe.

He's going to have to put in the work to get a reward like that though.

“I want you to eat me out then we can talk later.” You boldly counter, not even giving him an option at this point.

His face lights up with an idea, “Wanna sit on my face princess?” You nod right away, letting Jungkook maneuver you to the side so he could lye down comfortably — he looks up at you with wandering eyes as you go in for another kiss. He hums into the kiss, moving his hands to grab your ass. It's beginning to become too unbearable to keep your panties on.

Breaking the kiss to remove your soaked underwear, you toss them on the floor and meet your boyfriend's handsome face once again.

The anticipation was killing him, he couldn't wait to devour your pretty little pussy already ;( As soon as you positioned yourself below him, he held onto your thighs with both hands — making eye contact with you as he pressed a kiss to your swollen bud.

Any minor touch to your clit makes you overtly sensitive, letting out a tiny mewl from the light action. His lips part open to dip his tongue into your wetness, “mmmh... fuck Koo” you hiss, already needing to brace yourself to not cum early. His mouth always works magic on you, leaving you with an earth-shattering orgasm every single time.

He flattens his tongue completely now, dragging a long stripe across your slit, drinking up all your essence, letting none of you go to waste. His face was so deeply buried into you all you could see now was the top of his head — grabbing a fistful of his messy hair to pull on later. You rock your hips back and forth to build more movement, grinding on his face while not having a care in the world if he could breathe or not.

From the looks of it, there were no complications on his end since he started moaning against you — the vibrations sending instant chills to your spine. You feel his nose brush up against your bundle of nerves, his tongue appears again to spread it’s brutal attack on your clit. His warmth on the sensitive sprout makes you jut your hips into a hastier motion.

“Shit... keep going just like that…i'll cum all over your face,” you cry out, feeling yourself close to making a huge mess and creaming all over his face.

“Cum on my face please, my precious little doll.” He only breaks away to say that quickly and attaches hisself back instantly.

Those words did it for you, it was like ultimate green light to reaching your climax. Two digits enter your weeping cunt and his tongue goes back to sucking on your puffy abused clit — the knot in your stomach tightens as he produces sloppier licks to your leaking folds.

A lusty, guttural moan escaped your lips, screaming your boyfriend's name at the top of your lungs. Jungkook keeps your hips steady with a tight grasp to help ride out your intense high; his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping. His face saturated with the glint of your sweet nectar, he licks his lips and savors the delicious taste of you, there's nothing that'll ever compare.

"So beautiful my baby.. so fucking gorgeous.." he chants under his breath, kissing the apex of your thighs. He'll never get tired of admiring your pretty body— or you in general.

Jungkook has always been more of a giver than a receiver, he likes to watch his partner writhe under him, loves when they cry and violently shake while he's giving them the most pleasurable moments of their life. He also likes to get what he wants in the end but that isn't always needed for him to be satisfied. He'll get his nut eventually, but in the meantime he's going to keep playing with you some more.

[earthtooz]

baby, would i still be your lover?

fluff with angst, 1k words, gn!reader celebrates their bday bc it's my bday today, reader likes pearls, childhood friends to lovers (?), ooc!al-haitham, conflict and resolving it, al-haitham's grandmother is featured.

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's friendship is... unusual.

Having known him since childhood, you cannot say that he has changed much over the years. When your parents brought him to his grandmother's house to hopefully give the young boy a chance to socialise with something other than academic journals, befriending him was not easy.

He dodged all conversation you tried to make, ignored all attempts you made to play tag with him, completely evaded your childlike innocence. He always was more mature than everyone else his age, or rather, always acted like it.

Most unusually, he had an uncanny streak of pushing everyone out of his life, and you were not immune to the imaginary lashes he strikes, eventually removing yourself from his life too out of frustration.

At seventeen, when an unforeseen tension had lodged itself between you and al-Haitham, it deteriorated your friendship. One day, he had taken his opinions too far and sharpened his words too much, you left the House of Daena tearful and too wounded to see him for a while. It creates a distance between you two, one that lasts for three years.

At twenty, you visit al-Haitham's grandmother for the last time, and she makes you promise something. She pleads you to take care of her grandson, that for years, he has been hoping for the rekindling of your friendship, and she asks of you to make his wish come to fruition.

You reach out to him a month later on impulse. He invites you to dinner and drinks at Lambad's Tavern, and for the preceding week, it mentally drains you to think about being alone with him again.

He is already there when you arrive, sitting with crossed legs and arms at an empty booth. Showing up later than him gives you time to admire how he has grown. Now freshly turned twenty-one, time has served him well. He has grown into his sharp, taut features, and the way his grey hair falls accommodates his features well, and his build is impressive for a scholar. You've heard from others that he's graduated with the highest honours, and has already been offered a job at the Akademiya.

When the conversation begins, you're relieved to find out that nothing has changed from when you were both seventeen and fumbling teenagers.

As the only person who has stayed in his life since his youth, there is a bond that somehow cannot be severed. You apologise for what happened at seventeen, he does too.

As dinner passes, one thing becomes abundantly clear: al-Haitham does not need someone to 'take care of him' like his grandmother asked. What he did need, however, was his childhood friend that always knew how to push his buttons, and perhaps that was your way of 'caring' for him.

"Y/n." al-Haitham's broad figure looms over your desk, causing you to pause the scribble of words and numbers that you were in the midst of writing. "With your birthday coming in less than a month, I went to review our personal channel for gifts you'd like."

"Have you now?" You rest your chin on your hand, looking up at him through your lashes.

He completely ignores your question. "A sango pearl necklace? From Watatsumi Island? Is that your only desire?"

"I am easy to please," you shrug.

"Perhaps you misunderstand me. Is there no other gift that you'd appreciate?"

"Is a pearl necklace not possible?"

"One from Fontaine would be more achievable. Watatsumi Island, however, given our geographical distance and the fact that Inazuma is only just beginning to open up its transnational-"

"-So it's not possible? Even for the Grand Sage?"

"Acting Grand Sage, and whilst it is not impossible, I came to review with you possible alternatives for gift ideas that would provide the same marginal benefit."

"I suppose I could think of something else," you tap your chin. "One day I'll get my hands on those pearls, do you see the way they shine so clearly? You could use them just to fix your makeup! Cold to the touch and a clearer reflection are what make pearls high quality."

"How fascinating," he responds flatly and you pout. "In other news, it's lunch time now, and you promised you'd pay for my next meal at Lambad's."

You huff, compiling your papers together and clipping them together. "I was hoping you'd forget."

(As always, when the meal is said and done, he doesn't actually allow you to pay.)

A month later, when the clock strikes midnight on the day of your birthday, there is a series of knocks at your door. Unsurprisingly, you're greeted by al-Haitham's handsome face, now softer without the makeup he wears to enhance his features, but still beautiful nonetheless.

In his hands, he holds a gift.

"Happy birthday, Y/n." He declares, straight to the point, and hands you the box. "I hope it is to your liking."

The unassuming packaging only adds to your shocked delight when you see the contents inside.

"Sango pearls, from Watatsumi Island! You got me a necklace and bracelet set!" You squeal in pure excitement, treating the jewellery like fragile little things when you feel them. Cold to the touch, and you can see your reflection in them.

Pride shines in his eyes and a small smile pulls at his lips. He doesn't say anything except watch you freak out, satisfied with the hoops he had to jump through for this present.

"al-Haitham, I am so happy I could kiss you."

"I'd be happy to oblige."

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's relationship is unusual. You would do anything to get on his last nerve (without overstepping), and he would do anything for you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[guacamoleroll]

𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶��� ༉‧₊˚

content. gn!reader. anxiety, hurt/comfort, injuries to canon character, insomnia, intrusive thoughts, panic attacks. not proofread. 1.8k+ words.

author's note. i love writing hurt/comfort way too much.

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. when an injured fyodor returns home from a mission, he will have to face the consequences of his self-sacrificial nature and pick up the broken pieces of the person that cares for him the most.

He had returned home.

Those words would have thrilled you with relief, having prayed for his safety and company for days, if not for the terrible condition he arrived in. He was wholly battered, covered head to toe in cuts and bruises. His eyes were sunken, darkened from multiple days without rest, but his irises continued to burn with that everlasting determination that drew you to him in the first place.

You helped him inside with unmistakable concern, a deep frown evident on your face as you attempted to balance being comforting but not patronizing with your worries. It always seemed to bother him when you fussed like that, so instead, you quietly wrapped his wounds; a gentle hum buzzed across your lips as you worked diligently to distract him and yourself from the thoughts bouncing against the walls of your mind. 

Much to your dismay, this had started to become routine, with the raven-haired man consistently returning with injuries from his prolonged missions. Most would've been concerned that his foes were far too strong for him to take on the way he had been, but you knew it was precisely the opposite. It wasn't that he couldn't defend himself; it was that sometimes he just wouldn't. Each injury would be a part of some ploy to distract his opponent, allowing him to have the upper hand at the cost of his health.

His intentions did nothing to make you less concerned, but you wouldn't tell him that. 

Instead, you sent him to sleep for the remainder of the afternoon as had become routine, a gentle reminder that he would need to wake up for dinner leaving your lips as his figure disappeared down the hall. But it was only when the door closed that you allowed yourself to fully let your guise drop, shoulders slumped as you ran a heavy hand through the tangled tresses of your hair.

You passed the kitchen without sparing it a single glance, not bothering to cook until later, as had become routine—a routine you had purposely created after the third time he returned home injured. You were unable to cook for hours after he returned, unable to focus. Your body dragged your absent mind into the hall opposite of your bedroom on complete autopilot as your instincts carried you with lead-like footsteps to a familiar small room. At some point, you had shut the door to the bathroom behind you, settling your body down inside the tub as you curled into yourself, allowing the cold touch of the porcelain to seep into your skin.

And the tears started to flow. It was slow at first, as had become routine. But then your mind started reeling with those same questions that left the last of your resolve to crumble like ashes in fading fire.

What if he had fainted due to blood loss?

What if his opponents tried to take advantage of him?

What if he had been hospitalized?

What if he never returned?

Each scenario increased the tension in your muscles, your face leaning forward to bury itself into your knees as you muffled your pained sobs. You didn't want Fyodor to know that you had these thoughts, that you were always so terrified for him. That was the reason you only allowed yourself to deteriorate in the farthest room from him, as had become routine—a routine you purposely created after the fifth time he returned home injured. You were unable to stay composed for long after he returned, always managing to break back down into this state.

He was such a brilliant man—his mind was something you could observe for days and never understand, but he was self-sacrificial and unable to understand how it affected you. He was a man who would do anything to achieve his goal, even if it meant crucifying himself as a martyr in the process.

So you had to remind yourself, as had become routine.

He is safe.

He is safe.

He is safe.

He is safe.

.

.

.

But what if...?

Despite his intelligence, there was always the chance that an aspect of his plan would turn awry—or perhaps the chance that everything would work out and he would still be hurt in the process. It haunted you at all hours, plaguing your nightmares and swarming your waking mind. You had to mentally prepare each time he left for a mission, knowing your mind would not be kind to you until far after he returned. 

Or if he returned.

Your worries had increased more and more as these occurrences increased, but you concurrently did the most to hide those thoughts from him. You had seen with your own two eyes how he would peer into the thoughts of others without regard to their relationship with him, and you knew he could read your actions well. So in the first few hours after he arrived home, you would do everything in your willpower to push away those intrusive thoughts, distracting yourself as you cared for him.

But sometimes, it became too much.

Your sobs left your throat sore and raw, lungs sputtered as you tried to reclaim your false composure—but it seemed that every tried-and-true method you had relied on in the past fell through. Your limbs were left paralyzed, sinking deeper into the tub walls as the porcelain no longer froze your skin. It left you scared, too far gone in your panic to contemplate any thought or sound besides your increasingly loud cries and the macabre scenarios rushing through your head.

A touch to your shoulder forced your breath to skip.

"I'm here, милая."

There wasn't a need for him to say anything else or ask any questions. He knew; he always knew. He slipped into the space between your body and the tub, settling your trembling figure to lay against his chest. It was in these rare moments, no words exchanged between either of you, that a feeling of understanding and trust flowed. As the house slowly creaked, settling onto its foundation in the wind, he exposed an imperceptible aspect of himself—one that held a capacity of empathy for one person and one person alone.

For typically, Fyodor was a fire, upkept by the ever-changing wind of the world. Sometimes he burned bright, and other times he glowed dim—always filled with resistance against the wind. Fire does not care about who or what it burns, only that it continues to do so to survive. But in these moments, in your presence alone, he was no longer a fire. He was simply a man because he refused to burn you.

You laid your head against his chest, hiccuping as you attempted to hide your face away from his watchful gaze. But that desperate attempt to return to your broken shell ceased as you focused on the gentle thump of his heart beating against your ear. You listened to the repetitive sound with a longing, filled with a warmth that contrasted the cold air that raised goosebumps on your skin. His heartbeat was your favorite sound, somehow better than the cello that he loved to play so much because it was a constant reminder that he was there—that he was not a fire but a man who kept you warm and would continue to do so for as long as his heart continued to beat.

Tears escaped from your eyes once more, softer cries leaving your lips as you clung to his body like a lifeline. He pulled you impossibly close to him—a rare gesture—settling his cool lips against your hairline as his eyes stared blankly at the bathroom wall.

He had wandered out to the kitchen to make himself a glass of water, which was not normal for him. You would always hand him one before he went to sleep, having never forgotten in the multiple times he had returned home in this state. He felt wrong as he entered the kitchen, breaking away from the regular routine, but he felt even more wrong once he noticed that you weren't even there. It was strange, not because you couldn't do other things before making dinner, but because you didn't seem to have anything else you needed or wanted to do. You became one-track-minded whenever he returned home like this, always making sure he had been adequately taken care of, so it was odd. He doubted that you had become so unfazed by his condition that you started to do leisurely activities while he slept, though he found the idea almost comedic.

So he searched around the house, not enjoying the way he heard nothing but silence. And then he stumbled across the bathroom on the opposite side of the house, which was often left unused, but currently had the door closed. It would have made sense—you probably needed to use the restroom but didn't want to disturb him while he slept—but then he heard the familiar sounds of your panicked breath. His joints locked with each small whimper and sob, frozen. He had far too much pride to say it, but his heart tremored whenever he heard those pained sounds come from you as if the organ itself knew that something was wrong and that it had to be remedied before it could beat at its normal pace.

He knew you had worried about him while he was away; he would have been a fool if he didn't at least realize that. If your demeanor didn't tip him off, it was evident in your personality alone. You were not the type of person to be unconcerned with his health and condition, nor were you the type of person to brush it off so quickly. 

He knew this, and yet he had severely underestimated the extent of it.

He glanced down, watching with careful eyes as your sobs subsided into hiccups, your eyes drooping closed as an evident lack of sleep started to catch up to your tired and hazy mind. And it was as he rubbed slow circles into your back, watching the way you curled further into him as your body accepted rest, that he understood—he had been such an idiot for not seeing it. You were the only person in the world who both understood and cared for him, the only one who worried whenever he was out of sight. He had known many people in his life, but there was never someone who cared like you did—he never thought he'd find someone like that. Stories of love were fiction to him throughout the years, but you always loved to prove him wrong even when you didn't try to. And it was in the unrelenting love that you held for him, a care that you so effortlessly enveloped him with, that you had accidentally created a home for him to settle down in—a fire warming the house at its hearth.

He left a soft kiss against your forehead. "Закро́й глаза, моя любовь. Я тут." 

милая = dear/darling закро́й глаза, моя любовь. я тут. = close your eyes, my love. i'm here.

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[sequinsmile-x]

Bezel

He couldn't fix or change her past, but he could give her this.

-x-

Hi friends,

As we all know, I have a very famous lack of control. The lovely @eyesontheskyline posted a gif set and made a comment about Emily's giant watch in 2x20, my mind went haywire and once again here we are.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this - please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Mentions/references to loss of a parent

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily sighs contently as she takes a sip of her beer, the coolness of it removing any last bits of tension in her shoulders that the case they’d resolved had created.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

She turns her head to look at Aaron and smiles as their eyes meet, his eyes soft in a way they rarely were outside of either of their homes or the hotel rooms they shared. There was something strangely empowering about him looking at her like that in front of their friends and it warms her from the inside out. She nods and reaches for his hand that is slung over her shoulders, linking their fingers together as she leans in to kiss him, the taste of the scotch he was drinking passing from his lips to hers. She smiles into the kiss when she hears the others groan, making a point of deepening it for a moment before she pulls away, squeezing his hand tightly as she leans in further to his side. 

“Okay, we get it, you guys are adorable,” Dave says dryly, a fond glint in his eyes as they both turn to look at him, “I think I preferred it when you two were pretending not to like each other.” 

“I didn’t,” Penelope says, her glee at seeing them together obvious, her entire body practically vibrating with it. Her gaze drifts to Emily’s bare wrist and her smile drops, the corners of her lips turning downwards into a slight pout, “Sorry about your watch, Peaches.” 

Emily looks at her wrist, her bare skin peeking out from underneath the sleeve of her shirt. Her watch had been damaged during the takedown of the unsub, the glass face of it smashed against the wall as he tried to evade arrest and shoved her out of his way. She’d cried out when it happened, more in shock at being pushed than anything else, her worst injury a slight graze of her palm against the brick wall, but it had been enough for Aaron to overreact. Her usually reserved and stoic boyfriend had briefly forgotten where they were and gone out of his way to make sure she was okay, barrelling into the room she was in as if he’d heard a gunshot, accidentally revealing their relationship to the team as he checked her over for injuries that didn’t exist. 

It was why she’d allowed herself to get dragged into going for drinks with the team when all she wanted to really do was snuggle up with Aaron in his bed or hers. The news had travelled fast and Penelope had called her before the unsub was even in the back of a cop car, demanding they all went out when they landed back in DC because she wanted to see them.  Aaron had been hesitant, his embarrassment at overreacting clear, but Emily had talked him into it. Her smile and a promise of later enough to convince him a few drinks with their friends was a good thing. 

They’d told them what they wanted to hear, answering their friend's questions in a way that still allowed them to keep their privacy. Emily felt a certain sense of pride blooming in her chest when they told them they’d been together 8 weeks without anyone noticing, although Dave claimed to have known the entire time. Even though Emily knew they would both miss their relationship just being for them, she liked sharing it with the people she cared about. It made it feel impossibly more real - the three words she hadn’t said outloud yet, the three he hadn’t said either, on the tip of her tongue. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” she says, smiling as her gaze drifts to where her hand is linked with Aaron’s for a second before she looks back up at her friends, “It wasn’t expensive. I have plenty of others” 

“Are you talking you expensive, or regular person expensive, Princess?” Derek asks, hiding a grin behind his beer, “Because those are two different things.” 

She laughs humourlessly as she makes a point of rolling her eyes. She makes eye contact with Penelope again and sighs when she sees that she still seems worried, a crease between her brows that lets Emily know her friend is still thinking about the smashed watch in her go-bag. 

“I mean it, Pen,” she assures her, “It’s just a watch, it’s not like held any great sentimental value.” 

There’s something about the way she says it that makes Aaron pause, his brows furrowing for just a second as he looks down at her, a smile still fixed on her face as she carries on talking to Penelope. Emily had always been very purposeful with everything she’d ever said. She’d been taught at an early age that words mattered, that everything had weight to it. She was never calculated, but she never said anything she didn’t mean, so it makes him curious and leaves him wondering if she meant that she did have a watch that held sentimental value. He files it away for later, sure that whatever it was it was something she wouldn’t want to share with the team. 

When they get back to his apartment, it’s late. They shower together, their laughter and muffled groans lost under the roar of the water, neither one of them wanting to wake Jack up by mistake. By the time they climb into bed, Emily is tired, her body relaxed and sated as she crawls half on top of him, her eyes already closed as she relaxes into his embrace. He hauls her closer and smiles as she giggles, a sound she’d deny if he ever brought it up, her hand fisted in his t-shirt as she anchors herself to him. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, his lips against her forehead as he trails his hand up and down her back. She hums as she settles further into his embrace, her arm over his waist and her leg over his hips. 

“Always,” she murmurs, turning her head just enough to kiss his chest, “But make it quick, the combination of the beer and your magic touch is sending me to sleep.”

Aaron chuckles and kisses her forehead, taking a moment to breathe her in before he asks the question he’d been thinking of since they were in the bar, “Earlier, you said the watch you broke today wasn’t sentimental. Does that mean you have one that is?” 

A part of her wonders if she should be annoyed that he noticed, that he was so good at his job it bled into their personal lives, but she can’t bring herself to be. Instead, she realises she wants to tell him, that she wants to reveal another part of herself to him simply because he’d asked.

“Do you remember that big watch I had?” She asks, her gaze locked on the wall of his bedroom, “It had a leather strap, the face of it was wider than my wrist.” 

He nods before realising she isn’t looking at him, “I remember.” 

“It was my dad’s watch. When he died…” she clears her throat and presses her lips together, giving herself a moment before she carries on, “My mom gave it to me. I kept it and one day I couldn’t find my watch so I wore it to work,” she lifts her head to look up at him, her hands on his chest as she rests her chin on them, “It was huge on me. Big and impractical and so obviously not made for me,” she chuckles, “But it made me feel weirdly close to him. Which probably sounds insane.” 

“It doesn’t,” he says, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, smiling encouragingly at her as she leans into the touch, “It doesn’t sound insane at all,” he assures her and her response is to turn her head to kiss his palm, “What happened to it?”

He’d picked up on how she was talking about it in the past tense, had seen the wistful look in her eyes as she thought about the watch. She smiles sadly and slips one of her hands into his, pressing their palms together to test the size difference. 

There was something comforting about how big he was in comparison to her, something about it that made her feel safe. She didn’t need him to protect her, didn’t need him to hold her together, but she wanted him to. She wanted to share things with him that she’d never shared with anyone because she knew nothing would scare him off. He’d seen the very worst of her and he was still here, he still wanted to know more. 

“It was sold with everything else when I died,” she says carefully, making sure to link their fingers together as she says it, hoping the way she squeezes his hand lets him know she doesn’t blame him, his guilt for making that decision for her still lingering every time it was mentioned, “I was surprised Mother didn’t take it - she was the one who got it for him. But…she had all my things sold,” she smiles sadly, a shaky breath slipping past her lips as she thinks about it. About how her mother had all but wiped any memory of her from the face of the earth. She knew it was likely a defence mechanism, a way of dealing with the fact her only child was dead, but Emily liked to think if it had been her she’d have made a different decision. 

Aaron drags her in for a quick kiss, his hand on her cheek as he encourages her closer to him, unable to bear to not kiss her any longer, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You deserved better than that.” 

She smiles and kisses him, letting her lips linger against his for a moment longer than necessary as she tries to convince herself that he’s right, drawing the comfort from him that only he had ever truly been able to provide. 

“I never understood their relationship. They loved each other, just not in the way I ever wanted to love someone,” she says, looking down at his chest again, at the random patterns she was drawing on his shirt as she willfully ignores the fact they hadn’t told each other how they felt yet. The words unspoken but felt in everything they did for each other, a gentle kind of love they both thought was beyond them, “Mom got Dad the watch for his 40th birthday. It had this engraving on the back of it - See You in Paris,” she smiles sadly as she sighs, “It was their favourite place. It’s where I always remember them being at their happiest.” 

“Paris?” 

She laughs, an edge of bitterness to it as she nods, “Yeah, Paris,” she says, her eyebrow raised as she looks at him, “The universe has a sense of humour apparently.”  

There’s so much he wants to say, an apology he knows she won’t accept trapped in his chest as he stares at her, but in the end he settles on kissing her, pulling back just enough to speak as he rests his forehead against hers.

“Thank you for telling me.” 

She smiles, familiar love for him burning in her chest, desperately trying to escape as she presses her lips together to hold it in place, still worried it was too soon to say anything. 

“Thank you for asking,” she replies quietly, kissing him once more before she rests her head on his chest, sighing contentedly as he wraps his arms around her. He immediately re-starts running his hand up and down her back, the warmth of him drawing her in, making her feel heavy and light in equal measure, “Goodnight, honey.” 

He hides a smile in her hairline as she yawns and he kisses her forehead, “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

He lays there as she falls asleep against him, an idea forming in his mind before he joins her, his grip on her never loosening.

___

Aaron pauses outside Penelope’s office, his hand frozen in place as he hesitates to knock, wondering if he is making the right decision. Before he can talk himself out of it the door swings open and Penelope shrieks, her eyes wide as she places her hand on her chest. 

“Sir, sorry,” she says, clearing her throat before she steps back to let him into her office, “I wasn’t expecting to see you.” 

“That’s okay,” he says as he closes the door behind him, “I wanted to ask you something-”

“If this is about the checks I did on Henry’s school, I was only checking if-”

“No, it’s not about…” he frowns as he trails off, raising his eyebrow at her, “Should it be about that?” 

She shakes her head, “No definitely not,” she says, taking a seat at her desk, “How can I help?” 

He sighs, scratching the back of his head, hesitancy he doesn’t like washing over him, “If I ask you to look for something for me, can it just be between us?” 

Penelope’s eyes go wide, the idea of being in on a secret exciting her, “Of course,” she says, before she gasps, her eyes somehow even wider, “Is this Emily related?” 

He hides a groan as he shoves his hands into his pockets, “Yes.” 

Penelope covers her mouth, physically holding her excitement in as she shifts closer to him on her chair, “Oh my god, are you going to propose?” She asks, and he glares at her, his stern gaze forcing her to calm down, “Okay, no proposal…yet,” she says, “How can I help?” 

“When Emily…” he clears his throat, “When she died all of the things in her estate were sold on in an auction. Do you think you could track one of those things down for me?” 

He sees the flash of pain across her face, how she struggles to push it away before she nods, “Just tell me what you need bossman, and I’ll find it.” 

He smiles gratefully at her and pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket, all of the details about the watch written down on it, “And remember-”

“Not a word of this to Peaches or anyone else,” she says as she takes the piece of paper from him, a sense of determination overtaking her as she turns back to her computer, and he knows this is one secret Penelope Garcia will keep.

___

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything?” Emily asks, smiling as Aaron meets her eyes from  where he’s standing. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, giving her a delicious hint of his forearms, the muscles shifting under his skin from where he’s washing dishes. 

“I’m all done, sweetheart,” he says, reaching for a dish towel and drying off his hands, “Do you need more wine?”

She shakes her head and grumbles, “What I need is my boyfriend to come over here and make out with me.” 

He chuckles and nods, pulling one of the drawers in his kitchen open, blowing out a quick breath before he lifts the large jewellery box out from where he’d hidden it under a towel. The search for the watch had been a little tricker than he’d hoped. In the last couple of weeks, he’d almost given up hope, and at times he’d only been bolstered by Penelope’s seemingly unending optimism that she’d find it. When she did she’d called him, her excitement so loud Emily had heard her from his phone while standing on the other side of the room. He’d brushed off her curiosity and was grateful when she didn’t ask any further questions. The nerves he’d felt when he first thought of doing this for her return in full throttle as he walks over to the couch, a piece of her history gripped firmly in his hand. 

“Before we get to that,” he says, sitting next to her, holding the box out so she can see it, “I got you something.” 

She hums curiously and sits up straight, placing her glass of wine down before she takes the box from him, “I haven’t forgotten our 10-week anniversary or something have I?” 

He chuckles and shakes his head, his hand heavy and warm on her thigh, “Is that a thing?” 

She shrugs, “If it is, I owe you a blow…” she drifts off, her joke dying in her throat as she opens the box, her mouth hanging open as he looks at the watch. She chokes on a laugh as she looks between him and the watch, words escaping her for a moment as she shakes her head, the conversation they’d had a couple of weeks ago coming back to her, “They don’t even make this model anymore.” 

Aaron squeezes her thigh as he watches her run her finger over the bezel, her touch delicate as if she’d damage the steel, “It’s not a duplicate sweetheart,” he says gently, his smile soft as she looks up at him, her eyes shining, “It’s your dad’s.” 

She frowns as she pulls the watch out of the box and turns it over, her breath catching in her chest as she looks at the engraving on the back, as if she hadn’t quite believed him until she saw it. 

See You In Paris

She presses her thumb into it, and feels the dips and curves of the metal, a habit she’d picked up when her mother first gave it to her. One of the few ways she felt close to her father after she lost him. She looks up at Aaron, her vision blurry as tears push at the back of her eyes. 

“Aaron…” she breathes out, his name caught on a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, “How did you find this?” 

He shrugs as if it’s nothing, as if he hasn’t just given her back a piece of herself she thought was lost, “I asked Garcia to help,” he says, smiling when her eyes get wider, “She found the guy who bought it and I bought it back from him.” 

She holds the watch tightly as if it would disappear and presses it against her chest. She closes her eyes and blows out a shaky breath. She places her other hand over her mouth, her fingers pressed against her lips as she tries to gather herself, her nerves shot at the unexpected kindness and love he’d shown her. 

He watches her carefully, his eyes fixed on her face as she sits perfectly still, the watch grasped against her chest and her eyes screwed shut. Anxiety bubbles in his gut and he squeezes her leg, “Sweetheart, if this was a bad idea-”

“I love you,” she says, her eyes flying open as she cuts over him. Tears splash down onto her cheeks as she laughs and shakes her head. She looks at the watch and then back at him, her spare hand cupping his cheek as she drags him into a kiss, “This is…this is the best thing anyone has ever done for me. And I love you so much.” 

He smiles and hugs her close, her hand with the watch still clasped in it pressed in between them. He kisses her temple and then her cheek before he tilts her head up to kiss him.

“I love you too,” he replies, kissing her again, “I love you.” 

She laughs, the sound wet as it sticks in her throat, and he wipes some tears from her cheeks, “Thank you,” she says, the words not feeling anywhere close to enough as she rests her forehead against his, “This is…” she blows out a shaky breath, “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I can’t give you the 7 months you lost back,” he says, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “And I can’t undo anything you’ve been through,” he wraps his hand around the one holding the watch, “But I can do this.” 

She shakes her head at him and rests her cheek on his shoulder, “I love you,” she says again, the words she’d been afraid of saying for weeks suddenly the only thing she could say, slipping past her lips with ease now she’d said them. 

“I love you too,” he repeats, running his hand up and down her back. She sinks into his embrace, her eyes closed as she breathes him in.

“I can’t believe Pen didn’t let it slip,” she says as she pulls back, wiping her cheeks, “She’s terrible with secrets.” 

He laughs loudly, the sound reverberating around them and he nods, “Well, I think I won’t be so lucky if I get her to help me propose when the time comes.”

She presses her lips together to stop her smile from getting any wider, the thought of marrying him, even this early on in their relationship, not scaring her as she knows it would with anyone else, “I think she might surprise you.” 

When they get married 18 months later, Aaron wears her father’s watch, the weight of it against his wrist feeling like a promise as he watches Emily walk towards him. 

-x-

I think I might have to add 'watch' to the list of inanimate objects I've made emotional thanks to these two...

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[dukeofdelirium]

less than a year until byler is bones ❤️

awwww is someone scared of byler endgame? 😂

let’s look at the facts, shall we?

1) Will was deliberately written to be gay and in love with Mike

2) in the same season this was revealed, Mike was deliberately written to be incapable of telling his canonical girlfriend he loves her

3) Mike also cannot touch Will for some reason even though they are canonically best friends. Cant even hug him without having a whole crisis

4) Mike is confirmed to not know that Will is gay or in love with him, stated by the Duffers AND Finn meaning there is no reason Mike shouldn’t be able to hug him unless…. 🤔 he is perhaps in love with Will?

5) Will gives Mike a coded love confession using a piece of art he created that was never resolved, meaning it is absolutely going to come into play in the final season

6) Mike was pushed into telling El he loved her BY Will, and then afterward she barely spoke to him

7) Mike and Will ended the season at each others side, literally paralleled with 2 canon couples in the same exact frame, which is very intentional foreshadowing

8) again I repeat the lie Will told Mike, the lie that is the ONLY reason Mike even confessed to El in the first place and tried to say he loved her, has not been resolved.

What do you really think is gonna happen in s5? That Mike is gonna find out Will lied, that everything Will said was from El was actually just how he felt and that Mike’s response to said lies was a direct response to Will’s own love confession and that Mike is gonna be like “well that’s so weird and gross of you, Will!” 😂

They literally wrote Will as a second love interest to Mike. They wrote Mike as having serious issues with his girlfriend. They wrote Mike and Will together the entire season and Mike and El broken up the entire season. They ended the season with Mike and Will together and a whole lot of unresolved romantic tension between them that we again are not making up or imagining with shipping goggles. It’s literally a canon love triangle.

And you think the love triangle isn’t going to end with byler? Lol. Why even write byler as an option if it won’t be acted upon? There’s literally 0 reason to have written Mike or Will this way in s4 unless the plan is for them to end up together. It’s not some difficult narrative to comprehend. If Mike can’t tell his gf he loves her, there logically must be a reason for it. 🗿🍷 but it’s ok, I know you’re slow seeing as you’re a mileven. Take your time, maybe eventually you’ll get it <3

y’all rlly think Mike isn’t in love w Will when he’s out here looking at him like this for literally no reason LMAO bro is gay. bro can’t tell his gf he loves her cuz he’s gay and closeted. bro is gay coded more than Will ever has been and Will is the confirmed gay one 😂

[artbyblastweave]

As a big superhero guy, I have a question: Why do you think it's so common to show Reed Richards, Tony Stark, Hank Pym, Hank McCoy (ESPESCIALLY those last two) as, at best, morally ambiguous and at worst, downright awful in modern portrayals? Is it standard American anti-intellectualism, tied into our growing distrust of science and technology, or is it just that they seem kinda bland?

I don't think it's anti-intellectualism per se. For three of the four I think it's just a consequence of contemporary writers being Allowed To Notice And Unpack Things.

For Reed Richards, it's the result of fans and writers applying a level of scrutiny to early plots and character beats that weren't intended to stand up to any real level of scrutiny. He's a guy who got all his best friends horribly mutated by taking them up in an untested spacecraft. He's a guy who brainwashed a bunch of captured skrulls into thinking they were cows. He's a guy who keeps whipping up extremely specific technological solutions to the problem at hand, which never seem to trickle down to the consumer market- hence the "Reed Richards is Useless" trope. And he's gotta dodge and weave around patriarchal accusations vis a vis a lot of the casual sexism of early FF, where Sue had limited combat utility and was often in the mix as the Damsel-in-distress classic. And obviously excising the unconsidered sexism from the dynamic is the right way to go, but treating that early recklessness/ruthlessness/callousness seriously, as an actual personality flaw that he has, and has to work around, is significantly more interesting than just rewriting the character to not behave like that.

For Iron Man it's the result of people starting to take more seriously the moral implications of the fact that he's an arms dealer and a billionaire. (Apocryphally, Stan Lee did this to see if he could create a character who would be popular with his left-leaning audience despite being everything they hate ideologically, but I take this with a grain of salt.) Another element, I think, is that in preparation for the release of Iron Man, Marvel made him a headliner in Civil War in 2007; the nature of Civil War lent itself to him doing a lot of authoritarian bullshit, and said bullshit sort of set the bar for his capacity for extreme behavior when pressed. Put Iron Man in any situation, try to determine the extent he'll go to in order to resolve it, and you have to take into account that time he was sticking his colleagues in virtual-reality prisons on behalf of the government. A demonstrated willingness to do atrocities for what you think of as the greater good does add some flavor and tension, I have to give them that!

For Hank Pym, it's totally down to the midlife crisis arc from 1981, where he rebranded as Yellowjacket, got drummed out of the Avengers for using excessive force, and battered his wife Janet when she tried to. You know. Talk him out of building a robot to perform a false flag attack against the rest of the team to get back in their good graces. The whole arc was supposed to be a very deliberate tragedy about his mental breakdown but it kind of poisoned the well on the character and became the thing future writers endlessly relitigate, either doubling down on it (The Ultimates, Marvel Zombies) or trying to repudiate it (Mighty Avengers, Avengers Academy.) Even before that, though, he had a pointed loose-cannon mad scientist situation going on even in comparison to the others on this list- his debut was a Twighlight zone-style horror story where he nearly gets himself killed testing the shrinking formula, and he also created Ultron and nearly got everyone killed that way!

I have no idea what's going on with Hank McCoy. I don't think I want to know what's going on with Hank McCoy. Every time I turn my ear in the direction of that corner of the fandom these days, all I hear is screaming. Are you guys alright

[danpuff-ao3]

Snarry-a-Thon 2009 Recs

Snarry-a-Thon is an annual fest of Snarry goodness that always brings so much creativity and joy in the Snarry community. I am forever blown away by how much talent and passion Snarry-lovers have. With that in mind, I wanted to create some special recs for a fest near and dear to my heart.

My original plan was to create a list with one fic per year, but that quicky became impossible. There is much too much to love! I narrowed it down to 5 per year, but I urge you to take a looksy at the masterlists for each year, too, as there are many more fics than the ones I highlight! These lists are my personal favorites and what resonated with me the most.

And with that...

Disclaimer: my rec lists are created based on my personal experiences and preferences. There are plenty of other stories and authors who are quite good and deserve just as much love. This is not meant to be an objective "best of the best" list, but the subjective opinion of a longtime reader and fangirl.

An Awkward Customer

by AnyaElizabeth. Rated: E. Words: 10,768. Unresolved Sexual Tension. Resolved Sexual Tension.

Snape can't figure out why Potter is hanging around his shop.

The Man Who

by Dementordelta. Rated: E. Words: 10,773. Bachelor auction.

Harry Potter makes a deal with Severus Snape to keep himself from being humiliated in a charity auction. But sometimes a binding magical contract is more than a binding magical contract.

L'ouragan

by Femme (@femmequixotic). Rated: E. Words: 9,111. New Orleans.

As a Louisiana girl, seeing New Orleans in a Snarry brought me so much joy, I have to say.

We had tried, but not even magic could stop the rising flood. Instead, we'd turned to rescuing those we could, joining the wizards and Muggles traversing the streets of the ward in boats, pontoons, any damn thing that could float. We pulled people from rooftops, from attics, from damned trees, until the soldiers arrived finally and sent us away.

The Secret of Seeing Rightly

by Quill_lumos. Rated: E. Words: 25,943. Bonding. Hurt/comfort. Romance.

Severus Snape can cope alone no-longer, he needs help. At the end of his energies he forces a bond on the one person who might be able to help him – Harry Potter.

Seven Steps to Heaven

by whitecotton. Rated: E. Words: 16,938. MCD. Drama. Humor. Parody.

Severus should have died in the shrieking shack and gone on to enjoy a relaxing death in hell - or heaven. However, although he managed the first task, he fell short at the second. Now he's stuck in the land of the living, invisible to all but one person: Harry Potter. Written for the 2009 Snarry-a-Thon. Note: Although this warns for character death, I can promise you a happy ending for our boys. If you are still reluctant, however, there is a good stop point that is still sunlight and roses at the end of Step Seven.

Snarry-a-Thon 2009 Masterlist

[trillscienceofficer]

B'Elanna's tormented history gave Roxann [Dawson] plenty to play—not only her Klingon heritage, but her background as a Maquis freedom fighter. “The more you have to chew on the easier it is, because the less you have to create yourself,” she says. “I love conflict. When you're handed a character that's just rocked with internal and external conflict, what more can you ask for as an actor? It gives you something wonderful to tackle.” Roxann acknowledges that the Maquis conflict with the Starfleet crew couldn't have played out indefinitely, but she would have liked to see it continue a little longer. “I feel that it's a bit of a shame that it was resolved so quickly. I think that what makes a show good is conflict; when things settle down too quickly you lose the tension in the characters, I understand that in the STAR TREK universe—in Gene Roddenberry's world—we all get along, but I find it interesting if we have to actually struggle to do that. Whenever there has been conflict between B'Elanna and any of the other characters I've tried to heighten it, because I think that what's interesting.” […] B'Elanna's other relationships have mostly been antagonistic, notably with Captain Janeway when she and the Maquis crew first came aboard the U.S.S. Voyager, “I feel like I've lost touch with the captain a little bit; we had wonderful things in the first couple of seasons and I wanted to get back some of that adversarial kind of mental battling kind of confrontations that we had.” The captain, of course, had another rebel on her hands when Seven of Nine joined the ship, and B'Elanna had problems with the new Borg crew member. “I loved the conflict between B'Elanna and Seven of Nine. I know at some point we had some discussion with the producers; they wanted to soften the antagonism, and I said, ‘Please, this conflict is good; let's not discard it too quickly! Let's work for an understanding between them.’ I think conflict is exciting, and they did actually maintain that. It adds so much more spice, in my opinion.”

Interview with Roxann Dawson on Star Trek: The Magazine, June 2001

I'd been told before about Dawson having expressed the opinion that it was better to keep the relationship between B'Elanna and Seven antagonistic, as a bit of trivia. I'm glad that I finally found a source for this piece of information though because the context of the interview makes it clear that Dawson was trying to keep the character of B'Elanna interesting in a way that made sense to her, without having to necessarily fall in line with the idea of a ‘conflict-less’ future that didn't accommodate for the actual effort to get there. It's an approach to storytelling that I find really appealing as well. What's disappointing to me though is that on the show we never really saw the ‘work’ that could've brought B'Elanna and Seven to an actual understanding, but rather only caught glimpses of its possibility.

[thejakeslayla]

╰▸ ❝ melting ice ❞ 002 ⎯⎯ salchow ,, a park sunghoon written series

synopsis; you put your everything into ice skating; blood, sweat and tears. unexpectedly you're being partnered with someone you despite, your number one rival - park sunghoon. together, you must overcome your grudges, navigate your differences and find a way to convey emotion on the ice. as you face this challenge, you discover hidden depths of him, leading you to question if there's more to your connection with sunghoon than just hatred and whether you can make this unlikely partnership work, potentially reshaping your career and the dynamics between them. little do you know that sunghoon never hated you.

warnings: reader gets injured, arguments, profanity

Days turned into weeks, and you and Sunghoon found yourselves locked in a relentless cycle of practice. Daily sessions became a routine, yet the tension between you and Sunghoon only seemed to intensify. You both worked diligently on perfecting the throw triple loop, with the coach drilling you on every detail. It was an intricate move that demanded trust and synchronization. At first, the attempts were awkward and full of stumbles and falls, but with time, your coordination improved. It wasn't the most harmonious partnership, but you were making progress.

Despite your initial concerns, Sunghoon turned out to be a dedicated partner, putting in as much effort as you did. His resolved determination surprised you. As much as you disliked him, his precision and your grace created a unique blend and even if you wouldn’t like to think of him like that, each time you just found yourself pretty amused.

One chilly evening, you found yourselves alone at the rink, the bright arena lights casting an eerie glow on the ice. Sunghoon's mom had left for a work-related trip, and your mom had a prior commitment. It was just the two of you and the echoes of your blades cutting through the ice.

Sunghoon stopped, panting heavily. You noticed the sweat glistening on his brow, the strands of hair clinging to his forehead. You already tried multiple times to synchronise your step sequence, but each time one of you messed up.

He met your gaze, and for the first time in weeks, you didn't see hostility in his eyes. Instead, you saw determination and, perhaps, a hint of vulnerability. "Y/n," he said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it, "I know we don't get along, but we have to make this work. Our future depends on it."

You stopped in your tracks, the ice beneath your skates glistening with a thin layer of frost. His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you considered his words. But then, you shook your head, a hint of disagreement in your eyes. "I appreciate your concern, Sunghoon, but I've made it this far on my own. I don't need you to determine my future."

Sunghoon's expression shifted, a mix of frustration and determination. "This isn't just about you, Y/n. Stop being so fucking selfish. We have a real chance to get into olympics, if we can put our differences aside."

You were filled with anger. "Put our differences aside? You've got to be fucking kidding me, Park. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to even stand here next to you, let alone skate with you? I didn't ask for you to be my partner, and I’m fucking sure that I didn't ask for your pep talk. I've been working my entire life to get to this point, and I don't need you telling me what's at risk."

Sunghoon's voice suddenly rose, matching your frustration. "This isn't about forgetting, Y/n. It's about acknowledging that we're both skilled athletes, and if we channel that rivalry into our performance, we could be unstoppable."

Your jaw tightened. "Unstoppable? The only thing that's unstoppable is your ego."

With that biting remark, Sunghoon's anger peaked, and he abruptly turned away, storming off the rink. You were left seething, your own fury burning as hot as his.

After leaving the rink in a huff, Sunghoon couldn't shake off the frustration that had been building within him. He wandered aimlessly through the corridors of the training center, his mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions.

In the beginning, Sunghoon had viewed this partnership with you as an opportunity he couldn't pass up, but the reality of working with you had been far more challenging than he had ever imagined. The clash of your personalities and the weight of the long-standing (or should he say one-sided?) rivalry had tested his patience more than anything else in his skating career.

However, there was another layer to Sunghoon's frustration, one that he was unwilling to confront even in the depths of his own thoughts. He had watched you from afar for years, not only as a "rival" but as someone he greatly admired. Your grace on the ice, your dedication, and your unwavering commitment to the sport had drawn him in.

There had been moments when he had secretly hoped for the chance to work with you, to get to know you on a different level, and to prove himself not just as a “self-centred and cold as ice you skate on” athlete but as a partner. And now, with this unexpected opportunity, his longing to work with you had intertwined with the harsh reality of their situation.

As he approached the vending machines, he couldn't help but replay their argument in his mind. His frustration stemmed not only from the difficulties of the partnership but from the fear that he might lose this chance to get closer to someone he had admired for so long.

As Sunghoon retreated to cool off, you were on the rink, trying to focus on your skating, but the heated argument still echoed in your mind. Your determination got the best of you, and in a fit of frustration, you decided to attempt a triple axel – a move you hadn't mastered yet.

You executed the jump, the world spinning around you, but the landing was far from graceful. You hit the ice while still rotating, causing a harsh impact. Pain shot through your hip and ankle. You bit your lip, fighting back tears, but it was impossible to ignore the throbbing in your ankle.

Your heart pounded with pain and frustration, but you tried to push through it, determined not to give Sunghoon the satisfaction of seeing you vulnerable, as he might come back any second now. Gritting your teeth, you tried to stand, but the pain in your ankle was too much to bear.

And as if universe deeply hated you, he appeared.

Sunghoon entered the rink, the tension still hanging in the air. He immediately noticed that something was wrong, as you struggled to stand and make your way off the ice. He hurried over, concern replacing his anger, as he realized the seriousness of the situation.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Sunghoon asked, his voice echoing, genuine worry on his face.

You clenched your jaw, suppressing the pain in your ankle, and quickly replied, "I'm fine. I've had worse falls."

But Sunghoon wouldn't let it go. "Y/n, you don't look fine. Let me help you."

You hesitated, torn between the embarrassment of showing your vulnerability to your rival and the throbbing pain in your ankle. Sunghoon insisted, reaching out to support you, but you resisted. "I said I'm okay. I don't need your help."

Minute or two passed and Sunghoon had enough of your bullshit, he grabbed your wrist and wrapped your arm around his shoulders. You finally gave up, leaning on him as he helped you get off the ice.

Once you were seated on the bench, Sunghoon remained frozen, his concern barely concealed. When he helped you take off your skates, tears welled up in your eyes, escaping despite your best efforts to hold them back. Your pride was wounded, you embarrassed yourself in front of someone you hated the most, nothing went the way you wanted. And you just wanted to prove him wrong.

A minute of heavy silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. Sunghoon's struggle to hide his worry was evident in his furrowed brow and his fidgety fingers. He was torn between wanting to help and not wanting to overstep the boundaries of your rivalry, or should he say your hatred towards him? His eyes darted between your teary gaze and your leg.

Finally, he couldn't contain the storm of emotions within him any longer, and his voice broke the heavy silence. "Should I call the coach?"

Your head moved slowly from side to side as you shook it, indicating your refusal. "No, Sunghoon. It will just worry him, and we won't be able to practice. I can't afford to miss practice right now."

Sunghoon was taken aback by your response. He knew the importance of practice, but the consequences of ignoring your injury weighed heavily on his mind. The argumentative tension that had simmered earlier now resurfaced, and the two of you found yourselves locked in a silent battle of wills.

The sudden change in his voice surprised you. His voice was firm and commanding as he responded, "Y/n, your health is more important than practice. You can't keep skating on a sprained ankle. Even though you don’t want to, we have to work together; we need to make the right decision here."

You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between your pride, the importance of practice, and the undeniable logic in Sunghoon's words. God, how much you hated him. It wasn’t even about the rivalry anymore, you just hated the fact that he’s right. The silence stretched on, and it seemed like a decision was hanging in the balance.

Finally, Sunghoon, directed by a small crush on you, broke the silence once more. His voice was softer, almost pleading, as he said, "Y/n, please. Let me help you. I promise it won't change anything between us, but it's the right thing to do."

Your gaze returned to him, as he continued to speak. “Y/n, what if…” His voice trembled slightly, clearly showing you signs of hesitation. “I take you to my home instead?"

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[fuckmeyer]

Do you think the Volturi would ever get desperate enough to make their own newborn army to continue being in power?

yes, but actually no

Yes

the Guide says they overthrew the Romanians by "launching a successful war." really, they just convinced a bunch of vamps to go to war for them for 100+ years on the premise that it was mutually beneficial for everyone to follow certain laws.

here's the thing. the tactic of newborn armies didn't exist until Benito tried to pull it off in the 1800s. end result: the Volturi came in full force & exterminated the newborns. this lil anecdote in vampire history tells us that 1) while the Volturi have gone to war, they have not experimented with newborn armies. & 2) when faced with a challenge to their doctrine, they do attack.

fast-forward like 200 years. in Second Short Life of Bree Tanner, they threaten to punish Victoria for creating a newborn army but give her the chance to destroy the Cullen clan first. it seems, given the right adversary, the Volturi are willing to bend their rules...

they have a history of starting wars, combat, & breaking their rules.

But actually no

their whole shtick is noninterference & secrecy. they've gained power through soft diplomacy & quiet hard diplomacy. (amassing an arsenal of talented vamps, spreading their doctrine, solidifying their reputation etc). potential problems are resolved quickly & discreetly. a newborn army is the antithesis of their mission & their strategy. bottom line, they would lose a lot of power & credibility by openly flouting their own philosophy.

"ok but 'yes, but actually no' is a non-answer"

NO, the Volturi would not get desperate enough to create a newborn army. they would prefer an elite, highly trained team of talented statesmen & gifted vampires over a hoard of volatile newborns. under the right conditions, however, they might wage a proxy war.

imo, they would be at their "most desperate" when they lose everything: the guard, the coven, & the reputation. even then, i don't think they would resort to outright creating a newborn army.

from the Guide: "Aro called his soldiers “the Volturi guard,” making it clear that they were subservient to the actual coven of five." there are 9 permanent members of the guard & more transitory members, all of which he views as his "collection." "Ambition was [the coven's] bonding element. [...] Rank in the guard is decided by power."

there's already tension among the guard fighting for their rank within the system (or to be a permanent member).

post-Breaking Dawn, the Volturi's reputation has taken a hit. covens have lost faith in their ability to lead. morale is down in the guard; perhaps some transitory members take a hike. the Volturi already rely heavily on vampires who modify relationships & mental states i.e. Chelsea, Corin, Marcus. they're all in this stupid club for ambition & power's sake; imagine one of them is dissatisfied with the Volturi's loosening grip on power? imagine the Volturi must quash an exodus in their guard, leading them into a vicious cycle of lost trust & draconian measures? imagine the guard fights with itself as some begin to turn on the Volturi...?

if the core Volturi coven don't have their guard, what do they have? a telepath (Aro), a relationship identifier (Marcus), regular-ass Caius, & two regular-ass wives who don't even want to be there. in addition, they have their reputation & their abilities as statesmen. that's it.

[consider this: "If a vampire remains unmoving often enough over thousands of years, dust begins to petrify in response to the venom-like liquids that lubricate his eyes and skin." Bella notices this milky film over their eyes. she also doesn't notice any vampire scars. it's probable the kings have seen little to no combat in centuries, if ever.]

if the guard turns on them, & they've lost reputation with the other covens, what would they do? the wives might dip bc being stuck at home for hundreds of years kinda soured them on the whole "being married" shit. Marcus would ask for death lmao. that leaves Aro & Caius. (possibly Jane/Alec/& other loyal guards.) considering the guards' experience w/ newborn armies, really the only way out of this is negotiating the kings' freedom. openly creating their own newborn army would permanently destroy their reputation, & their ties with other covens will become their greatest asset when the guard turns.

tl;dr worst case scenario, in response to an existential threat i see them saving their own hides & fucking off into obscurity while they figure out their next moves (which would largely involve diplomacy, rebuilding their "collection," & proxy wars).

[sneezemonster15]

Hi

was sasuke serious when he wanted to kill naruto at orochimaru hideout?

did he wanted eliminate team 7 with kirin?

and I saw some ss shippers claim that he didn't hug naruto, it was just a foreshortening...

😑

No it is not foreshortening.

Hi. Foreshortening is an art technique where an object or a figure is rendered from a certain angle, usually an unusual angle, which highlights its distortion; it's basically a visual perspective. Kishi certainly is very fond of rendering his drawings from weird angles. He uses other techniques as well, like fish eye lens technique, which is also used for visual distortion, it can be used to highlight an expression or a mood, or to establish emphasis or to create an eerie/menacing effect. It used to be quite popular in films at one point of time, it's not anymore. They are used for very specific scenes nowadays, and aren't as ubiquitous as they were once. Anyway. What would be a good example of foreshortening and fish eye lens? This.

Don't get tangled with SS's delusions and false information. They will say anything to sound smart but ultimately, it makes them sound really dumb.

Now look at this.

Where is the foreshortening? Listen to me carefully, don't doubt yourself so much, trust your instincts, they are there for a reason and Kishi's work only encourages them, any good storytelling does. SS will always be wrong. I have not seen even a single one of them say a single rational thing YET. Just brand it on your brain and enjoy the manga as it is meant to be.

Foreshortening is about visual perspective but it doesn't change the actual action. It has nothing to do with that. It's only a way of looking at something. Sasuke is very obviously embracing Naruto. His hand is Holding Naruto's shoulder and he is close enough to be able to whisper directly in his ear while their bodies are clearly touching properly.

Was Sasuke serious about killing Naruto in their reunion scene?

Now what's important to notice about this reunion is that Sasuke didn't go looking for Naruto. Naruto came looking for him. If Naruto hadn't tried to get in Sasuke's way, Sasuke won't have attacked him. Just like vote one. If Naruto hadn't followed Sasuke with ALL his might, Sasuke would have left Konoha without confronting Naruto. Which means that Sasuke only feels pushed to 'cut Naruto down' when Naruto waylays him. Because seeing Naruto coming after him does funny things to Sasuke. All his intentions about getting strong and following his ambition take a backseat. Seeing Naruto weakens his resolve and he tends to lose grip on his composure. When he sees the person he loves despite his better judgment, he tends to make all the wrong decisions, he becomes a self saboteur.

These couple of chapters were funny and kind of bittersweet because ONCE again, we get to see how Sasuke just CANNOT help himself when it comes to Naruto. And these few chapters only help to underline the fact that Sasuke simply is frustrated, not so much with Naruto, but his own resolve when he sees his 'one and only....friend.' Lol. It's really a pattern with him, like I have written here.

Anyway, let's get into the meat of it.

So Team Kakashi arrives on the scene and Sasuke notices Naruto and his gaze is stuck on him.

So damn much emphasis. Right away, the reader's attention is monopolized and MADE to focus on the tension between Naruto and Sasuke because of the bubbling anticipation. We know how they separated at the end of vote one, and we know it was very painful for both of them. We have so many questions. Are they answered? Yep.

Look at the visual language. They don't have to say anything and yet the reader can viscerally feel the tension between them. Naruto's angst and yearning. Sasuke's more stoic features frozen on Naruto's visage like a magnet. Kishi certainly knows how to render roaring emotions into the characters without having them say a single word. That's just a testament to how good an artist he is.

So after Sasuke acknowledges the presence of the team, he proceeds to mock Sai who has just tried to assassinate him, and whom he correctly interprets as his stand in, by stating how he wanted to protect the bond between him and Naruto. To which, Sai responds by saying that he has changed his mind about killing Sasuke because of Naruto. Naruto reminded Sai of his bond with Shin, which brought about his change and he decides to do his own thinking and not follow rules blindly.

And this affects Sasuke. Look at his face. Sasuke knows Naruto has that effect on people, because he experienced it himself. We only get to know this in chapter 698, but Sasuke clearly admits that seeing Naruto always reminded him of his bonds with his family, just the same as how Naruto reminded Sai of his important bond, Shin. So when Sai tries to bargain with Sasuke about protecting Naruto and Sakura's (lol) bonds with Sasuke, Sasuke tells him that was exactly the reason he cut them off. Meaning, he tried to get rid of anything, or at least attempted to, that came in the way of his goals. Which is exactly why Sasuke says this.

That "personal ties cause confusion....and make you weak."

He tells Sai that he has cut off those bonds and he only has the bond of hatred now, the hatred he has for Itachi.

The truth is that he is not entirely accurate in his statement, heh. And Naruto catches it.

He tried to kill Naruto in vote one but couldn't do it. But regardless, he claims to Sai that he cut those bonds off. Well, he cut them off with Kakashi and Sakura. But you see, he never cut it off with Naruto.

Which is exactly why, Naruto is PUSHED to say this.

Naruto righteously asks him if he wanted to really cut off those bonds, why didn't he kill him off at the valley of the end? He certainly could have. Very easily too, Naruto was unconscious. Naruto also knows that Sasuke couldn't do it because he was afraid. Meaning, he knows Sasuke didn't want to lose Naruto because he cared for him, he couldn't bear to lose Naruto. And look at Sasuke's face when Naruto very emphatically and angrily screams the sentiment out. He is perplexed, obviously a little vulnerable.

He switches his self preservation mode on to balance it out (Sasuke doesn't like to appear vulnerable) by acting stoic, and so he tells him that he spared Naruto on a whim, but Naruto isn't really buying it. Now, we know that Sasuke is lying about the whim part. It's ooc for him. And anyway, it makes no sense.

However the deed is done. A crack has appeared on Sasuke's tough exterior, Naruto has made it happen. Like always. Heh.

And so what happens. Sasuke glides down to hug his precious.

And then he flirts with him. Yes. Flirts.

Sasuke - Didn't you say your dream was to become hokage? What are you doing here following after me when you could have used this time training for it?

Subtext - Do you like me or something Naruto?

Naruto - How can I be a hokage if I can't even save a 'friend'?

Sasuke - Pff

Subtext - Lol. You are such a child Naruto.

When Sasuke glides down and embraces Naruto, it registers itself remarkably in the reader's mind. Why? Because Sasuke has already been established as a person who isn't touchy feely. In part one, it's only Naruto he finds himself comfortable with, physically. He likes his personal space otherwise. Why would he willingly hug Naruto and speak like some femme fatale? Kishi obviously wasn't trying to portray this action of his as platonic. Certainly not in addition with all the flirting.

Did Sasuke want to kill Naruto?

Well he never wanted to kill Naruto for the sake of killing Naruto. He only attempted it because Naruto caused his goals to get blurry. He fogged up his plans for revenge. Sasuke cannot think straight when Naruto is around. Hehe. It happens when something that you want stands directly in opposition to something/someone you like.

Regardless, he didn't come at Naruto to kill at this point. If he wanted to attack Naruto, he could have efficiently done it in other ways. Don't look anywhere else. All the pertinent information is in these couple of chapters themselves.

This is a Sasuke who has trained with Oro for two and a half years. Who knows all the ins and outs of fighting techniques. Look how he analyses and handles Sai's and Yamato's fighting techniques in a matter of fact way. What impression and information does it give the reader? That Sasuke is skilled, and confident as fuck too. Hell, the reason why Yamato gets skewered by Sasuke is because Sakura tries to show off and attacks Sasuke. He stoically proceeds to attack in return. And had it not been for Yamato, Sakura would have been a goner. Like always, someone needs to rescue her. Naruto, Kakashi, Yamato, Obito, Lee...heheheh.

But when with Naruto, he makes a whole show of unsheathing his katana, taking his time, as if savoring these moments with Naruto, and as expected, is stopped.

He just wanted to feel close to Naruto. Feel his presence closely. He has met him after two and half years after all. Remember how crushed he looked being separated from Naruto after vote one? Why wouldn't he want to get close to Naruto? After all this time of not seeing and missing his usuratonkachi?

He could have chidori streamed him right away, he wouldn't even have needed his katana to begin with. Like he did later to Sai and Naruto. Naruto was obviously incapacitated by it. But he chose not to. He chidori streams both Sai and Naruto, stabs Yamato, and then stares and keeps staring at a struggling Naruto. And then proceeds to enter his mind space where he meets kyuubi for the first time. He makes the kyuubi retreat. He, who is so analytical about his moves and he who is so thorough about keeping a close guard on the enemy, just cannot help but look at Naruto. And keep looking.

And what happens? The same thing that happens everytime when Naruto is around him. His concentration gets compromised. His goals get sabotaged. His intentions and rational thinking leave for lunch break.

And this is what frustrates him. No really. It does. He can't even get a straight answer from Naruto as to why he keeps following him, getting in his way, knowing that Naruto's reasons simply don't come off as commensurate with what he does, but Sasuke nevertheless gets embroiled in his feelings for Naruto and it gets his goat. He loathes when it happens, he loathes his own weakness, but it happens.

When Sasuke evades Yamato's wood style jutsu attack, he is again asked by an anguished Naruto to rethink his plans, as Oro would sooner or later take over his body. Sasuke has had it. So he emphatically tells him that if being strong enough to kill Itachi meant he would need to let Oro take his life over and over, he would do it and that's the end of it.

Yamato proceeds to attack Sasuke, but Sasuke has really had it. He defeated Sai so easily when Sai tried to attack him, he incapacitated Naruto. He even managed to subdue Yamato. But all in vain, because Naruto makes him weak. He was subdued by Yamato in return when he lost his concentration because it was fixed on his dobe. And he cannot be weak. Not if he wants to accomplish his goals. Yamato saying anything wouldn't have this effect on Sasuke. Why would it? He doesn't even really know him.

So Sasuke decides that he is going to finally take care of it. By legit attempting to kill Naruto. And if need be, the other team members if they interfere, which they obviously would have. Sasuke is done with his ties with Konoha. And he wants to simply erase them. Well, not with Naruto, as we come to know later. But in this scene, he certainly seems to make up his mind finally but Oro arrives at the nick of time and convinces Sasuke not to. And that's that. He disappears with Oro and Kabuto, while still staring at Naruto. CANNOT take his eyes off him, he can't.

It's pretty clear in these chapters that Sasuke is damn skilled, perfectly analytical and superlatively confident and if he really wanted to attack Naruto, he could have done it right away. He is obviously capable of it, like he did to Naruto later on with chidori stream. Or he could have used his katana efficiently like he did with Sakura who got blocked by Yamato which resulted in Yamato getting skewered. You don't even need to go where Sasuke used his chidori spear, which he used to attack Oro and Killer Bee.

The context of these chapters makes it clear as crystal.

[snnbnny]

Sad anonymous back at it again.

How would Bokuto, Ushijima, and Kyoya (or pick one you don't have to do all three) react to a s/o who starts crying after a verbal fight. Feeling extra sad today.

Hi sad anon!! love your lil asks omg!!

Wakatoshi Ushijima reacting to his partner crying after a verbal fight!!

'•.¸♡ C/W for W.U : Stone cold ushi, Repressed issue, miscommunication, several mentions of pregnancy so afab! reader or if you wish omega reader, little out of my own cannon ushi, soft ushi at the end, this is hurt comfort btw, its nice I swear, mentions of jealousy and falling out of love ♡¸.•'

'•.¸♡ Tagging: @wakatshi @towoshi♡¸.•'

'•.¸♡ A/N: this totally went in my own spiral but I hope its something similar to what you wanted! I'm low key proud of this so.... also listen to FINNEAS while you read this,, just a suggestion. Idk the vibe kinda fits.♡¸.•'

╰─▸ ❝ W. Ushijima

"Ushi?" The two of you were halfway threw yet another silent dinner which you had graciously created. "Has everything been ok?"

"Why do you ask?" His tone was flat, you tried to reason with yourself that the lack of emotion in his voice was the same as normal. But the past few weeks had felt so different to you, you were so worried that you had upset the man in someway or that your first fear has come to florishion- he didn't love you anyone or never really did and he found some he did love.

"You've been acting strangely," you couldn't really name the small things that really drew your attention to it.

"You have to be specific, Y/N." A shiver went up your spine.

"You've been distance, more emotionless. Ignoring my messages, hell you've barely made eye contact with me this whole night!" The anger came out of the depth of your chest, it was not truly anger- more like grief.

"Sound's like my normal behavior to me, Y/N." A pin could drop and it wouldn't break the tension. He stood from his seat and walked to the kitchen in order to dump his half-eaten plate and place the dish in the freshly cleaned sink. "Maybe it's you that has a problem."

You couldn't bring yourself to look at the man, your watery gaze fixed on the barely touched dish before you, "Yeah, maybe..." There was barely any confrontation but you were already so defeated. So tired. You had waited so long, hoping it would have resolved by itself- instead it only festered and exhausted you.

"I'm heading to bed, I have an early flight tomorrow." God, you forgot he had an away game in the following days prompting him to be gone for at least a week. Of course you had forgotten, you were so wrapped up in the drama you were possibly creating in your head that everything else lost precedence.

"Goodnight, Ushijima. Good luck." You couldn't let yourself move until he was gone. When he did, the dam broke. Choked down sobs accompanied your waterfall of tears. Quietly you placed your plate into the sink and rushed into one of the guest rooms you use to store some of your personal items. The sound of the soft click which accompanies the closing of door gave you enough sense of safety that you let out a loud sob, followed by others and other sounds of saddness.

It was only made worse by the secret you had yet to tell your husband, one that would normally only tie the two of you closer if it wasn't for

a) the current turbulence in your relationship

b) his past hesitance towards the topic of children

Your hormones were so all over the place, you didn't know what emotions to believe at this point. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones causing you to flip out at something which was probably non-existent.

You were to lost in yourself to hear the sounds of your husbands heavy foot steps coming closer only noticing the hint of his existence when three soft knocks wrapped at the door, "Darling, are you alright?"

"Y-Yes!"

"Then why are you locked in the guest room instead of in bed with me?"

"I-I'm not feeling well Wakatoshi! You need your sleep!"

...

Even Ushijima could smell the bull, "I'm coming in!"

The sight he was by was pitiful, but pulled on his iron heart strings. There you sat curled on the floor still dressed in your day cloths and face covered by tears, snot, and running makeup. He hurt more when you scooted away from him, it took him this long to realize he had truly upset you- that the last interactions the two of you had just had were actually a fight of some manner.

"Y/N-" He knelt down so he was closer to your height almost as if you were a scared dog. "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to upset you. There is nothing wrong between us."

He was dumbstruck by the following question you asked, "Is there anyone else, Wakatoshi?"

He almost laughed at the inclination, "No- not at all. Not ever. I don't think any one else could stand me."

Just as quickly as you had pulled away from him, your were jumping into his arms- hiding your face in the green t-shirt he had deemed appropriate to sleep in after knocking him on his ass. He smelt of freshness, sandalwood, and home.

" 'M sorry." You whimpered, he was holding the back of your head and had an arm wrapped around your back.

"It's alright love, it was my fault. I got so wrapped up in my work life I didn't notice that you were hurting." He kissed the crown of your head as he petted your hair.

"The hormones don't help though," the remark slipped threw before you could think about it.

"What hormones? You aren't on your-" For once, your husband was truly thinking. It was like it clicked right away, you could even tell before he said anything by the fact he pulled you back and looked you up and down before whispering. "Are you- Are you pregnant?"

"Yes." You responded, no strength to try and change the subject or be coy in any way.

"Thats-" A pause, "-That is amazing, Y/N."

"You're not mad?"

"Mad? No not at all, my love. Having a child with you is a gift! I know I've been awkward about the subject due to the timing, but I've always wanted a big family with you. Our children would not only be as pretty as you, but have so many inherited talents."

You laughed, kissing him in order to stop him from rambling.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"King Killmonger: The Golden Jaguar" Preview!

Summary:

N'Jadaka prepares to wed Yani, his influential Caribbean fiance, in the most anticipated social event across the land. The new King of Wakanda continues to make global changes on a level that T'Challa refused to do. The C.I.A.'s discovery of vibranium in the ocean brings on the re-emergence of Namor during a Mama Wati celebration. Wakanda's new battle with the Talokanil tests the Golden Jaguar’s resolve to transform his nation into the preeminent superpower on earth. He leans on Yani and Ramonda to reign in the serious infighting among the noble class while presenting Shuri with a life-altering choice: Take over the mantle of Black Panther in her brother's absence.

“I will be one of the greatest That is a vow, yeah, that is a promise Always wanted to be famous Just being real, yeah, just being honest

My haters gon' always be nameless Give them no cloud, I give them no power

Creators built different, they ancient Sooner than later, all will be ours…”

Iniko—“The King’s Affirmation”

King N’Jadaka Udaku of the Panther Tribe from the kingdom of Wakanda sat at the head table for the Congressional Black Caucus’s newly minted Pan-African symposium/dinner inside of the National Museum of African American History and Culture. The event brought together Black leaders from all over the world that wanted to take part in shaping their future with the influence of Black American politicians after the great disaster of the Infinity War.

The king sipped from a glass of lemon water with his young Executive Assistant Mpilo by his side, very much aware of the eyes dragging across his intimidating figure in the midst of seventy-five world politicians of African descent with their various entourages. Hundreds of women and men allowed to participate in the momentous gathering chanced looking his way to assess what kind of man he was on this rare occasion that N’Jadaka came to Washington, D.C.

He grew accustomed to being the rare Black man of real power surrounded by other Black leaders that tried to balance governing in the face of American neo-imperialism. The people in that room would’ve given up their firstborn child just to be in his presence, especially the representatives from Sudan and Ethiopia. Thanos’s ridiculous plan to snap problems away only created more dire ones on earth and Africa suffered as a result. The rise of new warloads and the loss of faith in democracy sprouted far and wide. Slavery, coups, and genocide had ramped up. Troubled nations in the motherland looked to Wakanda and not the U.S. for leadership, and that made N’Jadaka’s stay in his former homeland dangerous. The C.I.A. had a bench warrant of death on his head. Western powers wanted the king of Wakanda eliminated.

The Golden Jaguar sighed and pressed his hands on his thighs and flexed his fingers to offset the ribbons of tension coursing through him. Despite it being an all Black affair, there were enemy ops in the conference hall among them. The Dora Milaje and his Onyx Squad remained visible and dispersed throughout the perimeter, their smart-looking uniforms marking them as superior protection among the American security hired to keep unwelcome outsiders from trying to sneak an audience with the Wakandan king.

This attempt at a heavily-publicized gathering of Black international elites became a way for powerless Black politicians in the U.S. to rival and possibly supplant N’Jadaka’s influential UDC creation that made waves in under a year. No matter what power-to-the-people slogans were used to get them in office, Black American politicians were still…politicians. No different than their white counterparts that only worried about getting re-elected and stuffing their pockets with money, connections, and a fat board member assignment or consultation position on some corporations dime after retirement. No matter the pithy declarations about supporting the Black community he heard all evening, there were wolves in the room seeking access to more power. The white American power structure lit a fire under the CBC’s ass to put together something that would convince diaspora Africans to join with them instead of the Wakandans. N’Jadaka knew what it was and decided to participate anyway. Just to let the CBC know he was watching them closely and feigning diplomacy. America was a weak and decaying order. The bored king found solace in knowing he would be its demise.

N’Jadaka tapped his hand on the fancy table cloth. Mpilo took note of his mood and quickly checked his comm tab for the expected time of arrival for Yani and the children. The trip abroad had lasted two weeks, most of it spent at the United Nations in Geneva, and meetings in New York, London, and South Africa. N’Jadaka cancelled a trip to Saudi Arabia when one of the crown princes of an oil billionaire insulted him on a viral vid. He made an example of them by snubbing a much-anticipated visit there. Any form of anti-Blackness anywhere was swiftly aired out. Mexico, Argentina, Spain, France, Italy, and the Dominican Republic were already smarting from his public call-out of their treatment of Black people due to an increase of racialized violence targeting poor Black citizens in their nations. With Yani’s urging and Ramonda’s powerful voice as an ambassador, there was a rallying call against global femcide in the wake of the disappearance of so many people.

The U.S. didn’t let the great loss of citizens stop their continuing encroachment of resources and they took advantage of pumping predatory capitalism along. What could’ve been a moment of self-reflection, a shift in priorities, and a new way of being for the country as a whole was simply an opportunity to prey on weaker nations even harder. Their only hindrance in achieving more power was the rise of Wakanda under N’Jadaka’s leadership. He instilled fear in every nation that wanted life to go on the same way, and he also gave hope to those parts that saw a chance at progressive changes aligning with Wakanda. The western powers still gasped at his U.N. speech criticizing colonial apartheid in Palestine and Gaza. The gasp turned into full-fledged choking when he charged genocide co-signed and funded by the Americans. Once he pontificated on the historical similarities between Gaza, South Africa, and the Black American segregation of his own people, his War Dogs got wind of Mossad operations trying to penetrate Wakandan intelligence through the C.I.A.

Back home, the continent was split.

African nations that had long been ignored and left to suffer on their own benefitted from supporting Wakanda. N’Jadaka flooded their lands with tech support, agricultural advances, doctors, and a quick rebuilding of infrastructures with his Wakandan Humanitarian Corps that embarrassed the U.S.. At N’Jadaka’s urging, Azania and Caanan had stopped selling uranium, colbalt, and platinum to anyone outside of Africa in exchange for advanced agricultural expansion. Mining had ruined and polluted their lands with run-off depleting usable soil and water. Rapid climate change didn’t help them either and the neighboring nations were on the verge of famine. Wakanda helped clean their water, soil, and air for free, allowing farmers to produce a bumper crop that saved millions from starvation. Those who had been malnourished received the best medical treatment, and once snatched from the brink of disaster, Azania and Caanan were staunch allies for good.

Niganda and Mohannda were a different story, currying favor from the CBC leaders and complaining to the U.S. president that Wakanda was a global threat to sovereignty. The other African nations galvanized by the freely given help, threw all of their allegiance to the Wakandans, thus leading other unaligned African nations to fear him creating a United States of Wakanda to rule them all.

It wasn’t a bad idea.

He never acknowledged those types of concerns and just let the rumors grow to keep his enemies on their toes. His own father N’Jobu had flirted with visions of a united continent under Wakandan rule in his journals. Currently, N’Jadaka scrambled to replace War Dogs lost to the blip in order to keep his finger on the pulse of other nations.

“Princess Yani will arrive within the next two hours. They have crossed onto the Atlantic,” Mpilo said.

N’Jadaka nodded. He gave Mpilo a full-time job as his personal assistant since the loss of his father in the snap. The king had no idea the young man suffered that loss until months after the memorial honoring the lost ones. Mpilo did his work professionally until Yani brought the news to his attention. She recognized Mpilo’s family name from one of the palace attendants sending personal condolences to their staff on her behalf. When N’Jadaka questioned him, Mpilo broke down in tears in the king’s office. His father and two oldest brothers had vanished leaving behind his mother and baby sister. Barely an adult, Mpilo now had the responsibility of looking out for his immediate family. N’Jadaka terminated his fellowship and gave him a permanent job title as his executive assistant.

The king let out a sigh of relief. He needed to be with his family again. Normally Yani would be with him, but she was on her own global tour promoting her book, “The Wakandan Way of Birth”. Their children traveled with her and he caught interview segments of her in three countries. The world was enamored with the exotic princess. It was her first appearance outside of Wakanda representing the nation. N’Jadaka grinned thinking about the reaction of the Caribbean. The entire region went nuts finding out officially that an island girl had snagged the most powerful man in the world.

She promoted the book in St. Thomas first, and he hated not being there with her. She traveled to Jamaica next to visit the land of her father and paid her respects to their relatives there. In the midst of the new global normal, Yani’s book became a smashing success. All proceeds went to funding her midwifery scholarships to further the number of Black and Native midwives and doulas learning at the Wakandan birthing centers. The money allowed women to focus fulltime on their craft without monetary restraints. She planned to give more once she became queen because the palace allotted a salary for Queen Consorts that she planned to use for more income-based scholarships. Wherever there were Black and Indigenous women in need, Yani made sure they took priority over anyone else.

Everyone wanted their hands on the book. A Wakandan publishing company mass marketed the coffee-table sized manauscript, and they looked exquisite. The cover was created by a Birnin S’Yan artisan who made a vibranium-tinged dye that was threaded into a gorgeous royal purple and silver cloth overlay. The book had fifty full-page color photos that Yani spent months agonizing over from a total of 200. The cover photo itself deserved to hang in a museum. It showed a young woman holding her newborn daughter and they were both dressed in the vibrant colors of the River Tribe.

When the pre-release online sales skyrocketed, Yani made the decision to only provide non-online sales out of Wakanada through global Black bookstores. The international brick and mortar stores made bank with the flood of non-Black customers wanting their hands on something from Wakanda. Even people who weren’t even interested in childbirth or culture clamored to snatch up a copy just to get a glimpse of what Wakanda looked like from the inside. The first print sold out in one week.

The talks finally ended and the affair moved into a spacious outdoor dining area where a small jazz trio played music in a corner. The balmy weather made it comfortable to be outside and he took in a deep inhale of D.C. air.

Okoye and Ayo kept the pre-dinner rush to talk to the king at a distance, giving N’Jadaka time to snag a moment of peace. After ten minutes he shook hands and greeted caucus leaders, trying not to look annoyed at their requests for selfies with him. He obliged to be polite and to give an air of camaraderie.  Everyone wanted everyone else to think they had connections to him by how loud they talked or laughed with him. He knew the drill.

The hosts ushered his entourage to their dining seats near the front of another podium. No one pretended to be sly about sneaking candids of him with their smartphones.

“King N’Jadaka, your son is here to see you right away,” Ayo whispered in his ear.

N’Jadaka looked around and spotted Riki walking out from the museum with his personal Dora, Quamba. All the diners stopped to watch the prince of Wakanda walk through with his hands behind his back and his eyes searching for his Baba. Some people tried to snap photos of Riki, but all of N’Jadaka’s children wore necklaces that thwarted any cameras from getting clear pictures of them by jamming up electronics and flash photography cameras.

Riki looked too clean.

Yani braided his hair in the spiral style of his Wakandan ancestors, threaded with shells and beads that bounced around his shoulders. This week, Riki wore jade and black fingernail polish decorated with mini panther claws in bright gold which was the rage of young children in Birnin Zana who loved their local team that played a popular sport called ukudlala ngomlenze…leg play. It was a game that required balance, and intense leg flexibility as two teams battled each other on a low swinging wooden bridge that moved across a deep body of water. One member of each team took turns standing in the center of the swinging bridge as the other team members of the challenging team split up on either side to rock the opponent off their feet, without any of their own teammates falling over too. The narrow bridge swung higher and higher, pushing athletes to go against gravity, their exhausted limbs put to the test for long durations. N’Jadaka had promised Riki a trip to the national competition in the River Tribe territory once they returned home.

Riki’s black royal sash rested snug across his chest with the family crest blazoned on it. The boy was seven-years old and sprouting a bit of height. He was almost as tall as Sydette and would probably surpass her by the time he was eight. Riki’s eyes lit up when he spotted N’Jadaka.

“Baba!”

The boy ran past chuckling adults who admired the tailored royal suit and polished shoes. N’Jadaka held his arms out and his son jumped onto his lap and kissed his cheek. The happy king wrapped his child up in love.

“I’ve missed your busy behind,” N’Jadaka said. “Where’s your Mama and the girls?”

“Changing clothes. I couldn’t wait to see you,” Riki said, squeezing his arms around N’Jadaka’s neck.

“Good trip, Dumplin?”

“Yes. People went crazy for Mama and her book. I’m ready to go home though. I don’t like this country…the people here are so fake. They only like you if you’re rich or famous.”

“Hungry?”

Riki nodded and scanned the tables for the evening’s selection. He scrunched up his nose at the servers placing rolls and butter on the tables.

“Can we eat this food, Baba?” Riki asked.

“We have people watching the chef in the kitchen.”

The Udaku children had been taught to reject outside food unless their parents permitted them to partake. N’Jadaka had become cautious with poisoning and normally had his own personal chef make all of their food, but he opted to watch the American cooks this time around instead of turning down a plate. The head chef for the evening was a famous Black American from New Orleans who read that N’Jadaka liked food from that region and wanted to create a menu to impress the powerful king.

“Sit next to me,” N’Jadaka said, pulling out a chair for Riki.

Mpilo took a seat across from them at the circular table that seated twelve. Members of the CBC organizing committee greeted him then took their seats at other tables. The jazz music grew softer as guests took their seats all throughout the guarded space. A congresswoman from Philly took to the podium near N’Jadaka’s area and announced the arrival of Yani and Ramonda. Eager applause broke out and N’Jadaka stood up from his seat. He helped Riki stand in his chair so he could see his mother and aunt enter.

N’Jadaka’s Uncle Bakari escorted Yani and Ramonda together as Sydette and Joba walked in front of them wearing matching purple dresses with their hair twisted and pulled back with amethyst panther-shaped hair clips. Yani mesmerized the crowd in a shimmery emerald green dress that revealed all her curves. She styled her hair with extensions in an upswept fancy roll that denoted her status as queen-to-be. Ramonda had the crowd transfixed with her tall purple isicholo and deep purple gown. Uncle Bakari was dapper in his black tux. N’Jadaka’s grandfather Dante escorted Bakari’s wife Shavonne and they all made their way toward the front where their Dora Milaje escorts brought them to the king’s table.

Sydette and Joba dashed to him first and he picked up both girls and smothered their faces with kisses amidst their squeals of delight for being with him again. He put them down the moment Yani reached him and he couldn’t hide from the world his love for her.

His arms wrapped around her tight and he pressed his forehead against hers. The tense energy in his body drained down into the floor and he exhaled a long breath. Yani rested her arms around his massive shoulders, her perfume drowning him in memories of their shared bed and the last time they had been alone without the world watching their every move.

“Baby, I missed you so much.”

“I know. I couldn’t wait to get here and hold you.”

“You know these niggas is starin’ so we better play it cool for Ramonda’s sake.”

Yani giggled and pulled away from him. He kissed her hand and turned to Ramonda, giving his auntie double kisses on both cheeks. He hugged his grandpop next and finally showed love to his American aunt and uncle who raised him after his parents died. They all took their seats at the dining table. Yani sat at his right, and Riki, Joba, and Sydette took over his left side.

As the first courses of salads, soups, and finger foods were brought out, announcements were made. The head chef was brought out and recognized. N’Jadaka allowed the nervous man to take a picture with him holding up a plate of sausage gumbo with rice. There was special recognition given to Yani, along with a surprise plaque presented to Ramonda for her role as an ambassador fostering goodwill between America and Wakanda.

N’Jadaka caught up with his aunt and uncle and the family chatter reminded him of being home except they were being watched like fish in a fishbowl. When dessert and coffee were brought out at the end of the meal, Ramonda switched seats with Riki and leaned in toward the king.

“President Mubiri would like to have a nightcap with you during the mixer inside the museum,” Ramonda said.

“Why?”

Ramonda’s sharp eyes observed the guests.

“He believes D.C. is neutral ground and he would like to discuss rumors of you inciting a coup in his nation.”

“Sounds like C.I.A. bullshit.”

“Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to appear cordial. Get some photos taken that shows two rival nations talking together. Yani is your icebreaker. Madame Mubiri is here, too. A nice photo-op of beautiful African women mingling will make the CBC very happy.”

N’Jadaka glanced at Yani’s fingers. She had on her deadly finger armor. Hopefully she wouldn’t threaten the man again.

He signaled for Quamba and several Onyx Squad security to take his children and grandfather back to their penthouse suite at the hotel they were lodged in for the weekend. He hugged and kissed the children promising to read a bedtime story to them later. People moved out of the way and stared at his heirs. All three children walked like royalty, heads held high, backs kept straight.

The after dinner mixer started inside the lobby of the museum where a giant abstract art installation above their heads looked like the unfurling of giant bronze ribbons. N’Jadka read the description of the sculpture that was supposed to represent the swinging motions like a band of angels coming down to carry Black Americans back home like the old spiritual “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot”. The artist, Richard Hunt, used suspended cables to anchor the work, and the swooping arcs of the bronze bands reminded N’Jadaka of his mother’s arms around his body when he was small.

Several servers traipsed the lobby carrying drinks and savory finger foods. A D.J. played contemporary R&B and the guests relaxed into full-blown partying mode. Bakari and Shavonne headed toward a display of Harriet Tubman’s shawl further inside the museum and Mpilo escorted Ramonda to meet some caucus members who were dying to be seen with her.

N’Jadaka held out his arm and Yani rested her hand on it. She walked with a majestic stride that matched his and they mingled for a bit. Yani’s charm was her greatest weapon and they spent a considerable amount of time discussing her book and tour. Her radiance overwhelmed a few people who couldn’t stop admiring her even as they moved on to other guests. The allure of power was a true aphrodisiac, and Yani wielded it well. All of her Wakandan training and years of experience dealing with all sorts of people paid off in spades as she delighted American dignitaries. He couldn’t stop staring at her himself. Her voice lit up his face and he smiled at everything she said. Yani’s youth also surprised people. She would be entering her late twenties soon enough, but carried a greater maturity and self-awareness in the last year representing Wakanda internationally.

They worked the first three corners of the lobby before the mixer branched out to the rest of the museum, and they headed toward President Mubiri and Madame Mubiri who lingered near a replica of a slave quarter. The Mohanndan president stood with a glass of liquor in his hand entertaining cronies as his wife watched her husband’s dour animated face with his uppercase gums spilling over his lowercase teeth. Her eyes sparked up when Yani approached holding out her hands toward the woman.

“Madame Habiba Mubiri, I finally get to see you again in a less formal setting,” Yani enthused.

Yani ignored Mubiri and immediately pulled Habiba away from her husband, touching her hand in informal friendship.

“Mubiri,” N’Jadaka said, offering his hand. Mubiri shook it.

“King N’Jadaka.”

Yani reached for a glass of wine from a server that had been freshly poured from the bar. She presented it to N’Jadaka using the ancient submissive stance of queens in Wakanda, holding the glass up to him with her right hand, while her other hand cradled the elbow of the serving arm. N’Jadaka caught the lust in Mubiri’s eyes again for his fiancé. He took the glass from Yani and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, baby,” he said.

“May I please borrow Madame Mubiri? I would love to introduce her to the head organizer,” Yani asked Mubiri.

It was clear that Mubiri didn’t want his wife to do anything, but Yani’s seductive voice couldn’t be denied. She played on the man’s need to control women by asking his permission. Her earlier exaggerated submissive act toward N’Jadaka fed into the man’s cultural ego. Yani upped the ante by touching his arm and squeezing it. Her touch ignited something in the president and he lifted his wife’s arm and practically threw her at Yani.

“I’m sure you two have some important things to discuss without us present,” she added.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Mubiri said, his gaze plastered all over Yani’s figure as the two women strolled further into the heart of the museum.

N’Jadka pretended to drink his wine while being focused on something else until Yani was gone.

“I thank you for the personal invitation to your wedding King N’Jadaka. I didn’t think you would extend us any welcome to your country again.”

“It’s a time of celebration, not political intrigue. Yani wanted your wife there. They have been corresponding for a time getting to know each other. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“And miss the nuptials of that delightful woman you parade around like a trophy? Never. We will attend and enjoy the splendor.”

They both drank in silence.

“Did you like the tour of the museum earlier?” N’Jadaka asked.

“An intriguing history lesson. You must be proud of your heritage here.”

“I am.”

“Rebels at heart. I see why the Americans want to control you.”

“I know you don’t want to stand here and shoot the shit about my lineage. You want to know if I’m plotting to throw you out of office.”

Mubiri choked on his drink as N’Jadaka stared at his face. The Mohanndan’s cronies flicked their eyes away in embarrassment, not expecting the king to be that blunt.

“What would I gain from having you taken out, Mubiri? There would only be another leader who thinks the same as you, so nothing would change. Pinning your hopes on the Americans holding me in check has not paid off in a year. I offer nothing but hope and a chance at directing Africa’s vast internal wealth and ancient wisdom back to where it belongs…on all of our people.”

“Our people? You Wakandans are stand-offish and think only of yourselves. These little excursions into other African nations giving them little trinkets of your resources reeks of a ploy to rule over us all. At least your uncle acted like a benevolent father-figure in the west.”

“My uncle was not the man you all think he was. I am telling you now, to your face Barasa Mubiri…I have no plans for a coup, an assassination, nor war with your country. Did you not read my fiancé’s book? Wakandans value peaceful living, enhancements to prolong life, and self-actualization that benefits the whole and not just the individual. We kept to ourselves for centuries even when we had the means to colonize the world and bend it to our will. But we didn’t.”

“I still think that is an option in your arsenal, King N’Jadaka.”

“I am from the school of ‘don’t start none, won’t be none’. My goal is transformative liberation for whomever wants it.”

“So-called liberators often transform into something sinister, if given the chance.”

The king moved closer to the east African president, closing the small gap between them.

“I only plan to bring hell to those who mean us harm. Do you plan to cause problems for us with this U.S. administration?” N’Jadaka asked.

Mubiri shook his head and smiled.

“I want peace and prosperity for our people too.”

“Good. You have heard directly from my mouth what I want. Let’s spend the rest of the evening showing the world that Africans can co-exist on the continent without people confirming their biases about us being warlords and despots. We can be civil with our disagreements. Everything doesn’t have to be bloodshed, or rumors of hostile take-overs.”

N’Jadaka excused himself with Okoye by his side.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Had a realization on that Civil War AU what could have been timeline.

Its resolved in season 2 if: Adrien s the one to bring Chloe in through the manner I described. THe reason being it brings the tension in brewing out much sooner and ensures that no one's loyalties are gonna be shifting majorly between identities.

Thus once everyone has a bit of a dust up and then have to collaborate to take down Hawk Moth names are revealed, there's some shock and they resolve to work together with Fu admitting he should have done this sooner.

It bleeds over into season 3 as the main focus if: Marinette is the oe to bring Chloe in with the main shifts being:

Adrien doesn't know Chloe has the bee & is too tied to his father to help when Chloe's obviously having a breakdown cos of Audrey.

Marinette however, kind of overwhelmed by 'all that' does end up trying to help and gets Chloe out of there before a reveal.

Chloe resolves to show everyone how exceptional she can be & the same general stuff happens as outlined in the original idea.

Except Marinette does discover Queen Bees identity & she has a talk with Chloe, does get the Miraculous back, but tries to fix things with Audrey.

Malediktator happens excuse Chloe needs to be mean to please her mom, wants Marinette as a friend now. That self destructs & as she can't be Queen Bee she tries to leave, and Marinette chooses her as Queen Bee again.

This is when Chloe actually figures out her identity but keeps it to herself, but because of the combo of Marinette trying to help as a civilian despite all that baggage & Ladybug choosing her, Chloe basically shifts all her dogmatic dedication to her mom to Marinette.

Basically: If she was willing to see passed the last four years of crap I gave her & is giving me a chance to be a hero as I want to be, she can be my new god.

Meanwhile Chat's getting more and more frustrated.

This leads to him revealing himself to Nino who does a 180 on the identity issue now that he knows his buddy is totally in the dark.

& this, along with Alysa's preference for truth causes her to also switch in favor of Chat's side post Catalyst/Hero Day, in part cos the identity thing created some issues with who could get what to who.

Meanwhile Kagami despite her civilian ties to Adrien, would overall default to Ladybug both due to her relationship with Marinette and generally viewing Ladybug as the more responsible hero.

Because the identities are still revealed, but this only compounds the hurt, so the schism remains present into season 3. & leads to strange seating arrangements in their first year at high school with it now being two trios:

Adrien, Nino & Alya,

Marinette, Chloe & Kagami + a confused Sabrina sometimes.

None of them can aptly explain how this happened and as their respective teams grow a bit, it gets more ???? to outsiders.

Funky!

[renlyslittlerose]

Kinktober Day 18 - Humiliation

Today's prompt: Humiliation

Dear anon who requested this: I tried. I have never written Humiliation before, and I fear I veered more into 'dirty talk' more than anything. I hope this titillates you regardless.

If Only They Knew - 1,958 Rating: E Content: Humiliation; Dirty talk; Rimming; Oral Sex; Guilty Obi-Wan; Mild exhbitionism kink (more like 'what if we get caught' kink)

---

Anakin lounged on the tasseled cushions of the plush chair, legs spread and and shoulders hunched, an air of deliberate insolence swirling about him. With his chin tilted he looked across the room at Obi-Wan, a small smirk playing across his lips as he waited for Obi-Wan to enter fully. He was already nude, his skin a kaleidoscope of colours, the blue light from the moons coalescing with the warmth of the interior light, creating bronze highlights across his jaw and shoulders while the darkness between his thighs and the soft dip along his belly tempted and lured.

In the distance Obi-Wan could hear Windu speaking it someone over his commlink, voice trailing in from the open window as he wound down from the evening.

Obi-Wan had told himself that he wouldn’t go to Anakin tonight - that he would remain in his room, tucked away in the recesses of the palace they’d been given residence in by ruler of the planet that had sought aid from them. He would maintain his resolve.

But here he was, stood in Anakin’s rooms, the scent of perfumed soaps and blossoms thick in his throat, air muggy and full of tension as Anakin sent a spark through their bond, tugging Obi-Wan closer into the room.

“I thought you said we shouldn’t,” Anakin murmured, a pleased expression on his face as he shifted, legs opening wider to invite Obi-Wan in.

“I only said we should wait,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Wait until Windu can hear us?”

Obi-Wan felt a blush creep up his cheeks and along the back of his neck. His cock twitched, already hard and leaking. It was unbecoming for him to crave Anakin the way he did, and doubly so to give in time and time again. But they had always been carefully locked away, no one having the chance to know what Obi-Wan did with his Padawan when the moon was high and the shadows deep-set.

But Windu was close - close enough where Obi-Wan could still feel him in the force if he reached out. He was a steady reminder of Obi-Wan’s duty as a Jedi and a mentor, and a reminder that Obi-Wan had been trusted with a seat on the Council - that he’d been bestowed a place of honour by his peers. The thought of Windu hearing Anakin as Obi-Wan pleasured him only spurred Obi-Wan on, guilt mixing with arousal, cloying and thick as it slipped down his gullet and settled in his stomach.

With trembling hands he undressed under the watchful eyes of Anakin, before falling on his knees in front of him.

Anakin shifted, hips canting forward and legs spreading to show off his cock. Slim and elegant, it fit in Obi-Wan’s mouth like it had been made for him, cock slick and smooth as it slipped in between Obi-Wan’s lips and down his throat, Anakin choking him with his eagerness and youthful vigor. Licking his bottom lip, Obi-Wan looked up at Anakin as he brought his hands up to run along Anakin’s thick thighs. It wasn’t so long ago that Anakin was still so narrow, limbs long and awkward, muscles still forming, his belly still soft with youth.

Obi-Wan missed it.

The thought of Anakin’s younger frame giving him pleasure made Obi-Wan’s cock let out a thick pearl of precome.

“Already hard for me,” Anakin said, voice louder than it needed to be.

Obi-Wan chanced a glance out the window, but Windu’s room couldn’t look into theirs.

“Couldn’t wait to suck me off, hm?” Anakin continued, his cock bouncing away as he played idly with one of his nipples. “You always tell yourself you can wait - that we both have to wait. That we need to wait. But then you come into my room and beg me to show you my pretty cock like some animal with no resolve. Well, go on.”

Obi-Wan chewed the inside of his cheek and gripped Anakin’s cock, stroking it a few times to slide the stringy precome along his length. Anakin groaned and rolled his head to the side, hips stuttering forward as Obi-Wan continued to stroke him before he bent over and took the tip in his mouth. Salt and the taste of soap flooded his palate, and he sucked the head to collect more, adoring the taste even when he knew he shouldn’t.

“Always so weak for me, even when you know you shouldn’t be,” Anakin whispered, voice lashing and sweet all at the same time. “Always begging me for my body, ignoring all the codes and rules that tell you not to. Because you don’t care, do you? All you want is your Padawan’s cock and his eager little hole.”

Sliding off of the head of Anakin’s cock, Obi-Wan brushed his thumb along his bottom lip, feeling how fat and plump it already was. Anyone who saw him after he’d spent time with Anakin would know what they’d been doing just by looking at his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut as his cock twitched again, the thought of people knowing he was so desperate for Anakin turning him on far more than it should.

Sighing as Anakin pulled him back down, Obi-Wan relaxed a fraction as Anakin began to pet him, his touch tender despite the intensity of his words. With another sigh he sunk back down and took all of Anakin in his mouth.

Anakin let out another groan as Obi-Wan began to bob, obscene slick sounds breaking out across the balcony as he sucked Anakin’s cock. Thick spit spilled from his mouth and down Anakin’s length, coating them both in Obi-Wan’s hunger. As he bobbed his head Anakin let out a string of curses, his hips rocking up as he pet Obi-Wan’s hair. Hooking his leg around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, he dug one of his heels into Obi-Wan’s back, keeping him locked in place.

“S-So fucking weak,” Anakin whimpered, his voice breathy and soft. “A-always were, weren’t you. C-couldn’t wait until I came of age before you fucked me. W-what was it? A day after I was knighted before you shoved me on to your bed and split me o-open with your cock?”

Obi-Wan whimpered and pulled off of Anakin’s cock with a wet ‘pop’. Catching his breath, he leaned into Anakin’s touch, letting Anakin wipe away the spit and tears that had collected across his cheeks and beard. Opening his eyes, he stared up at Anakin - his little prince - watching him through the moonlight. Blood rushed through his head, blocking out all other sounds, but he could still feel Windu’s presence nearby.

“But you don’t just want my cock,” Anakin said as he pushed Obi-Wan back down, his hips sliding forward and legs tucking up, feet resting on the edge of the chair. “You were never satisfied with just that, were you?”

Obi-Wan groaned as Anakin exposed his hole. The first thing he’d done after he’d fucked Anakin for the first time was lick him clean, desperate to remove the stains he’d made on his boy - his Padawan. Desperate to remove the evidence of his own weakness. But it didn’t work - he couldn’t clean Anakin from his debasement any more than Obi-Wan could stop his deep sense of humiliation for how much he wanted this.

A part of him wanted to tell the Council that he rested between the thighs of Anakin and licked and kissed and marked the most intimate recesses of his body; that he would do anything for Anakin if he asked it of him, if only to please him and be given promise of more. But confessing would ruin some of the pleasure. Confession would assuage the guilt that made Obi-Wan’s cock throb between his legs, thick and heavy and bouncing as he stroked himself and stared at Anakin’s tight, pink hole.

“Sully your mouth on my hole,” Anakin said. And then because he knew it would hurt and please Obi-Wan, he added. “Master.”

Obi-Wan pitched forward and sucked Anakin’s hole before lashing his tongue against the whorled muscle, Anakin letting out a loud moan that Obi-Wan knew Windu could hear. Anakin tasted earthy here even after bathing, his own musk mixing with the subtle soaps that had coated his skin in the warm bath. The thought that he’d first touched Anakin here - that he’d taught Anakin how to fuck the same as he’d taught him his katas and how to use the force - made Obi-Wan delirious with arousal, and he laved Anakin’s hole with firm strokes of his tongue, bathing Anakin in his spit.

Breathing harshly through his nose, Obi-Wan wiggled his tongue inside the loose stretch of muscles, tonguing Anakin as Anakin gripped the back of his skull and held him in place. Gods, he tasted divine, felt divine, smelled divine. Anakin was divine, in many respects, spun from the strands of the force and given a form that could be corrupted and defiled. The fact that he allowed Obi-Wan to do this to him made Obi-Wan’s cock leak even more, thick rivulets sliding down his length as he continued to eat Anakin out.

“Y-yeah, that’s right,” Anakin whimpered. “Y-you’re so desperate for me. C-could feel your need through our bond all day. E-even when you w-were supposed to be l-listening to Windu and the Council, I k-knew you were thinking about my hole the entire time.”

Obi-Wan started fisting his cock, touch harsh as he shoved his tongue in as far as he could, splitting Anakin open. It was true - it was all true. He had been thinking about Anakin - couldn’t take his mind off of him and the way his curls rested across his brow and the shells of his ears. Couldn’t stop thinking about the space between his thighs, couldn’t stop thinking about his cock and how much he needed it shoved down his throat, choking him and filling him. He just couldn’t stop thinking of Anakin.

“W-What would Windu say if he could see you now. Naked and tonguing his Padawan,” Anakin continued. Obi-Wan could feel Anakin was close, his own hand gripping his cock as the other continued to hold Obi-Wan in place, balls bouncing as he jerked himself. “M-maybe Windu already knows. Maybe they all know what you do when they’re not around. K-know you get on your knees and pleasure me with your mouth. W-what would they say if they knew their perfect Jedi was obsessed with the taste of his Padawan’s come.”

Obi-Wan came, shooting thick ribbons of come across the tile floor and his hand, his seed scalding almost as he continued to sloppily kiss Anakin's hole. Anakin gripped Obi-Wan’s hair harsher and ground his face against Obi-Wan’s lax tongue as he came with a satisfied moan.

Collapsing backward Obi-Wan watched as Anakin relaxed, long legs dropping down as he splayed out on the chair. Obi-Wan rested his head on Anakin’s lap, sighing when Anakin ran his fingers through his hair, still sticky with seed. Closing his eyes, he nuzzled his nose against Anakin’s stomach, tongue slipping out to clean off the strips of seed that glistened across bronzed skin and soft hairs.

“How was that?” Anakin asked softly, all the prior malice slipping away only to be replaced with tired satisfaction.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Perfect, darling. Thank you for… thank you for doing this for me.”